When I Thy glory shall behold, And see Thee face to face, Sheltered in Thy celestial fold, A sinner saved by grace. What will it be Thy love to adore, Assured I shall go out no more? The following lines are evidently in part suggested by her own great hymn. The text is ‘Into Thine hand I commit my spirit: Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth’ (Ps. xxxi. 5)— God of my life! Thy boundless grace Chose, pardoned, and adopted me; My rest, my home, my dwelling-place! Father! I come to Thee. Jesus, my hope, my rock, my shield! Whose precious blood was shed for me, Into Thy hands my soul I yield; Saviour! I come to Thee. Spirit of glory and of God! Long hast Thou deigned my Guide to be; Now be Thy comfort sweet bestowed! My God! I come to Thee. I come to join that countless host Who praise Thy name unceasingly. Blest Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! My God! I come to Thee. Frances Ridley Havergal (1836-79) was full of the gladness of God’s chosen, and her songs illustrate Faber’s verse— If our love were but more simple, We should take Him at His word, And our lives would be all sunshine In the sweetness of our Lord. After her conversion she knew nothing of Wesley’s experience of the ‘howling wilderness’; to her the night was never dark, as it was to Newman, and she was never far from home. Her hymns overflow with exultant faith. Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear, Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year.[183] It would, perhaps, be unsafe to predict that any of Miss Havergal’s hymns will rank among the songs that cannot die, but they will certainly be long loved and sung. Her consecration hymns, especially ‘Lord, speak to me that I may speak,’ are solemn and impressive, and are, perhaps, her best. But her triumphant songs are often very fine, though they are not always well sustained. Her Advent hymn has the triumphant rapture of the soul that goes out to meet her Lord. Thou art coming, O my Saviour, Thou art coming, O my King, In Thy beauty all-resplendent, In Thy glory all-transcendent; Well may we rejoice and sing; Coming! in the opening east Herald brightness slowly swells; Coming! O my glorious Priest, Hear we not Thy golden bells? Thou art coming; at Thy table We are witnesses for this; While remembering hearts Thou meetest In communion clearest, sweetest, Earnest of our coming bliss, Showing not Thy death alone, And Thy love exceeding great, But Thy coming and Thy throne, All for which we long and wait.