There Is A Spot To Me More Dear

There is a spot to me more dear

Than native vale or mountain;

A spot for which affection's tear

Springs grateful from its fountain.

'Tis not where kindred souls abound,

Though that is almost Heaven,

But where I first my Savior found,

And felt my sins forgiven.

Hard was my toil to reach the shore,

Long tossed upon the ocean;

Above me was the thunder's roar,

Beneath, the wave's commotion.

Darkly the pall of night was thrown

Around me faint with terror;

In that dark hour how did my groan

Ascend for years of error.

Sinking and panting as for breath

I knew not help was near me;

I cried, "Oh, save me, Lord from death,

Immortal Jesus, hear me."

Then quick as thought I felt Him mine,

My Savior stood before me;

I saw His brightness round me shine,

And shouted "Glory, Glory."

O sacred hour! O hallowed spot!

Where love divine first found me;

Wherever falls my distant lot,

My heart shall linger round thee.

And when from earth I rise, to soar

Up to my home in Heaven,

Down will I cast my eyes once more,

Where I was first forgiven.