312 THE HARP OF PITCAIRN. 
Though often impatient and prone to complain, 
Much love in this chastening I plainly perceive, 
Our Father afflicts not his children in vain ; 
I believe, I believe. 
This body so wasted by lingering disease, 
That scarce to the worms it can furnish a m&&\, 
Insatiate death as a trophy may seize, 
And in me the sad fruits of transgression reveal : 
But must I for ever continue his prey ? 
No, Jesus my dust from his grasp shall retrieve ; 
The call to arise I shall gladly obey ; 
I believe, I believe. 
I know, on this earth my Redeemer shall stand, 
And these eyes, though now dim, shall his glories 
behold ; 
My powers so reduced, shall with knowledge expand, 
And this heart throb with rapture, which now beats 
so cold : 
His voice I shall hear, and in accents divine, 
Shall I, then made worthy, a welcome receive ; 
In his presence to dwell 'twill for ever be mine ; 
I believe, I believe. 
This then is my hope ; and I am not deceived, 
On the word of my God I can fully depend ; 
I know by the Spirit, on whom I've believed ; 
That He will support and console to the end ; 
Immanuel's death hath Jehovah appeased ; 
That death on the cross did my ransom achieve ; 
That death is my passport when I am released : 
I believe, I believe ; yes, I firmly believe. 
