Now let the Lord my Savior smile,
And show my name upon his heart,
I would forget my pains awhile,
And in the pleasure lose the smart.
But O, it swells my sorrows high
To see my blessed Jesus frown;
My spirits sink, my comforts die,
And all the springs of life are down.
Yet why, my soul, why these complaints?
Still while he frowns his bowels move;
Still on his heart he bears his saints,
And feels their sorrows and his love.
My name is printed on his breast;
His book of life contains my name;
I'd rather have it there impressed
Than in the bright records of fame.
When the last fire burns all things here,
Those letters shall securely stand,
And in the Lamb's fair book appear,
Writ by th' eternal Father's hand.
Now shall my minutes smoothly run,
Whilst here I wait my Father's will;
My rising and my setting sun
Roll gently up and down the hill.
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