71

p. 71 Leander

Tune: Tennessee Harmony, 1818

Text: Isaac Watts, 1707

My soul forsakes her vain delight
And bids the world farewell;
Base as the dirt beneath the feet
And mischievous as hell.
No longer will I ask your love,
Nor seek your friendship more;
The happiness that I approve
Is not within your pow’r.

There’s nothing ’round this spacious earth
That suits my soul’s desire;
To boundless joy and solid mirth
My nobler thoughts aspire.
Oh, for the pinions of a dove
To mount the heav’nly road;
There shall I share my Savior’s love,
There shall I dwell with God.

282 I'm going home

p.282

Tune: I'm going home, Leonard P. Breedlove, 1850

Text: unknown

Farewell, vain world! I’m going home!
My Savior smiles and bids me come,
And I don’t care to stay here long!

Sweet angels beckon me away,
To sing God’s praise in endless day,
And I don’t care to stay here long!

Right up yonder, Christians, away up yonder;
Oh, yes, my Lord, for I don’t care to stay here long.

I’m glad that I am born to die,
From grief and woe my soul shall fly,
And I don’t care to stay here long!

Bright angels shall convey me home,
Away to New Jerusalem,
And I don’t care to stay here long!

Right up yonder, Christians, away up yonder;
Oh, yes, my Lord, for I don’t care to stay here long.

523 Sinner, art thou still secure

p. 523 

Tune: Pleyel’s Hymn (Second), Ignaz Joseph Pleyel (1757-1831)

Text: John Newton, 1779

Sinner, art thou still secure?
Wilt thou still refuse to pray?
Can thy heart or hands endure
In the Lord’s avenging day?

Lord, prepare us by Thy grace,
Soon we must resign our breath,
And our souls be called to pass,
Through the iron gate of death.

Let us now our day improve,
Listen to the gospel voice;
Seek the things that are above;
Scorn the world’s pretended joys.

112 Copernicus

p.112

Tune: The Last Words of Copernicus, Sarah Lancaster, 1869

Text: Philip Doddridge, 1755


Ye golden lamps of heav’n farewell,
With all your feeble light;
Farewell thou ever changing moon,
Pale empress of the night.
And thou refulgent orb of day,
In brighter flames arrayed;
My soul which springs beyond thy sphere,
No more demands thy aid.