Cold Affections

Sure I must love the Saviour's name—
Or is the heav'n-born passion dead,
Extinguish'd the celestial flame,
And all my joys forever fled?

At the sweet mention of his love,
How should the sacred ardour rise!
And ev'ry thought, transported, move
In grateful joy, and glad surprize!

Jesus demands this heart of mine,
Demands my wish, my joy, my care;
But ah! how dead to things divine,
How cold my best affections are!

What death-like lethargy detains
My captive pow'rs with fatal art,
And spreads its unrelenting chains
Heavy and cold, around my heart!

'Tis sin, alas! with dreadful pow'r
Divides my Saviour from my sight;
O for one happy, shining hour
Of sacred freedom, sweet delight!

See, dearest Lord, my wretched state,
And thy almighty pow'r employ;
To thee I seek, on thee I wait,
For life, and liberty, and joy.

O let thy love shine forth, and raise
My captive pow'rs from sin and death;
And fill my heart and life with praise,
And tune my last expiring breath.

Then bear me to the blissful seats
Of perfect freedom, life, and light,
Where thy redeem'd assembly meets,
To love and praise with full delight.

There shall my thoughts transported trace
And all my soul forever prove,
The boundless riches of thy grace,
The endless wonders of thy love.