Happy the hours, the golden days,
When I could call my Jesus mine,
And sit and view His smiling face;
And melt in pleasures all-divine.
Near to my heart, within my arms
He lay, till sin defiled my breast,
Till broken vows, and earthly charms,
Tired and provoked my heavenly guest.
And now He’s gone, (O mighty woe!)
Gone from my soul, and hides His love!
Curse on you, sins, that grieved Him so,
Ye sins, that forced Him to remove.
Break, break, my heart; complain, my tongue;
Hither, my friends, your sorrows bring:
Angels, assist my doleful song;
If you have e’er a mourning string;
But, ah! your joys are ever nigh,
Ever His lovely face you see;
While my poor spirit pants to die,
And groans, for Thee, my God, for Thee.
Yet let my hope look thro’ my tears,
And spy afar His rolling throne;
His chariot thro’ the cleaving spheres
Shall bring the bright Belovèd down.
Swift as a roe flies o’er the hills,
My soul springs out to meet Him high,
Then the fair Conqueror turns His wheels,
And climbs the mansions of the sky.
There smiling joy for ever reigns,
No more the turtle leaves the dove.
Farewell to jealousies, and pains,
And all the ills of absent love.