What makes me court seclusion's shade, And shun this vain world's gay parade, Whose pleasures blossom but to fade? A broken heart.
What makes me heave the deep-drawn sigh, And raise to heaven my weeping eye, And inly groan—I scarce know why? A broken heart.
What makes me bend before God's throne, There all my guilt and misery own, And seek my help from Christ alone? A broken heart.
What makes the word of life so sweet, That I could sit at Jesu's feet, And never quit that dear retreat? A broken heart.
What makes the cross such charms to wear, That while I gaze and linger there, No room is left for dark despair? A broken heart.
What is it mellows all my joy, Weans me from every earthly toy, And leads to bliss without alloy? A broken heart.
What spreads new rapture through the skies? 'Tis when a soul for mercy cries, And angels see with wondering eyes A broken heart.
What though the wounds of sin are sore, Jesus, my Lord, has balm in store; I'll use it, till I feel no more A broken heart.
COMMUNION OF SAINTS.
I love to hear the rising songs That celebrate the Saviour's name Attuned by kindred hearts and tongues, Who think, and feel, and speak the same.