Where Shall The Tribes Of Adam Find


Where shall the tribes of Adam find
The sovereign good to fill the mind?
Ye sons of moral wisdom, show
The spring whence living waters flow.

Say, will the stoic’s flinty heart
Melt, and this cordial juice impart?
Could Plato find these blissful streams,
Amongst his raptures and his dreams?

In vain I ask–for nature’s power
Extends but to this mortal hour:
‘Twas but a poor relief she gave
Against the terrors of the grave.

Jesus, our kinsman, and our God,
Array’d in majesty and blood,
Thou art our life! our souls in thee
Possess a full felicity!

All our immortal hopes are laid,
In thee our surety and our head;
Thy cross, thy cradle, and thy throne,
Are big with glories yet unknown.

Here let my soul forever lie,
Beneath the blessings of thine eye;
‘Tis heaven on earth, ’tis heaven above,
To see thy face, to taste thy love.