Your joys, O vain world, are all fleeting and frail.
Like riches, they make themselves wings;
Your Gaiety’s often keen Misery’s veil,
And Melody mourns while she sings.
Our Fount of delight is unfailing, divine;
In grief we can smile through our tears;
The joy of the Lord is a heavenly wine,
Which strengthens the heart that it cheers.
Then let us sing freely our heavenly joys,
Of pleasures which bloom evermore,
The peace of His presence, where nothing annoys,
The praises of Him we adore;
Declaring to all, what a portion is ours
In Jesus, the Son of God’s love,
Extolling His Name, till with perfected powers,
We worthily praise Him above.
(Continued from page 97).