A song which even angels

Can never, never sing;

They know not Christ as Saviour,
But worship him as King.

3 There's a crown for little children,
Above the bright blue sky,

559

A harp of sweetest music;
A palm of victory.

All, all above is treasured
And found in Christ alone;
Lord, grant thy little children
To know thee as their own.

Albert Mildame (1825-.)

The death of a child.

1 LIFE is a span, a fleeting hour;
How soon the vapor flies;

Man is a tender, transient flower,
That, e'en in blooming, dies.

C. M.

2 The once loved form, now cold and dead,
Each mournful thought employs;
And nature weeps her comforts fled,
And withered all her joys.

3 Hope looks beyond the bounds of time,
When what we now deplore

Shall rise in full, immortal prime,
And bloom to fade no more.

4 Cease, then, fond nature, cease thy tears, Religion points on high;

There everlasting spring appears,
And joys that cannot die.

Miss Anne Steele (1717-1778.)

560

Lo! He comes.

8s, 7s & 4s.

1 Lo! he comes, with clouds descending,
Once for favored sinners slain;
Thousand, thousand saints attending

Swell the triumph of his train;
Hallelujah!

Jesus comes, he comes to reign
2 Every eye shall now behold him
Robed in dreadful majesty;
Those who set at naught and sold him,
Pierced and nailed him to the tree,
Deeply wailing,

Shall the true Messiah see.

3 Every island, sea and mountain,
Heaven and earth, shall flee away;
All who hate him must, confounded,
Hear the trump proclaim the day;
Come to judgment!

Come to judgment! come away!
4 Answer thine own Bride and Spirit;
Hasten, Lord! and quickly come;
The new heaven, and earth to inherit
Take thy pining exiles home;
All creation

Travails, groans, and bids thee come.

5 Yea, amen! let all adore thee,
High on thine eternal throne;
Saviour! take the power and glory,
Claim the kingdom for thine own;
Oh! come quickly!

Hallelujah! come, Lord! come.

Rev. Charles Wesley (1708-1788.)
Rev. Maritn Madan (1726-1790.)

561

Lo, He cometh.

88, 7s & 4s.

1 Lo! he cometh: countless trumpets
Blow to raise the sleeping dead;
'Midst ten thousand saints and angels,
See their great exalted Head:
Hallelujah!

Welcome, welcome, Son of God.

2 Full of joyful expectation,

Saints, behold the Judge appear;
Truth and justice go before him;
Now the royal sentence hear;
Hallelujah!

Welcome, welcome, Judge divine.

3 "Come, ye blesséd of my Father,
Enter into life and joy;

Banish all your fears and sorrows;
Endless praise be your employ:
Hallelujah!

Welcome, welcome, to the skies.

Rev. John Cennick (1717-1755.)

562

The Day of Judgment.

8s, 7s & 4s.

1 DAY of judgment, day of wonders!
Hark! the trumpet's awful sound,
Louder than a thousand thunders,
Shakes the vast creation round!
How the summons

Will the sinner's heart confound!

2 At his call the dead awaken,

Rise to life from earth and sea;

All the powers of nature, shaken,
By his look prepare to flee;
Careless sinner,

What will then become of thee?

3 See the Judge our nature wearing,
Clothed in majesty divine;
You who long for his appearing,
Then shall say, This God is mine!
Gracious Saviour,

Own me in that day for thine.

Rev. John Newton (1725-1807.)

563

The Judgment-Trumpet.

8s, 73 & 4.

1 HARK, the judgment-trumpet sounding
Rends the skies and shakes the poles;
Lo, the day, with wrath abounding,
Breaks upon astonished souls:
Every creature

Now the awful Judge beholds.

2 Jesus, Captain of salvation,

Leads his armies down the skies; Every kindred, tribe, and nation, From the sleep of death, arise: Heaven's loud summons

Fills the world with dread surprise.

3 Zion's King, his throne ascending,
Calls his saints before his face;
Crowns, with glory never-ending,
All the children of his grace:
Heaven shall echo;

Songs of triumph fill the place.

Rev. Nathan Sidney Smith Beman (1786-1871.)

564

Apprehension of Judgment.

C. P. M.

1 WHEN thou, my righteous Judge, shalt come
To take thy ransomed people home,
Shall I among them stand?

Shall such a worthless worm as I,
Who sometimes am afraid to die,
Be found at thy right hand?

2 I love to meet among them now,
Before thy gracious feet to bow,
Though vilest of them all:

But can I bear the piercing thought,
What if my name should be left out,
When thou for them shall call?

3 Prevent, prevent it by thy grace;
Be thou, dear Lord, my hiding-place,
In this, the accepted day;
Thy pardoning voice, oh! let me hear,
To still my unbelieving fear,
Nor let me fall, I pray.

4 Let me among thy saints be found, Whene'er the archangels' trump shall sound, To see thy smiling face;

Then loudest of the throng I'll sing, While heaven's resounding mansions ring With shouts of sovereign grace.

Selina Shirley, Countess of Huntington (1707-1791.)

565

Fleeing to Christ as a refuge.

C. P. M.

1 0 THOU, that hearest the prayer of faith, Wilt thou not save a soul from death, That casts itself on thee?