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How false this earth in all its forms,
How big with flatt'ring lies!
We seek to catch her airy charms,
And straight the phantom dies.
There's nothing round these painted skies.
Or on this earthly clod;
Nothing, my soul, that's worth thy joys,
Or lovely as thy God.
'Tis heav'n to taste his love.
To feel his quick'ning grace:
And all the heav'n I hope above.
Is but to see his face.
No — 'tis in vain to seek for bliss.
For this bliss can ne'er be found,
Till we arrive where Jesus is,
And tread on heav'nly ground.
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marker 99
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LYRICS
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Trans/Adapted:
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Dates:
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Bible Refs:
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MUSIC
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Name:
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ARLINGTON
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Meter:
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8 6 8 6 (C.M.)
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Writer(s):
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Dates:
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1762,1784
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LIST OF MUSIC SOURCES
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Hymn/Song Book
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Song #
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Key
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| # 482 | F | | # 372 | F | | # 39 | G | | # 255 | G | | # 405 | G | | # 142 | G | | # 261 | G | | # 440 | G | | # 656 | G | | # 155 | F | | # 207 | F |
echo ' | ';
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Hymn Writer
