WE glory not as once, in things which gave
Honor and power in this vain-glorious earth;
Where all that seems so glittering and so brave,
The sage's wisdom, and the trifler's mirth,
Alike is hastening to th' insatiate grave;
Now we have tasted joys of heavenly birth,
And found a feast that fills and satisfies;
So large our portion, that we fear no dearth;
Rivers of life, whose source is in the skies,
Fresh from the spring-head of eternal love
Foretastes below of endless joys above.
Poor, empty world, thy baubles we despise!
Now there 's no room in our delighted breast,
Now there 's no craving in our heaven-taught eyes,
For aught, that thy poor votaries deem best:
Our Father's hand our daily wants supplies,
The living Bread and living Wine of heaven:
Shall we return then to the husks, and sties
Of the far country, where, by madness driven,
We dragged a dying life of miseries?
No, at our Father's banquet we recline,
Feed on the fatted calf, and drink of heavenly wine.
We glory now in Him, and in His cross,
Who once appeared so worthless in our sight;
All that seemed gain we now account but loss,
And what seemed day, but error's darksome night:
Our hearts, now drawn by love's attractive force,
In Jesus find their center and their rest;
The sweetest music is Emmanuel's name:
In His rich favor we're so fully blest,
Our lives we 'd spend in telling forth His fame,
Glorying for Him to bear the world's reproach and shame.