And time, and sense seem all no more;
And heaven comes down our souls to greet,
And glory crowns the mercy-seat!
5 Oh! may my hand forget her skill,
My tongue be silent, cold, and still,
This bounding heart forget to beat,
If I forget the mercy-seat!
Hugh Stowell, 1827.
385 Retreat. L.M.
(796) Design of Prayer.