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Hymn 32

John Newton




Bleak winter is subdued at length,

And forced to yield the day;

The sun has waited all his strength,

And driven him away.

And now long wished for spring is come,

How altered is the scene!

The trees and shrubs are dressed in bloom,

The earth arrayed in green.

Where’er we tread, beneath our feet

The clust’ring flowers spring;

The artless birds, in concert sweet,

Invite our hearts to sing.

But ah! in vain I strive to join,

Oppressed with sin and doubt;

I feet ’tis winter still, within,

Though all is spring without.

O! would my Savior from on high,

Break through these clouds and shine!

No creature then, more blest than I,

No song more loud than mine.

Till then—no softly warbling thrush,

Nor cowslip’s sweet perfume;

Nor beauties of each painted bush,

Can dissipate my gloom.

To Adam, soon as he transgressed,

Thus Eden bloomed in vain;

Not paradise could give him rest,

Or soothe his heart–felt pain.

Yet here an emblem I perceive

Of what the LORD can do;

Dear Savior, help me to believe

That I may flourish too.

Thy word can soon my hopes revive,

Can overcome my foes;

And make my languid graces thrive,

And blossom like the rose.

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