O had I the wings of a dove, I would fly

1 Oh! had I the wings of a dove, I would fly
Away to my home, and forever reside;
With angels and glorified spirits on high,
Who fast by the throne of my Saviour abide;
The days of my sorrowing then should be past,
My welfare and pilgrimage both should be o'er;
Safe, safe in the climes of bright glory at last,
Where sin and where suff'ring are heard of no more.

2 Oh! there I should range, with the saints in pure white,
The banks of the river that flows from the throne;
But ever return from each feebler delight,
To feast on the smile of my Saviour alone:
If here, in the gloom of this dungeon below,
The light of that smile pierce the gross walls of clay,
What triumphs of rapture incessantly flow,
From that blessed smile, in the regions of day

3 The fields of that land may for ever be green,
Its flowers ne'er wither, nor fruitage decay,
And autumn and spring hand in hand may be seen,
Like beauty and wealth, in their bridal array:
Each sight may be charming, ecstatic each sound;
Each odour be fragrant as gales of the spring;
But all beautiful mingle, and all joys are found
Alone in the smile of my Saviour and King.

4 With patriarchs, prophets, and sages of old,
Who walk'd with their God in this valley of tears--
With saints and with martyrs, in life's book enroll'd,
Methinks I might joyfully spend the long years:
With angels how happily could I unite--
They watch'd o'er my pathway, with dangers bestrown;
But still I would turn, with increasing delight,
To feast on the smile of my Saviour alone.

Source: The Minstrel of Zion: a book of religious songs, accompanied with appropriate music, chiefly original #23