1 Happy the hours, the golden days,
When I could call my Jesus mine,
And sit and view His smiling face;
And melt in pleasures all-divine.

2 Near to my heart, within my arms
He lay, till sin defiled my breast,
Till broken vows, and earthly charms,
Tired and provoked my heavenly guest.

3 And now He’s gone, (O mighty woe!)
Gone from my soul, and hides His love!
Curse on you, sins, that grieved Him so,
Ye sins, that forced Him to remove.

4 Break, break, my heart; complain, my tongue;
Hither, my friends, your sorrows bring:
Angels, assist my doleful song;
If you have e’er a mourning string;

5 But, ah! your joys are ever nigh,
Ever His lovely face you see;
While my poor spirit pants to die,
And groans, for Thee, my God, for Thee.

6 Yet let my hope look thro’ my tears,
And spy afar His rolling throne;
His chariot thro’ the cleaving spheres
Shall bring the bright Belovèd down.

7 Swift as a roe flies o’er the hills,
My soul springs out to meet Him high,
Then the fair Conqueror turns His wheels,
And climbs the mansions of the sky.

8 There smiling joy for ever reigns,
No more the turtle leaves the dove.
Farewell to jealousies, and pains,
And all the ills of absent love.