Tho' Deists and Socinians join,
Jesus still lives, and still is mine.
"Tis here the happy diff'rence lies,
My Saviour reigns above the skies,
Yet to my soul is always near,
For he is God, and ev'ry where.
His blood a sov'reign balm is found
For ev'ry grief and ev'ry wound;
And sooner all the hills shall flee
And hide themselves beneath the sea;
Or ocean, starting from its bed,
Rush o'er the cloud-topp'd mountain's head;
The sun, exhausted of its light,
Become the source of endless night;
And ruin spread from pole to pole,
Than Jesus fail the tempted soul.
Printed by R. Gilbert, St. John's-square, London..