O how the thought that I shall know
     The Man that suffer'd here below,
     To manifest God's favour
     For me, and for the saints I love,
     Both here, and with Himself above,
     Doth my renewed nature move
  At that sweet word, "For ever !"

For ever to behold Him shine !
     For evermore to call Him mine !
     And see Him still before me;
     For ever on His face to gaze,
     And meet the full assembled rays,
     While all His beauty He displays
  To all the saints in glory !

Not all things else are half so dear
     As is His blissful presence here,
      What will it be in heaven !
     'Tis heaven on earth that we can say,
     As now we journey, day by day,
     "Himself has borne our guilt away,
  Our sins are all forgiven."

But how will His celestial voice
     Make each enraptured heart rejoice,
     Of saints in glory near Him !
     When we no longer absent wait,
     But like Him in His glorious state,
     Where nought our bless can e'er abate,
  With joy in heaven shall hear Him !

8,8,7,8,8,8,7.   Swain, 1792