CLII. Gratitude the Spring of true Religion.

MY GOD, what silken Cords are thine!
How soft, and yet how strong!
While Pow'r and Truth and Love combine
To draw our Souls along.

Thou saw'st us crush'd beneath the Yoke
Of Satan and of Sin:
Thy Hand the Iron-Bondage broke
Our worthless Hearts to win.

The Guilt of twice ten thousand Sins
One Moment takes away;
And Grace, when first the War begins,
Secures the crowning Day.

Comfort thro' all this Vale of Tears
In rich Profusion flows,
And Glory of unnumber'd Years
Eternity bestows.

Drawn by such Cords we onward move,
Till round thy Throne we meet;
And, Captives in the Chains of Love,
Embrace our Conqu'ror's Feet.