Old-Line Primitive Baptist Hymn and Tune Book

680 (C.M.D.) Charles Wesley

How happy's ev'ry child of grace

Who feels his sins forgiv'n;

"This world," he cries, "is not my place,

I seek a place in heav'n!"

A country far from mortal sight,

Yet oh, by faith I see

The land of rest, the saints' delight,

A heav'n prepared for me.

A stranger in this world below

I calmly sojourn here,

Nor can its happiness or woe

Provoke my love or fear;

Its evils in a moment end,

Its joys as soon are passed;

But oh, the bliss to which I tend

Eternally shall last!

What is there here to court my stay

And keep me back from home,

When angels beckon me away,

And Jesus bids me come?

Shall I regret to leave my friends

Here in this world confined?

To God Himself my soul ascends;

Farewell to all behind!

Oh, what a blessed hope is ours

While here on earth we stay:

We more than taste the heav'nly pow'rs

And antedate that day.

We feel the resurrection near,

Our life in Christ concealed,

And with His glorious presence here

Our earthen vessel's filled.

Oh, would He more of heav'n bestow,

And let this vessel break,

And let my ransomed spirit go

To see the God I seek,

In rapt'rous love on Him to gaze

Who gives that sight to me,

And shout and wonder at His grace

In vast eternity.