Come Lead Me to Some Lofty Shade

Come lead me to some lof­ty shade

Where tur­tles moan their loves;

Tall sha­dows were for lov­ers made;

And grief be­comes the groves.

’Tis no mean beau­ty of the ground

That has en­slaved mine eyes;

I faint be­neath a nob­ler wound

Nor love be­low the skies.

Jesus

the spring of all that’s bright

The ev­er­last­ing fair

Heav’n’s or­na­ment

and Heav’n’s de­light

Is my eter­nal care.

But ah! how far ab­ove this grove

Does the bright charm­er dwell!

Absence

thou keen­est wound to love

That sharp­est pain

I feel.

Pensive I climb the sac­red hills

And near Him vent my woes;

Yet His sweet face He still con­ceals

Yet still my pas­sion grows.

I mur­mur to the hol­low vale

I tell the rocks my flame

And bless the ec­ho in her cell

That best re­peats His name.

My pass­ion breathes per­pe­tu­al sighs

Till pi­ty­ing winds shall hear

And gent­ly bear them up the skies

And gent­ly wound His ear.