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High on His everlasting throne,
The King of Saints His work surveys ;
Marks the dear souls He calls His own,
And smiles on that peculiar race.
He rests well pleased their toil to see ;
Beneath His easy yoke they move,
With all their heart and strength agree
In the sweet labour of His love.

His eye at once the world looks through,
A vast uncultivated field ;
Mountains and vales in ghastly show,
A barren, uncouth prospect yield :
Cleard of the thorns by civil care,
A few less hideous wastes are seen ;
Yet still they all continue bare
And not one spot of earth is green.

See where the servants of their God,
A busy multitude, appear !
For Jesus day and night employ'd
His husbandry they toil to clear.
The love of Christ their hearts constrains,
And strengthens their unwearied hands ;
They spend their blood, and sweat, and pains,
To cultivate Emmanuel's lands.

Alarm'd at their successful toil,
Satan and his wild spirits rage,
They labour to tear up and spoil
And blast the rising heritage.
In every wilderness they sow
The seed of death, the carnal mind ;
They would not let one virtue grow,
Nor leave one seed of good behind.

Yet still the servants of their Lord
Look up and calmly persevere,
Supported by the Master's word,
The adverse powers they scorn to fear ;
Gladly their happy work pursue :
The labour of their hands is seen,
Their hands the face of earth renew ;
Some spots at least are lively green.

To dig the ground they thus bestow
Their lives ; from every soften'd clod

They gather out the stones, and sow
The immortal seed, the word of God.
They water it with tears and prayers,
Then long for the returning word;
Happy, if all their pains and cares
Can bring forth fruit to please their Lord.

Jesus their work delighted see,
Their industry vouchsafes to crown ;
He kindly gives the wished increase,
And sends the promised blessing down.
The sap of life, the Spirit's powers,
He rains incessant from above;
He all His gracious fulness showers,
To perfect their great work of love.

O multiply thy sowers' seed,
And fruit we every hour shall bear ;
Throughout the world Thy gospel spread,
Thy everlasting grace declare :
We all in perfect love renew'd,
Shall know the greatness of Thy power,
Stand in the temple of our God
As pillars, and go out no more.

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The last loud trumpet's wondrous sound Shall through the rending tombs rebound, And wake the nations under ground.

Nature and Death shall, with surprise,
Behold the pale offenders rise,
And view the Judge with conscious eyes.

Then shall, with universal dread,
The sacred mystic book be read,
To try the living and the dead.

The Judge ascends His awful throne;
He makes each secret sin be known ;
And all with shame confess their own.

O then! what interest shall I make,
With whom shall I my refuge take,
When the most just have cause to quake ?
Thou mighty, formidable King,
Thou mercy's unexhausted spring,
Some comfortable pity bring !

Forget not what my ransom cost,
Nor let my dear-bought soul be lost,
In storms of guilty terror tost.

Thou, who for me didst feel such pain, Whose precious blood the cross did stain, Let not those agonies be vain !

Thou whom avenging powers obey,
Cancel my debt, too great to pay,
Before the sad accounting-day.

Surrounded with amazing fears,
Whose weight my soul with anguish bears,
I sigh, I weep,_accept my tears :

Thou who wert moved with Mary's grief,
And, by absolving of the thief,
Hast given me hope, now give relief.

Reject not my unworthy prayer ;
Preserve me from that dangerous snare
Which Death and gaping Hell prepare.

Give my exalted soul a place
Among Thy chosen right-hand race,
The sons of God, and heirs of grace.

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