6 I beseech Thee, prostrate lying,
Heart as ashes, contrite, sighing,
Care for me when I am dying.
On that awful day of wailing,
When man rising, stands before Thee,
Spare the culprit, God of glory!

Translation from THOMAS DE CELANO

THE

THE day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away! What power shall be the sinner's stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day?

2 When, shriv'lling like a parched scroll,
The flaming heavens together roll,
And louder yet, and yet more dread,
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead.

3 Oh! on that day, that wrathful day,
When man to judgment wakes from clay,
Be Thou, O Christ! the sinner's stay,
Though heaven and earth shall pass away.

Translated by SCOTT from a Latin ode ascribed to THO LAS DE CELANO in the thirteenth century.

XIV. HEAVEN AND HELL.

290.

WHAT blissful harmonies above,
In vocal thunders swell?
The perfecting of joy and love,
What raptured legions tell?

2 The glorious apostolic band-
Do they in triumph sing?
Do prophets from the holy land
Their inspiration bring?

3 Or from the noble army breaks
The deep adoring strain,

Who won their way from fiery stakes,
And were for conscience slain ?

4 Is it the patriarchal race

That breathe the sacred song? Or to the heirs of Gospel grace Do the full choirs belong?

5 For each, for all, the Word is found
Almighty to atone :

All, all in shining hosts surround
The bright celestial throne.

C. M.

6 Peoples, and languages, and tongues,
The choral anthem raise:
To every voice and speech belongs
The work of heavenly praise.

CONDER.

FAR

291.

AR from the narrow scenes of night
Unbounded glories rise,

And realms of infinite delight,

Unknown to mortal eyes.

2 Fair distant land! could mortal eyes
But half its charms explore,
How would our spirits long to rise,
And dwell on earth no more.

3 There pain and sickness never come,
And grief no more complains;
Health triumphs in immortal bloom,
And endless pleasure reigns.

4 No cloud those blissful regions know,
Realms ever bright and fair:
For sin, the source of mortal woe,
Can never enter there.

5 There all the millions of His saints
Shall in one song unite,

And each the bliss of all shall view
With infinite delight.

6 Nor needed is the shining moon,
Nor e'en the sun's bright ray;
For glory, from the sacred throne,
Spreads everlasting day.

C. M.

STEELE.

H! where can the soul find relief from its

foes,

A shelter of safety, a home of repose?

Can earth's highest summit or deepest hid vale,

Give a refuge no sorrow nor sin can assail? No, no!-there's no home

There's no home on earth-the soul has no home.

2 Shall it leave the low earth and soar to the

sky,

And seek for a home in the mansions on

high?

In the bright realms of bliss will a dwelling be given,

And the soul find a home in the glory of heaven?

Yes, yes!-there's a home

There's a home in high heaven-the soul has a home.

3 Oh! holy and sweet its rest shall be there! Free forever from sin, and sorrow, and care; And the loud hallelujahs of angels shall rise, To welcome the soul to its home in the skies, Home, home!-home of the soul!

The bosom of God is the home of the soul!

293.

N Jordan's stormy banks I stand,

ON

To Canaan's fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.

KEY.

C.M.

2 Oh! the transporting, rapt'rous scene,
That rises to my sight!

Sweet fields arrayed in living green,
And rivers of delight!

3 There gen'rous fruits that never fail, On trees immortal grow;

There rocks and hills, and brooks and vale, With milk and honey flow.

4 All o'er those wide extended plains
Shines one eternal day;
There God the Son forever reigns,
And scatters night away.

5 No chilling winds nor pois'nous breath
Can reach that healthful shore;
Sickness and sorrow, pain and death,
Are felt and feared no more.

6 When shall I reach that happy place,
And be forever blest?
When shall I see my Father's face,
And in His bosom rest?

7 Filled with delight my raptured soul
Would here no longer stay!
Though Jordan's waves around me roll,
Fearless I'd launch away.

8 Adieu, adieu, all earthly things!
I come, my Lord, I come;
Angels, extend your golden wings,
And bear my spirit home.

STENNETT.