Classic Poem

Oh ! had I but some lonely Bow'r,
To spend a vacant, solemn Hour;
That so my Heart and Muse might raise
A Song to the Redeemer's Praise!

But what are all those shady Bow'rs,
Or finest Gardens set with Flow'rs,
If that the Heart's untun'd to raise
A Song to the Redeemer's Praise.

This lonely Room will do as well;
I can of Groves and Gardens tell,
If that my Heart is tun'd to raise
A Song to the Redeemer's Praise.

Thy Spirit, Lord, upon me send,
Oh! thine Assistance to me lend;
That so my Heart and Muse may raise
A Song to my Redeemer's Praise.

My Thoughts turn on Trees ever green,
In finest Gardens often seen;
The Gospel 's green throughout the Year,
And grows by the Redeemer dear.

What Flower is finer than the Rose?
How fragrant is it to the Nose!
My Saviour is a Rose indeed,
And does the Damask Rose exceed.

How curious is the Passion Flower?
It's Branches flourish every hour;
What does this Flower signify?
The Name is Passion, Christ did die.

Yea, die to make his People grow,
And flourish in his Church below:
All Praise, and Honour to him give,
A Life of Faith upon him live.

He's call'd, I think, an Apple-tree;
How sweet that Food and Shade to me;
He calls himself likewise a Vine,
Oh! what delicious Fruit, how fine!

He does among the Lilies feed,
In spiced Gardens too, I read;
The Spikenard sendeth forth a smell,
Thus does his Church the World excell.

He's call'd a Fountain too, I think,
Where all his People wash and drink;
A stream that's ever running free,
This does refresh and nourish me.

Did Christ become a Child for me?
Yea, nurs'd and dandl'd on the Knee;
That I might walk in him by Faith,
Observing what his Gospel faith.

And did he work and toil for Bread?
A Carpenter, I think, 'tis said;
Be this a Lesson, then, to me,
That I industrious should be.

Ah! in the Garden did he sweat
Great drops of Blood? Shall I forget
What Agonies he bore for me?
All this to set the guilty free.

He on the Cross resign'd his Breath,
His Father hid his Face at Death;
And this did grieve the Saviour more
Than all the pains he ever bore.

And in the Grave he then was laid,
Three Days, but there no longer staid;
He lives to set the guilty free,
And dearly bought our Liberty.

To Heav'n then he did ascend,
And there he is the Sinner's Friend;
Kind Intercessor for to be,
Between an angry God and me.

In him I want more to rejoice,
Oh! thou blest Spirit, tune my Voice,
That thus I may with transport raise,
A Song of Wonder, Love, and Praise.

And shall I ever with him live?
More thanks are due than I can give:
I to eternity shall raise
A Song of Wonder, Love, and Praise.