When you

DAY OF JUDGMENT !

hear your condemnation :

"Hence, accursed wretch, depart!

Thou with Satan

And his angels have thy part."

Satan, who now tries to please you,
Lest you timely warning take,
When that word is past, will seize you,-
Plunge you in the burning lake.

Think, poor sinner,

Thy eternal all's at stake.

But to those who have confessèd,

Loved, and served the Lord below, He will say, "Come near, ye blessed, See the kingdom I bestow.

You for ever

Shall My love and glory know."

Under sorrows and reproaches,

May this thought your courage raise: Swiftly God's great Day approaches, Sighs shall then be changed to praise; We shall triumph

When the world is in a blaze.

389

THE LORD WILL COME.

By Bishop REGINALD HEBER, D.D.; died in India, 1826. From his Poetical Works. London, 1854, p. 43. For Second Sunday in Advent.

'HE Lord will come! the earth shall quake,

THE

The hills their fixèd seat forsake;

And, withering, from the vault of night
The stars withdraw their feeble light.

The Lord will come! but not the same
As once in lowly form He came,
A silent Lamb to slaughter led,

The bruised, the suffering, and the dead.

The Lord will come! a dreadful form,
With wreath of flame, and robe of storm,
On cherub wings, and wings of wind,
Anointed Judge of human-kind!

Can this be He, who wont to stray
A pilgrim on the world's highway,
By power oppressed, and mocked by prider
O God! is this the Crucified?

Go, tyrants! to the rocks complain.
Go, seek the mountains' cleft in vain!
But faith, victorious o'er the tomb,
Shall sing for joy, the Lord is come!

JESUS, THY CHURCH.

391

JESUS, THY CHURCH.

WILLIAM HILEY BATHURST, a clergyman of the Church of England; b. near Bristol, 1796; d. 1877.

JESUS, Thy Church, with longing eyes,
For Thy expected coming waits;

When will the promised light arise,
And glory beam from Zion's gates?

E'en now, when tempests round us fall,
And wintry clouds o'ercast the sky,
Thy words with pleasure we recall,
And deem that our redemption's nigh.

Come, gracious Lord, our hearts renew,
Our foes repel, our wrongs redress;
Man's rooted enmity subdue,

And crown Thy gospel with success.

O come and reign o'er every land!
Let Satan from his throne be hurled,

All nations bow to Thy command,
And grace revive a dying world.

Yes, Thou wilt speedily appear;
The smitten earth already reels;
And, not far off, we seem to hear

The thunder of Thy chariot wheels

Teach us, in watchfulness and prayer,
To wait for the appointed hour,
And fit us by Thy grace to share

The triumphs of Thy conquering power.

THE CHARIOT! THE CHARIOT!

By Dr. H. H. MILMAN, Dean of St. Paul's; b. in London, 1791; d. 1868.

THE

HE chariot! the chariot! its wheels roll on fire, As the Lord cometh down in the pomp of His ire;

Self-moving, it drives on its pathway of cloud, And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are bowed.

The glory! the glory! By myriads are poured
The hosts of the angels to wait on their Lord;
And the glorified saints, and the martyrs are there,
And all who the palm-wreath of victory wear.

The trumpet! the trumpet! The dead have all

heard.

Lo! the depths of the stone-covered charnels are stirred;

From the sea, from the land, from the south and the

north,

The vast generations of man are come forth!

THE THRONE OF HIS GLORY!

393

The judgment! the judgment! The thrones are

all set,

Where the Lamb and the white-vested elders are

met;

All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,
And the doom of eternity hangs on His word!

Oh, mercy! oh, mercy! look down from above,
Creator! on us, Thy sad children, with love;
When beneath to their darkness the wicked are

driven,

May our sanctified souls find a mansion in heaven!

THE THRONE OF HIS GLORY!

"Then shall He sit upon the throne of His Glory." By Dr. W. A. MUHLENBERG, New York, 1839.

THE

HE Throne of His Glory!—as snow it is white, Upborne in the air by the legions of Light; And, startled to life by the trumpet's last sound, The hosts of the nations stand waiting around.

The Throne of His Glory!-there lieth unsealed The Life-roll, the Death-roll, of names ne'er revealed,

Now secret no longer: the millions divide

To the right and the left, on the Throne's either side.