Up, yes, upward to thy gladness
Rise, my heart, and soul, and mind!
Cast, oh cast away thy sadness,
Rise where thou thy Lord canst find.
He is thy home,
And thy life alone is He;
Hath the world no place for thee,
With Him is room.
On, still onward, mounting nigher
On the wings of faith to Him;
On, still onward, ever higher,
Till the mournful earth grows dim!
God is thy Rock;
Christ thy Champion cannot fail,
Though thy foes thy life assail,
Fear not their shock.
Hide thee, in His chamber bide thee,
Christ hath open'd now the door;
Tell Him all that doth betide thee,
All thy sorrows there outpour;
He hears thy cry;
Men may hate thee and deceive,
Christ His own will never leave,
He still is nigh.
High, oh high, o'er all things earthy,
Raise thy thoughts, my soul, to heaven;
One alone of thee is worthy,
All thou hast to Him be given,
Thy Lord He is
Who so truly pleads for thee,
Who in love hath died for thee;
Then thou art His.
Up then, upwards! seek thou only
For the things that are above;
Sin thou hatest, earth is lonely,
Rise to Him whom thou dost love,--
There art thou blest;
All things here must change and die,
Only with our Lord on high
Is perfect rest.
Source: Chorale Book for England, The #157