Joy is a fruit that will not grow
In na­ture’s bar­ren soil;
All we can boast, till Christ we know,
Is va­ni­ty and toil.

But where the Lord has plant­ed grace;
And made His glo­ries known;
There fruits of hea­ven­ly joy and peace
Are found, and there alone.

A bleed­ing Sav­ior seen by faith,
A sense of par­don­ing love;
A hope that tri­umphs ov­er death,
Give joys like those above.

To take a glimpse with­in the veil,
To know that God is mine;
Are springs of joy that ne­ver fail,
Unspeakably di­vine!

These are the joys which sa­tis­fy,
And sanc­ti­fy the mind;
Which make the spi­rit mount on high,
And leave the world be­hind.

No more, be­liev­ers, mourn your lot,
But if you are the Lord’s;
Resign to them that know Him not,
Such joys as earth af­fords.