Be all our fresh, our youthful days,
To Thy blest service given;
Then we shall meet to sing Thy praise,
A ransomed band in heaven.
"Dying is but going Home."
ET children never fear
To leave this world of ours:
To close their eyes to beauty here,
And summer's fading flowers.
2 Beyond the hills that stand
In majesty alone,
There is a brighter, purer land,
And there our Father's throne.
3 And thither soars the soul
When life's brief day is done;
There is the destined happy goal
For each immortal one.
4 Then shall we turn away,
When God would call us home?
No! let us rather gladly say,
"Lord, at Thy call, we come."
1 THIS earth indeed is good and fair;
Its sunny skies, its balmy air,
Its sparkling streams, its leafy bowers,
Its pleasant sounds, its fruits, its flowers,
All speak of God above.
2 But if this earth, which soon must fade,
Be thus so bright and lovely made,
What glory shall our eyes behold,
When heaven's eternal gates unfold,
And show us all His love.
3 If in this world where death is found,
So many joys our path surround,
What blessings will not God bestow
In that to which we hope to go,
When death shall be no more!
4 If on a world by sin defiled,
Its Maker hath so kindly smiled,
How gracious must His presence be,
In that from sin and sorrow free,.
Beyond the grave in store!
"The Land we have not seen."
1 EVERY morning the red sun Rises warm and bright,
But the evening cometh on,
And the dark cold night.
There's a bright land far away,
Where 'tis never-ending day.
2 Every spring the sweet young flowers
Open bright and gay;
Till the chilly autumn hours
Wither them away.
There's a land we have not seen,
Where the trees are always green.
3 Little birds sing songs of praise
All the summer long,
But in colder, shorter days
They forget their song.
There's a place where angels sing
Ceaseless praises to their King.
4 Christ our Lord is ever near
Those who follow Him;
But we cannot see Him here,
For our eyes are dim.
There is a most happy place
Where men always see His face.
5 Who shall go to that bright land ?
All who do the right;
Holy children there shall stand
In their robes of white.
For that heaven so bright and blest
Is our everlasting rest!
WHO are they whose little feet,
Pacing life's dark journey through,
Now have reach'd that heavenly seat,
They had ever kept in view?
"I from Greenland's frozen land;'
"I from India's sultry plain;'
"I from Afric's barren sand;"
"I from islands of the main."
2 All our earthly journey past,
Every tear and pain gone by,
Here together met at last,
At the portal of the sky;
Each the welcome "Come" awaits,
Conquerors over death and sin.
Lift your heads, ye golden gates!
Let the little travellers in!
"It doth not yet appear what
we shall be."
E sing of the realms of the blest,
That country so bright and so fair;
And oft are its glories confessed;
But what will it be, to be there!
2 We speak of its freedom from sin,
From sorrow, temptation, and care,
From trials, without and within;
But what must it be, to be there!
3 We speak of its service of love,
Of robes which the glorified wear-
The church of the first-born above;
But what must it be, to be there!
4 Do thou, Lord,'midst pleasure or woe,
Still for heaven our spirits prepare;
And shortly we also shall know,
And feel what it is, to be there.
1 HOW long sometimes a day appears!
And weeks-how long are they!
Months move along, as if the years
Would never pass away.
2 But months and years are passing by,
And soon must all be gone;
For day by day, as minutes fly,
Eternity comes on.
3 Days, months, and years, must have an end; Eternity has none!
'Twill always have as long to spend, As when it first begun!
4 Great God, we children cannot tell
How such a thing can be;
But only pray that we may dwell
That long, long time with Thee.
Praise, Praise for aye.
THERE is a happy land,
Far, far away,
Where saints in glory stand,
Bright, bright as day.
Oh, how they sweetly sing,
Worthy is our Saviour King;
Loud let His praises ring-
Praise, praise for aye.
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