1 Glory to God that walks the sky,
And sends his blessings thro';
That tells his saints of joys on high,
And gives a taste below.

2 [Glory to God that stoops his throne
That dust and worms may see't,
And brings a glimpse of glory down
Around his sacred feet.

3 When Christ, with all his Graces crowned,
Sheds his kind beams abroad,
'Tis a young heav'n on earthly ground,
And glory in the bud.

4 A blooming Paradise of joy
In this wild desert springs,
And ev'ry sense I straight employ
On sweet celestial things.

5 White lilies all around appear,
And each his glory shews:
The Rose of Sharon blossoms here,
The fairest flow'r that blows.

6 Cheerful I feast on heav'nly fruit,
And drink the pleasures down,
Pleasures that flow hard by the foot
Of the eternal throne.]

7 But ah! how soon my joys decay!
How soon my sins arise!
And snatch the heav'nly scene away
From these lamenting eyes.

8 When shall the time, dear Jesus, when
The shining day appear,
That I shall leave those clouds of sin,
And guilt and darkness here?

9 Up to the fields above the skies,
My hasty feet would go,
There everlasting flow'rs arise,
And joys unwith'ring grow.