When Jesus no longer I see! Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and sweet flow'rs,

Have all lost their sweetness to me; The midsummer sun shines but dim, The fields strive in vain to look gay; But when I am happy in Him,

December's as pleasant as May.

His name yields the richest perfume,
And sweeter than music his voice;
His presence disperses my gloom,

And makes all within me rejoice;
I should, were He always thus nigh,
Have nothing to wish or to fear;
No mortal so happy as I,

My summer would last all the year.

Content with beholding His face,

My all to his pleasure resigned, No changes of season or place Would make any change in my mind; While blest with a sense of His love, A palace a toy would appear; And prisons would palaces prove,

If Jesus would dwell with me there.

Dear Lord, if indeed I am thine,
If thou art my sun and my song,
Say, why do I languish and pine?

And why are my winters so long?
Oh drive those dark clouds from my sky,
Thy soul-cheering presence restore;
Or take me to dwell with thee nigh,
Where winter and clouds are no more.

The weight of affliction and pain. Tho' cheerless my days seem to flow, Tho' weary and wakeful my nights, What comfort it gives me to know

'Tis th' hand of a Father that smites. A tender physician thou art,

Who woundest in order to heal,
And comfort divine dost impart
Oh, let this correction be blest,
To soften the anguish we feel.

And answer thy gracious design; Then grant that my soul may find rest In comforts so healing as thine. Clement's Hymn. p. 356. Bath Collection.

1038 Let him that is athirst come.

Rev. xxii. 17.

The thirsty are called to their Lord,
His glorious appearing to see;
And drawn by the power of his word,
The promise, I know, is for me.
I thirst for the streams of thy grace,
I gasp for the spirit of Love;
I long for a glimpse of thy face,
And then to behold it above.
Thy call I exult to obey,

And come in the spirit of prayer,
Thy joy in that happiest day,

Thy kingdom of glory to share;
To drink the pure river of bliss,
With life everlasting o'erflowed;
Implunged in the crystal abyss,
And lost in the ocean of God.
Charles Wesley, 1762.
1039
Let him that heareth say, Come.
Rev. xxii. 17.

The Church in her militant state
Is weary, and cannot forbear;
The saints in an agony wait

To see Him again in the air.
The Spirit invites, in the bride,
Her heavenly Lord to descend,
And place her, enthroned at his side,
In glory that never shall end.
The news of his coming I hear,
And join in the catholic cry:
O Jesus, in triumph appear!
Appear in the clouds of the sky!
Whom only I languish to love,

In fullness of majesty come, And give me a mansion above, And take to my heavenly home.

Rev. xxi. 2.

8s.

Charles Wesley, 1762.

1040 The holy city, new Jerusalem. Away with our sorrow and fear, We soon shall recover our home; The city of saints shall appear,

The city so holy and clean,

1038-1042

No sorrow can breathe in the air; No gloom of affliction or sin,

No shadow of evil is there! By faith we already behold

That lovely Jerusalem here; Her walls are of jasper and gold,

As crystal her buildings are clear: Immovably founded in grace,

She stands, as she ever hath stood, And brightly her Builder displays,

And flames with the glory of God. No need of the sun in that day, Which never is followed by night, Where Jesus' beauties display

A pure and a permanent light. The saints in his presence receive Their great and eternal reward; In Jesus, in heaven they live;

They reign in the smile of their Lord.

Wesley, ab.

88.

The day of eternity come: From earth we shall quickly remove, And mount to our native abode; The house of our Father above, The palace of angels and God. Our mourning is all at an end, When, raised by the life-giving word, We see the new city descend,

Adorned as a bride for her Lord:

1042

Charles Wes ey, ab. 1762.
I change not.
Mal. iii. 6.

This God is the God we adore,

Our faithful, unchangeable friend, Whose love is as great as his power,

88.

And neither knows measure nor end. 'Tis Jesus, the first and the last,

Whose Spirit shall guide us safe home. We'll praise him for all that is past,

And trust him for all that's to come.
Joseph Hart, ab. 1712-1768.

Union Hymn. p. 357.

1043-1044

Homebound.

50"

H., 1879.

Looking for and hasting unto. 2 Pet. iii. 12.

88.

1043
2 Dissolve from these bands that detain
My soul from her portion in thee,
Ah! strike off this adamant chain,
And make me eternally free.
When that happy era begins,
When arrayed in thy glories I shine,
Nor grieve any more, by my sins,

The bosom on which I recline; 3 Oh, then shall the vail be removed,

And round me thy brightness be pour'd; I shall meet Him, whom absent I loved,

I shall see, whom unseen I adored. And then, never more shall the fears, The trials, temptations, and woes Which darken this valley of tears Intrude on my blissful repose. William Cowper, ab. 1800. *In singing "Homebound," repeat words italicized.

Our hearts are united in love,Where Jesus is gone we shall be, In yonder blest mansions above. Then why so unwilling to part, Since there we shall all meet again? Engraved on Immanuel's heart,

At distance we cannot remain. With Jesus we ever shall reign, And all his bright glory shall see; And sing Hallelujah, Amen! Amen, even so let it be!

1046

Thomas Baldwin, ab. 1753-1825. Leaning on Jesus' bosom. John xiii. 23.

88.

How sweet on Thy bosom to rest,
When nature's affliction is near!
The soul that can trust Thee is blest;
Thy smiles bring me freedom from fear.
The Lord has in kindness declared

That those who will trust in his name, Shall in the sharp conflict be spared, His mercy and love to proclaim. Contrast. p. 352. Clement's Hymn. p. 356.

A messenger sent from the skies, An anchor when billows shall roll, A refuge when tempests arise. O Saviour, the promise fulfill;

Its comfort impart to my mind; Then calmly I'll bow to thy will, To th' cup of affliction resigned.

Ambrose Serle, 1742-1812.

The church of the firstborn. Heb. xii. 23.

1047
We speak of the realms of the blest,
That country so bright and so fair,
And oft are its glories confessed;

But what must it be to be there!

We speak of its pathways of gold,

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Its walls decked with jewels so rare, Its wonders and pleasures untold;

But what must it be to be there!

We speak of its freedom from sin, From sorrow, temptation, and care, From trials without and within;

But what must it be to be there! We speak of its service of love,

The robes which the glorified wear, The Church of the firstborn above; But what must it be to be there! Do thou, Lord, 'mid sorrow and woe, For glory our spirits prepare, And shortly we also shall know, And feel what it is to be there. Elizabeth Mills, 1805-1829..