Indexes for The Sacred Harp, 1991 Edition

My soul forsakes her vain delight
And bids the world farewell;
Base as the dirt beneath the feet
And mischievous as hell.
No longer will I ask your love,
Nor seek your friendship more;
The happiness that I approve
Is not within your pow’r.

There’s nothing ’round this spacious earth
That suits my soul’s desire;
To boundless joy and solid mirth
My nobler thoughts aspire.
Oh, for the pinions of a dove
To mount the heav’nly road;
There shall I share my Savior’s love,
There shall I dwell with God.