It Was True.
I loved th’ enchanting viol’s sound,
I loved the sprightly dance,
And all the dear, delightful scenes
Of nature’s wild romance.
I know the fascinating charms,
In all their depth and hight,
Presumed on days and months and years
Of exquisite delight.
Though seventy-six, I feel I still
These halls of mirth could grace;
I left them when in youth[1] and sought
In Christ a hiding place.
But oh! the bitter cup I drank
That tamed my wild career;
Death struck my parents from my side
And drowned my joy in tears.
My dear loved home of childhood’s years,
Where all was life and glee,
Became a house of mourning, and
Ere long no home for me.
I’ve since formed nearer, dearer ties,
And they too, have been riven.
By these repeated strokes I’ve learned
There’s nothing true but Heaven.
My treasure’s there, my heart is there,
The prize I mean to win;
But know the victory must be gained
O’er every darling sin.
And may refiner’s fire go through
Till I am purified;
Till patience is perfected here,
And all my graces tried.
I’d bear the fiery trial now,
Till holy made and pure,
That I Christ’s image may reflect,
And be in him secure.
A home in Heaven will then be mine,
A house not made with hands;
Where Jesus will his saints receive,
Who walk in his commands.
Be it mine to walk the narrow way,
Which my Redeemer trod,
And in the City have a place
Close by the throne of God.
There friends will meet to part no more,
Whose sins are here forgiven.
I would not rest until I know,
I have a home in Heaven.
[1]At eighteen.