317. Your harps, ye trembling saints

1 Your harps, ye trembling saints,
Down from the willows take;
Loud, to the praise of love divine,
Bid every string awake.

2 Though in a foreign land,
We are not far from home;
And nearer to our house above
We every moment come.

3 His grace will to the end
Stronger and brighter shine;
Nor present things, nor things to come,
Shall quench the spark divine.

Text Information
First Line: Your harps, ye trembling saints
Author: Toplady
Meter: S. M.
Publication Date: 1873
Scripture: ; ; ; ;
Topic: General Praise; Encouragement
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