Far from the World, O Lord, I Flee

Far from the world

O Lord

I flee

From strife and tu­mult far;

From scenes where Sa­tan wag­es still

His most suc­cess­ful war.

The calm re­treat

the si­lent shade

With pray­er and praise agree;

And seem by Thy sweet boun­ty made

For those who fol­low Thee.

There

if Thy Spir­it touch the soul

And grace her mean abode

O with what peace

and joy

and love

She com­munes with her God!

There

like the night­in­gale

she pours

Her so­li­tary lays;

Nor asks a wit­ness of her song

Nor thirsts for hu­man praise.

Author and guard­ian of my life

Sweet source of light di­vine

And

all har­mo­ni­ous names in one

My Sav­ior—Thou art mine!

What thanks I owe Thee

and what love

A bound­less

end­less store

Shall ec­ho through the realms ab­ove

When time shall be no more!