There Is a Spot of Consecrated Ground

There is a spot of con­se­crat­ed ground

Where bright­est hope and ho­li­est joys are found:

’Tis named (and Christ­ians love the well known sound)

The throne of grace.

’Tis here a calm re­treat is al­ways found:

Perpetual sun­shine gilds the sac­red ground;

Pure airs and heav­en­ly od­ors breathe around

The throne of grace.

While on this van­tage ground the Christ­ian stands

His quick­ened eye a bound­less view com­mands;

Discovers fair ab­odes not made with hands—

Abodes of peace.

Terrestrial obj­ects

di­sen­chant­ed there

Lose all their pow­er to daz­zle or en­snare;

One on­ly object then seems worth our care—

To win the race.

This is the mount where Christ’s dis­ci­ples see

The glo­ry of the in­car­na­te De­ity;

’Tis here they find it good in­deed to be

And view His face.

A new cre­ation here be­gins to rise;

Fruits of the Spir­it

flow­ers of para­dise

Watered from Heav­en

in full and sure sup­plies

By streams of grace.

Towards this blest spot the Spir­it bends His ear

The fer­vent pray­er

the con­trite sigh to hear;

To bid the mourn­er ban­ish ev­ery fear

And go in peace.

Here may the com­fort­less and wea­ry find

One who can cure the sick­ness of the mind;

One who delights the brok­en heart to bind—

The Prince of Peace.

Savior! the sin­ner’s friend

our hope

our all!

Here teach us hum­bly at Thy feet to fall;

Here on Thy name

with love and faith to call

For par­don­ing grace.

Ne’er let the glo­ry from this spot re­move

Till

num­bered with Thy ran­somed flock above

We cease to wait

but nev­er cease to love

The throne of grace.