1 Sure 'tis in vain to seek for bliss,
For bliss can ne'er be found,
'Till we arrive where Jesus is,
And tread on heavenly ground.
2 There's nothing round the spreading skies,
Or on this earthy clod;
Nothing, my soul that's worth thy joys,
Or lovely as thy God.
3 'Tis heaven on earth to taste his love,
To feel his quickening grace;
And all the heaven I hope above,
Is but to see his face.
4 Why move my years in slow delay?
And why this fear to die?
Death's but a guide that leads my way,
To a superior sky.
5 Dear Sovereign, break these vital strings,
That bind me to my clay;
Help me to rise and stretch my wings,
And mount and soar away.
The Hartford Selection of Hymns from the most approved authors, 1799