By William Cowper

Far from the World, O Lord I flee,
From strife, and tumult far,
From scenes, where Satan wages still
His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer, and praise agree;
And seem, by thy sweet bounty made,
For those, who follow Thee.

There, if thy Spirit touch the Soul,
And grace her mean abode;
O with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!

There, like the Nightingale she pours
Her solitary lays;
Nor asks a witness of her song,
Nor thirsts, for human praise.

Author, and Guardian of my life,
Sweet fount of light Divine!
And all endearing names, in One,
My Saviour I am thine!

What thanks I owe thee, and what love,
A boundless, endless store;
Shall echo thro’ the realms above,
When time shall be no more.

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