) man ess of plazes eezes es on hem. t the ered low, the ing ur's -art be h Ye that are now in heavenly glory one, By arduous labours, and the better choice. Now love and unveiled truth doth feed for aye, From inmost shrines from whence the Godhead The King, himself, with his own countenance, Shines o'er you, and, unsparing of his beams, Fills the soul's dwelling with his radiance. From out the golden altar, 'neath the throne, Mid lightnings numberless, thro' the dim vast Nations and languages of countless tongue, With inhilant palm, and robes washed white in If e'er my heart forget Her welfare or her woe, For her my tears shall fall; High on his everlasting throne, The King of saints his work surveys; His eye the world at once looks through- Mountains and vales in ghastly show, Aommon uncouth prospect vield Alarmed at their successful toil, Satan and his wild spirits rage, They labour to tear up and spoil, In every wilderness they sow The seed of death, the carnal mind; Yet still the servants of the Lord, The adverse powers they scorn to fear. |