Indexes for The Sacred Harp, 1991 Edition

How tedious and tasteless the hours,
When Jesus no longer I see!
Sweet prospects, sweet birds and sweet flow’rs,
Have lost all their sweetness to me;
The midsummer sun shines but dim,
The fields strive in vain to look gay;
But when I am happy in Him,
December’s as pleasant as May.

His name yields the sweetest perfume,
And sweeter than music His voice;
His presence disperses my gloom,
And makes all within me rejoice.
I should, were He always thus nigh,
Have nothing to wish or to fear;
No mortal as happy as I,
My summer would last all the year.

Content with beholding His face,
My all to His pleasures resigned,
No changes of season or place,
Would make any change in my mind.
While bless’d with a sense of His love,
A palace a toy would appear,
And prisons would palaces prove,
If Jesus would dwell with me there.

Dear Lord, if indeed I am Thine,
If Thou art my sun and my song,
Say, why do I languish and pine,
And why are my winters so long?
Oh, drive these dark clouds from my sky,
Thy soul-cheering presence restore,
Or take me to Thee up on high,
Where winter and clouds are no more.