Isaac Watts (1674 – 1748)
English theologian, logician, and a prolific and popular hymnwriter.
My faith would lay her hand
On that dear head of Thine,
While like a penitent I stand,
And there confess my sin.
How divinely full of glory and pleasure shall that hour be when all the millions of mankind that have been redeemed by the blood of the Lamb of God shall meet together and stand around Him, with every tongue and every heart full of joy and praise! How astonishing will be the glory and the joy of that day when all the saints shall join together in one common song of gratitude and love, and of everlasting thankfulness to this Redeemer! With what unknown delight, and inexpressible satisfaction, shall all that are saved from the ruins of sin and hell address the Lamb that was slain, and rejoice in His presence!
Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.
From all who dwell below the skies
Let the Creator's praise arise;
Let the Redeemer's name be sung
Through every land, by every tongue.
In works of labour or of skill
I would be busy too:
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.
Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound.
I believe the promises of God enough to venture an eternity on them.
Were I so tall to reach the pole,
Or grasp the ocean with my span,
I must be measured by my soul;
The mind's the standard of the man.
There's not a place where we can flee,
But God is present there.
Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home.
To God the Father, God the Son,
And God the Spirit, Three in One,
Be honour, praise, and glory given
By all on earth, and all in heaven.
Lord, in the morning thou shalt hear
My voice ascending high.
And while the lamp holds out to burn,
The vilest sinner may return.
Fly, like a youthful hart or roe,
Over the hills where spices grow.
A flower may fade before 'tis noon,
And I this day may lose my breath.
There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
Let me be dressed fine as I will,
Flies, worms, and flowers, exceed me still.
Whene'er I take my walks abroad,
How many poor I see!
What shall I render to my God
For all his gifts to me?
A thousand ages in Thy sight
Are like an evening gone;
Short as the watch that ends the night
Before the rising sun.
No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make His blessings flow
Far as the curse is found.