2 God hath laid up in heav'n for me
A crown which cannot fade;
The righteous Judge at that great day
Shall place it on my head.

3 Nor hath the King of grace decreed
This prize for me alone;
But all that love and long to see
Th' appearance of his Son.

4 Jesus, the Lord, shall guard me safe
From ev'ry ill design,
And to his heav'nly kingdom keep
This feeble soul of mine.

5 God is my everlasting aid,
And bell shall rage in vain
To him be highest glory paid,
And endless praise. Amen.

1 HE comes, he comes, the Judge severe; The seventh trumpet speaks him near; The lightnings flash; the thunders roll; He's welcome to the faithful soul.

2 From heav'n angelic voices sound; See the Almighty Jesus crown'd;

Girt with omnipotence and grace,
And glory decks the Saviour's face.
3 Descending on his azure throne,
He claims the kingdoms as his own;
The kingdoms all obey his word,
And hail him their triumphant Lord.
4 Shout all the people of the sky,

And all the saints of the Most High:
Our God who now his right obtains,
For ever and for ever reigns.

HYMN CXXI.

The promised Land.

C. M.

1 FAR from these narrow scenes of night, Unbounded glories rise,

And realms of infinite delight,
Unknown to mortal eyes.

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

3 No cloud those blissful regions know,
For ever bright and fair!

For sin, the source of mortal woe,
Can never enter there.

M

4 There no alternate night is known,
Nor sun's faint sickly ray;
But glory from the sacred throne
Spreads everlasting day.

5 Prepare us, Lord, by grace divine
For the bright courts on high;
Then bid our spirits rise and join
The chorus of the sky.

Death and immediate Glory.

1 THERE is a house not made with hands, Eternal and on high:

And here my spirit waiting stands
Till God shall bid it fly.

2 Shortly this prison of my clay
Must be dissolv'd, and fall;
Then, O my soul, with joy obey
Thy heav'nly Father's call.

3 'Tis he, by his almighty grace,
That forms thee fit for heav'n;
And, as an earnest of the place,
Has his own Spirit giv'n.

4. We walk by faith of joys to come;
Faith lives upon his word:

With what glad accents shall I rise,
To join the music of the skies!

5 Soon shall I learn th' exalted strains
Which echo through the heav'nly plains,
And emulate, with joy unknown,
The glowing seraphs near thy throne.

HYMN CXXIV.

C. M.

A Prospect of Heaven makes Death easy.

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-with'ring flow'rs:
Death, like a narrow sea divides
This heav'nly land from ours.

3 But tim'rous mortals start and shrink,
To cross this narrow sea;
And linger shiv'ring on the brink,
And fear to launch away.

4 O! could we make our doubts remove, Those gloomy doubts that rise,