When, taught by painful proof to know
That all is vanity below,

The sinner roams from comfort far,
And looks in vain for sun or star;
Soft gleaming then those lights divine
Through all the cheerless darkness shine,
And sweetly to the ravish'd eye
Disclose the Day-spring from on high.

The heart, in sensual fetters bound,
And barren as the wintry ground,
Confesses, Lord, Thy quickening ray;
Thy word can charm the spell away ;
With genial influence can beguile
The frozen wilderness to smile.
Bid living waters o'er it flow,
And all be paradise below.

Almighty Lord, the sun shall fail,
The moon forget her nightly tale,
And deepest silence hush on high
The radiant chorus of the sky;
But, fix'd for everlasting years,
Unmoved amid the wreck of spheres,
Thy word shall shine in cloudless day,
When heaven and earth have pass'd away.

Sir Robert Grant. 1839.

IX.

THE HOLY CATHOLIC CHURCH.

"And I believe one Catholic and Apostolic Church."

CVIII.

Jerusalem, my happy home,

When shall I come to thee?
When shall my sorrows have an end,
Thy joys when shall I see?

O happy harbour of the saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrow may be found,
No grief, no care, no toil.

There lust and lucre cannot dwell,
There envy bears no sway;
There is no hunger, heat, nor cold,
But pleasure every way.

Thy walls are made of precious stones,
Thy bulwarks diamonds square ;
Thy gates are of right orient pearl,
Exceeding rich and rare.

Thy turrets and thy pinnacles

With carbuncles do shine;
Thy very streets are paved with gold,
Surpassing clear and fine.

Ah, my sweet home, Jerusalem,

Would God I were in thee!
Would God my woes were at an end,

Thy joys that I might see!

Thy saints are crown'd with glory great;
They see God face to face;

They triumph still, they still rejoice,
Most happy is their case.

We that are here in banishment

Continually do moan,

We sigh, and sob, we weep, and wail,
Perpetually we groan.

Our sweet is mix'd with bitter gall,
Our pleasure is but pain,

Our joys scarce last the looking on,
Our sorrows still remain.

But there they live in such delight,
Such pleasure and such play,
As that to them a thousand years
Doth seem as yesterday.

Thy gardens and thy gallant walks

Continually are green,

There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers

As nowhere else are seen.

Quite through the streets, with silver sound,
The flood of Life doth flow;

Upon whose banks on every side
The wood of Life doth grow.

There trees for evermore bear fruit,
And evermore do spring;
There evermore the angels sit,

And evermore do sing.

Jerusalem, my happy home,

Would God I were in thee!

Would God my woes were at an end,

Thy joys that I might see!

Anon. "F. B. P." [1616.]

CIX.

Sweet place, sweet place alone!
The court of God most High,

The Heaven of Heavens, the Throne

Of spotless majesty !

O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

The stranger homeward bends,

And sigheth for his rest :

Heaven is my home, my friends

Lodge there in Abraham's breast:
O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,

To see Thy face?

Earth's but a sorry tent

Pitch'd for a few frail days,

A short-leas'd tenement;
Heaven's still my song, my praise.

O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

No tears from any eyes
Drop in that holy quire;
But Death itself there dies,
And sighs themselves expire.
O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

There should temptations cease,
My frailties there should end;
There should I rest in peace
In the arms of my best Friend,
O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

Jerusalem on high
My song and City is,
My home whene'er I die,
The centre of my bliss:

O happy place!
When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

Thy walls, sweet city, thine,
With pearls are garnishèd ;
Thy gates with praises shine.
Thy streets with gold are spread ;
O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?