3 Fulfilling there his high commands,
Our cheerful feet shall move;
No sins shall clog our active zeal,
Or cool our burning love.
4 We there shall ever sing and tell
The wonders of his grace,
While heavenly raptures fire our hearts,
And smile in every face.
1 MY Father's house on high!
Home of my soul! how near,
At times, to faith's foreseeing eye
Thy golden gates appear!
2 I hear at morn and even,
At noon and midnight hour,
The choral harmonies of heaven
Seraphic music pour.
3 0, then my spirit faints
To reach the land I love, -
The bright inheritance of saints,
My glorious home above.
1 OUR country is Immanuel's ground;
We seek that promised soil:
The songs of Zion cheer our hearts,
While strangers here we toil.
2 Oft do our eyes with joy o'erflow,
And oft are bathed in tears;
Yet naught but heaven our hopes can raise,
And naught but sin our fears.
3 We tread the path our Master trod :
We bear the cross he bore;
And every thorn that wounds our feet,
His temples pierced before.
4 Our powers are oft dissolved away
In ecstasies of love;
And while our bodies wander here,
Our souls are fixed above.
5 We purge our mortal dross away,
Refining as we run;
But while we die to earth and sense,
Our heaven is here begun.
L. M. 6 L. CHRISTIAN PSALMIST. Foretaste of Heaven.
1 WHAT must it be to dwell above,
At God's right hand, where Jesus reigns,
Since the sweet earnest of his love
O'erwhelms us on these earthly plains!
No heart can think, no tongue explain,
What bliss it is with Christ to reign.
2 When sin no more obstructs our sight,
When sorrow pains our hearts no more,
How shall we view the Prince of Light
And all his works of grace explore!
What heights and depths of love divine
Will there through endless ages shine!
3 This is the heaven I long to know;
For this, with patience, I would wait,
Till, weaned from earth, and all below,
I mount to my celestial seat,
And wave my palm, and wear my crown,
And, with the elders, cast them down.
1 THE dove let loose in eastern skies,
Returning fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies,
Where idle warblers roam;
2 But high she shoots through air and light,
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.
3 So grant me, Lord, from every snare
Of sinful passion free,
Aloft, through faith's serener air,
To urge my course to thee;
4 No sin to cloud, no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs, Thy sunshine on her joyful way, Thy freedom on her wings.
Close of the Christian Warfare.
1 WHEN we pass through yonder river,
When we reach the farther shore,
There's an end of war for ever;
We shall see our foes no more:
All our conflicts then shall cease,
Followed by eternal peace.
2 After warfare, rest is pleasant :
O, how sweet the prospect is!
Though we toil and strive at present,
Let us not repine at this :
Toil, and pain, and conflict past,
All endear repose at last.
3 When we gain the heavenly regions,
When we touch the heavenly shore,-
Blessed thought! -no hostile legions
Can alarm or trouble more :
Far beyond the reach of foes,
We shall dwell in sweet repose.
4 O, that hope! how bright, how glorious!
'T is his people's blest reward;
In the Saviour's strength victorious,
They at length behold their Lord:
In his kingdom they shall rest,
In his love be fully blest.
The Christian's Prospect.
1 WHAT sinners value I resign;
Lord, 't is enough that thou art mine;
I shall behold thy blissful face,
And stand complete in righteousness.
2 This life's a dream, an empty show;
But that bright world to which I go
Hath joys substantial and sincere:
When shall I wake, and find me there?
3 O, glorious hour! O, blest abode !
I shall be near and like my God,
And flesh and sin no more control
The sacred pleasures of my soul.
4 My flesh shall slumber in the ground
Till the last trumpet's joyful sound,
Then burst the chains, with glad surprise
And in my Saviour's image rise.
C. M. CHRISTIAN PSALMIST.
The Society of Heaven.
1 JERUSALEM! my glorious home!
Name ever dear to me!
When shall my labors have an end
In joy, and peace, and thee?
2 When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls And pearly gates behold?
Thy bulwarks with salvation strong,
Ånd streets of shining gold.
3 There happier bowers than Eden's bloom,
Nor sin nor sorrow know:
Blest seats! through rude and stormy scenes
I onward press to you.
4 Why should I shrink at pain and woe?
Or feel at death dismay?
I've Canaan's goodly land in view,
And realms of endless day.
5 Apostles, martyrs, prophets, there,
Around my Saviour stand;
And soon my friends in Christ below
Will join the glorious band.
6 Jerusalem! my glorious home!
My soul still pants for thee;
Then shall my labors have an end,
When I thy joys shall see.
1 O, WHEN the hours of life are past,
And death's dark shade arrives at last, -
It is not sleep, it is not rest,
'T is glory opening to the blest.
2 Their way to heaven was pure from sin,
And Christ shall there receive them in ;
There each shall wear a robe of light
Like his, divinely fair and bright.
3 There parted hearts again shall meet
In union holy, calm, and sweet;
There grief find rest, and never more
Shall sorrow call them to deplore.
4 There angels will unite their prayers
With spirits bright and blest as theirs,
And light shall glance on every crown,
From suns that never more go down.
5 For there the God of mercy sheds
His purest influence on their heads,
And gilds the spirits round the throne
With glory radiant as his own.
1 THERE is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
2 There everlasting spring abides,
And never-withering flowers:
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
This heavenly land from ours.
3 Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dressed in living green:
So to the Jews old Canaan stood,
And Jordan rolled between.
4 But timorous mortals start and shrink,
To cross this narrow sea;
And linger shivering on the brink,
And fear to launch away.
5 O, could we make our doubts remove,-
Those gloomy doubts that rise, -
And see the Canaan that we love
With unbeclouded eyes,-
6 Could we but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o'er,
Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,
Should fright us from the shore.
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