Tune: David's Harp, 1818
Alto: Wilson Marion Cooper, 1902
Lyrics: Charles Wesley
Meter: Particular Meter: 8,8,8,8,7,7
The scattered clouds are fled at last,
The rain is gone, the winter’s past;
The lovely vernal flow’rs appear,
The warbling choirs enchant our ear.
Now, with sweetly pensive moan,
Coos the turtle-dove alone.
The voice of my beloved sounds,
While o’er the mountain top he bounds;
He flies, exulting, o’er the hills,
And all my soul with transports fills.
Gently doth he chide my stay,
Rise, my soul, and come away.