No; 'tis in vain to seek for bliss

For bliss can ne'er be found

Till we arrive where JESUS is,

And tread on heavenly ground.

There's nothing round these painted skies,

Or round this dusty clod,

Nothing, my soul! that's worth thy joys,

Or lovely as thy GOD.

'Tis Heaven on Earth to taste His love,

To feel His quickening grace;

And all the Heaven I hope above

Is but to see His face.