EN 1827 Your Harps, Ye Trembling Saints
Ps.137.2
Versi Version 1
1
Your harps, ye trembling saints,
Down from the willows take;
Loud to the praise of love divine
Bid every string awake.
2
Though in a foreign land
We are not far from home,
And nearer to our house above
We every moment come.
3
His grace will to the end
Stronger and brighter shine;
Nor present things nor things to come
Shall quench the spark divine.
4
When we in darkness walk,
Nor feel the heavenly flame,
Then is the time to trust our God,
And rest upon His Name.
5
Soon shall our doubts and fears
Subside at His control;
His lovingkindness shall break through
The midnight of the soul.
6
Blest is the man, O Lord!
That stays himself on Thee;
Who wait for Thy salvation, Lord!
Shall thy salvation see.

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