Scripture Verse

Our Lord Jesus Christ…gave Himself for our sins, that He might deliver us from this present evil world. Galatians 1:3-4


Horatius Bonar (1808–1889)

Words: Ho­ra­ti­us Bo­nar, Hymns of Faith and Hope, sec­ond ser­ies (Lon­don: James Nis­bet, 1861), pag­es 3–5, alt.

Music: York. Me­lo­dy from the Scot­tish Psal­ter, 1615. Har­mo­ny by John Mil­ton, Sr. (1562–1647) (🔊 pdf nwc).


The stream was deep­er than I thought,
When first I ven­tured near;
I stood up­on its slop­ing edge
Without a ris­ing fear.

It woke in rip­ples at my feet,
As breez­es quick swept by,
And caught the sun­light on its face,
Like blos­soms from the sky.

It sang its qui­et May-day song
To its old sum­mer tune;
And weep­ing wil­low boughs above
Shook to the glow­ing noon.

It seemed to stop, then ed­died on;
It smiled up to the day;
It deep­ened, then spread out its waves,
And stole in light away.

O streams of earth­ly love and joy,
On whose green banks we dwell,
Ye gleam in beau­ty to the eye,
And pro­mise fair and well!

Ye charm the sun­beams from the air,
The frag­rance from the flow­ers,
The blos­soms from the bud­ding tree,
The wealth of sum­mer hours.

Ye bid us come and take them all
From your en­chant­ed blue;
Ye tell us but to stoop and taste
The joy, and scent, and hue.

Ye lure us, and we ven­ture in,
Cheated by sun and smiles;
Ye tempt us, and we brave your depths,
Won by your win­ning wiles.

Too deep and strong for us! We glide
Down your de­ceiv­ing wave;
Like men by siren song be­guiled
On to a si­ren grave.

O world, with all thy smiles and loves,
With all thy song and wine,
What mock­ery of hu­man hearts,
What trea­chery is thine!

Thou wound­est, but thou can­not heal,
Thy words are war­bled lies;
Thy hand con­tains the poi­son cup,
And he who drinks it dies.

O world, there’s fe­ver in thy touch,
And fren­zy in thine eye;
To lose and shun thee is to live,
To win thee is to die!