The Throne of His Glory!- and glorious there stand

The elect of His love, and the sheep of His hand; While dark on His left, shrunk away from His face, The lost ones that sought not the Throne of His grace.

The Throne of His Glory!- my poor trembling soul!

Oh what, when arraigned there, thy dread shall control,

Of that doom of the exiled, "Ye cursed depart!" For ever and ever to toll on the heart.

From thy Father an exile? Thy home never see?
No, child of His mercy, unchanging and free,
Ere creation began, in the councils of love,
He wrote thee an heir of His kingdom above.

LATE, LATE, SO LATE!

The foolish virgins. Matt. xxv. 11, 12. By ALFRED TENNYSON, poet laureate of England. From Idylls of the King (the Legends of King Arthur), first publ. 1859 (from the last poem, entitled Guinevere, which has been called his highest effort).

LATE, late, so late! and dark the night, and chill!

Late, late, so late! but we can enter still.

"Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now."

COME, LORD, AND TARRY NOT.

No light had we: for that we do repent;
And, learning this, the Bridegroom will relent.

"Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now.”

No light, so late! and dark and chill the night!
O let us in, that we may find the light!

"Too late, too late! ye cannot enter now."

Have we not heard the Bridegroom is so sweet?
O let us in, though late, to kiss His feet!

"No, no; too late! ye cannot enter now."

COME, LORD, AND TARRY NOT.

395

By HORATIUS BONAR, D.D. From his Hymns of Faith and Hope, First Senes

"Senuit mundus."- AUGUSTINE.

COME, Lord, and tarry not:

Bring the long-looked-for Day;

O why these years of waiting here,
These ages of delay?

Come, for Thy saints still wait:
Daily ascends their sigh;

The Spirit and the Bride say, Come;
Dost Thou not hear the cry?

Come, for creation groans,

Impatient of Thy stay,

Worn out with these long years of ill, These ages of delay.

Come, for Thy Israel pines,
An exile from Thy fold;
O call to mind Thy faithful word,
And bless them as of old!

Come, for Thy foes are strong, With taunting lip they say, "Where is the promised Advent now, And where the dreaded Day?"

Come, for the good are few; They lift the voice in vain : Faith waxes fainter on the earth, And love is on the wane.

Come, for the truth is weak,
And error pours abroad
Its subtle poison o'er the earth,
An earth that hates her God.

Come, for love waxes cold;
Its steps are faint and slow:
Faith now is lost in unbelief,
Hope's lamp burns dim and low

COME, LORD, AND TARRY NOT,

Come, for the grave is full;

Earth's tombs no more can hold : The sated sepulchres rebel,

And groans the heaving mould.

Come, for the corn is ripe;
Put in Thy sickle now,

Reap the great harvest of the earth,-
Sower and reaper Thou!

Come, in Thy glorious might,

Come with the iron rod,

Scattering Thy foes before Thy face,
Most mighty Son of God!

Come, spoil the strong man's house,
Bind him and cast him hence;

Show Thyself stronger than the strong,
Thyself Omnipotence.

Come, and make all things new;

Build up this ruined earth,

Restore our faded Paradise,

Creation's second birth.

Come, and begin Thy reign
Of everlasting peace;

Come, take the kingdom to Thyself,

Great King of righteousness!

397

H

OPE of our hearts. O Lord! appear:
Then glorious Star of day,

Shine forth, and chase the dreary night
With all our fears, away!

Strangers on earth, we wait for Thee:
Oh! leave the Father's throne;
Come with the shout of victory, Lord.
And claim us for Thine own!

Oh! bid the bright archangel now
The trump of God prepare,

To call Thy saints- the quick, the dead-
To meet Thee in the air.

No resting-place we seek on earth,

No loveliness we see;

Our eye is on the royal crown
Prepared for us and Thee.

But, dearest Lord, however bright
That crown of joy above,
What is it to the brighter hope

Of dwelling in Thy love?