The Hallowed Spot

There is a spot to me more dear

Than na­tive vale or mount­ain;

A spot for which af­fect­ion’s tear

Springs grate­ful from its fount­ain.

’Tis not where kin­dred souls ab­ound

Though that is al­most Heav­en

But where I first my Sav­ior found

And felt my sins for­giv­en.

Hard was my toil to reach the shore

Long tossed upon the ocean;

Above me was the thun­der’s roar

Beneath

the wave’s com­mo­tion.

Darkly the pall of night was thrown

Around me faint with ter­ror;

In that dark hour how did my groan

Ascend for years of er­ror.

Sinking and pant­ing as for breath

I knew not help was near me;

I cried

Oh

save me

Lord from death

Immortal Je­sus

hear me.

Then quick as thought I felt Him mine

My Sav­ior stood be­fore me;

I saw His brigh­tness round me shine

And shouted Glo­ry

glo­ry.

O sac­red hour! O hal­lowed spot!

Where love di­vine first found me;

Wherever falls my dist­ant lot

My heart shall lin­ger round thee.

And when from earth I rise

to soar

Up to my home in Heav­en

Down will I cast my eyes once more

Where I was first for­giv­en.