1 Lord, at thy Temple we appear,
As happy Simeon came,
And hope to meet our Saviour here;
O make our Joys the same!

2 With what divine and vast Delight
The good old Man was fill'd,
When fondly in his wither'd Arms
He clasp'd the holy Child.

3 Now I can leave this World, he cry'd,
Behold, thy Servant dies;
I've seen thy great Salvation, Lord,
And close my peaceful Eyes.

4 This is the Light prepar'd to shine
Upon the Gentile Lands,
Thine Israel's Glory, and their Hope,
To break their slavish Bands.

[5 Jesus, the Vision of thy Face,
Hath over-pow'ring Charms;
Scarce shall I feel Death's cold Embrace,
If Christ be in my Arms.

6 Then while ye hear my Heart-strings break,
How sweet my Minutes roll!
A mortal Paleness on my Cheek,
And Glory in my Soul.]