156.

THE Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain ;

His blood-red banner streams afar :
Who follows in His train ?

Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain,

Who patient bears his cross below,
He follows in His train.

A glorious band, the chosen few
On whom the Spirit came,

Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew,
And mocked the cross and flame:

They met the tyrant's brandished steel,

The lion's gory mane;

They bowed their necks the death to feel:
Who follows in their train?

A noble army, men and boys,
The matron and the maid,
Around the Saviour's throne rejoice,

In robes of light arrayed.

They climbed the steep ascent of heaven,
Through peril, toil, and pain:

O God, to us may grace be given

To follow in their train.

BISHOP HEBER, d. 1826.

157.

LO! round the throne, at God's right hand,
The saints in countless myriads stand:
Of every tongue redeemed to God,
Arrayed in garments washed in blood.

Through tribulation great they came;
They bore the cross, despised the shame;
From all their labours now they rest,
In God's eternal glory blest.

Hunger and thirst they feel no more;
Nor sin, nor pain, nor death deplore;
The tears are wiped from every eye,
And sorrow yields to endless joy.

They see the Saviour face to face,
And sing the triumphs of His grace;
Him day and night they ceaseless praise,
To Him their loud Hosannas raise :

Worthy the Lamb for sinners slain
Through endless years to live and reign;
Thou hast redeemed us by Thy blood,
And made us kings and priests to God.

Probably by ROWLAND HILL, 1783, varied by THOMAS COTTERILL, 1810.

158.

O WHAT, if we are Christ's,
Is earthly shame or loss?

Bright shall the crown of glory be
When we have borne the cross.

Keen was the trial once,

Bitter the cup of woe,

When martyred saints, baptized in blood,
Christ's sufferings shared below.

Bright is their glory now,
Boundless their joy above,

Where on the bosom of their God
They rest in perfect love.

Lord, may that grace be ours,

Like them in faith to bear
All that of sorrow, grief, or pain
May be our portion here.

Enough if Thou at last

The word of blessing give,
And let us rest beneath Thy feet,
Where saints and angels live.

All glory, Lord, to Thee,

Whom heaven and earth adore; To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

One God for evermore.

SIR HENRY W. BAKER, 1852.

159.

POUR out Thy Spirit from on high:

Lord, Thine ordainèd servants bless; Graces and gifts to each supply,

And clothe Thy priests with righteousness.

Within Thy temple when they stand

To teach the truth as taught by Thee, Saviour, like stars in Thy right hand The pastors of the churches be.

Wisdom and zeal and faith impart,

Firmness with meekness from above,

To bear Thy people in their heart,

And love the souls whom Thou dost love:

To watch and pray and never faint,

By day and night strict guard to keep, To warn the sinner, cheer the saint, Nourish Thy lambs and feed Thy sheep:

Then, when their work is finished here,
In humble hope their charge resign:
When the chief Shepherd shall appear,
O God, may they and we be Thine.

JAMES MONTGOMERY, 1833.

160.

HERE, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face; Here faith can touch and handle things unseen; Here would I grasp with firmer hand Thy grace, And all my weariness upon Thee lean.

Here would I feed upon the bread of God;
Here drink with Thee the royal wine of heaven;
Here would I lay aside each earthly load,

Here taste afresh the calm of sin forgiven.

I have no help but Thine; nor do I need
Another arm save Thine to lean upon;
It is enough, my Lord, enough indeed;
My strength is in Thy might, Thy might alone.

Mine is the sin, but Thine the righteousness;

Mine is the guilt, but Thine the cleansing blood : Here is my robe, my refuge, and my peace

Thy blood, Thy righteousness, O Lord, my God.

Too soon we rise; the symbols disappear;

The feast, though not the love, is past and gone: The bread and wine remove, but Thou art here, Nearer than ever, still my Shield and Sun.

Feast after feast thus comes and passes by;
Yet, passing, points to the glad feast above,
Giving sweet foretastes of the festal joy,

The Lamb's great bridal feast of bliss and love.

HORATIUS BONAR, 1857.