Words: , The Vi­sion of Pro­phe­cy: and Other Po­ems, se­cond edi­tion (Ed­in­burgh, Scot­land: Edmons­ton and Doug­las, 1858).

Music: Clap­ham, com­pos­er un­known, in The Prim­i­tive Meth­od­ist Hymnal, ed­it­ed by George Booth (Lon­don: Prim­i­tive Meth­od­ist Pub­lish­ing House, 1889).

If you know the com­pos­er, or where to get a pic­ture of him


Thou Lord, art love, and everywhere
Thy Name is brightly shown;
Beneath, on earth—Thy footstool fair;
Above, in heaven—Thy throne.

Thy Word is love; in lines of gold
There mercy prints its trace:
In nature we Thy steps behold,
The Gospel shows Thy face.

Thy ways are love; though they transcend
Our feeble range of sight,
They wind through darkness to their end
In everlasting light.

Thy thoughts are love, and Jesus is
The loving voice they find;
His love lights up the vast abyss
Of the Eternal Mind.

Thy chastisements are love; more deep
They stamp the seal divine;
And by a sweet compulsion keep
Our spirits nearer Thine.

Thy heaven is the abode of love!
O blessèd Lord, that we
May there, when time’s dim shades remove,
Be gathered home to Thee!

Then with Thy resting saints to fall
Adoring round Thy throne,
When all shall love Thee, Lord, and all
Shall in Thy love be one.