825
8s & 7s.
Prisoners of hope.
Zech. 9:12.
Let me go; my soul is weary
Of the chain which binds me here;
Let my spirit bend its pinion
To a brighter, holier sphere.
Earth, ’tis true hath friends that bless me
With their fond and faithful love;
But the hands of angels beckon
Onward to the climes above.
2 Let me go; for earth hath sorrow,
Sin, and pain, and bitter tears;
All its paths are dark and dreary,
All its hopes are fraught with fears;
Short-lived are its brightest flowers,
Soon its cherished joys decay:—
Let me go; I fain would leave it
For the realms of endless day.
3 Let me go; my heart hath tasted
Of my Saviour’s wondrous grace;
Let me go, where I shall ever
See and know him face to face.
Let me go; the trees of heavén
Rise before me, waving bright,
And the distant, crystal waters
Flash upon my failing sight.
4 Let me go; for songs seraphic
Now seem calling from the sky—
’Tis the welcome of the angels,
Which e’en now are hovering nigh:
Let me go: they wait to bear me
To the mansions of the blest;
Where the spirit, worn and weary,
Finds at last its long sought rest.
W. Baxter.