RISE, glorious Conqueror, rise

Into thy native skies,

Assume thy right:

Lo! in many a fold,

The clouds are backward rolled:
Pass through those gates of gold,
And reign in light!

2 Victor o'er death and hell!
Cherubic legions swell
The radiant train:

Praises all heaven inspire;
Each angel sweeps his lyre,
And claps his wings of fire:
Thou Lamb, once slain!

3 Enter, incarnate God!

No feet but thine have trod
The serpent down:

Blow the full trumpets, blow!
Wider yon portals throw!
Saviour, triumphant, go
And take thy crown!

4 Lion of Judah, hail!
And let thy name prevail
From age to age:

Lord of the rolling years,
Claim for thine own the spheres,
For thou hast bought with tears
Thy heritage.

204

LI

L. M.

IFT up your heads, ye gates! and wide Your everlasting doors display; Ye angel-guards, like flames divide And give the King of glory way. 2 Who is the King of glory?—He, The Lord, omnipotent to save; Whose own right arm, in victory

Led captive Death, and spoiled the grave.

3 Lift up your heads, ye gates! and high Your everlasting portals heave;

Welcome the King of glory nigh;
Him must the heaven of heavens
receive.

4 Who is the King of glory?-who?
The Lord of hosts;-behold his name;
The kingdom, power, and honour due,
Yield him, ye saints! with glad acclaim.

205

INTERCESSION.

C. M. ‣

COME, let us join our songs of praise

To our ascended Priest;

He entered heaven, with all our names
Engraven on his breast.

2 Below he washed our guilt away
By his atoning blood;

Now he appears before the throne, [
And pleads our cause with God,

3 Clothed with our nature still, he knows The weakness of our frame,

And how to shield us from the foes
Whom he himself o'ercame.

4 Nor time, nor distance, e'er can quench The fervour of his love;

For us he died in kindness here,

For us he lives above.

50 may we ne'er forget thy grace,
Nor blush to bear thy name;

Still may our hearts hold fast thy faith;
Our lips thy praise proclaim.

THE atoning work is done,
The victim's blood is shed;

And Jesus now is gone

His people's cause to plead :

He stands in heaven, their great High
Priest,

And bears their names upon his breast.

2 No temple made with hands
His place of service is:
In heaven itself he stands:

A heavenly priesthood his:
In him the shadows of the law
Are all fulfilled, and now withdraw.

3 And though awhile he be

Hid from the eyes of men,

His people look to see

Their great High Priest again: In brightest glory he will come, And take his waiting people home.

207

L. M.

WHERE high the heavenly temple

stands,

The house of God not made with hands,
A great High Priest our nature wears.
The guardian of mankind appears.
2 Though now ascended up on high,
He bends to earth a brother's eye;
Partaker of the human name,
He knows the frailty of our frame.
3 Our fellow-sufferer yet retains
A fellow-feeling of our pains;
And still remembers, in the skies,
His tears, his agonies, and cries.

4 With boldness, therefore, at the throne,
Let us make all our sorrows known;
And ask the aid of heavenly power,
To help us in the evil hour.

208

OW

C. M.

Now let our cheerful eyes survey
Our great High Priest above,
And celebrate his constant care,
And sympathetic love.

2 Though raised to a superior throne,
Where angels bow around,

And high o'er all the shining train,

With matchless honours crowned;

3 The names of all his saints he bears
Engraven on his heart;

Nor shall a name once treasured there
E'er from his care depart.

4 Those characters shall fair abide, Our everlasting trust,

When gems, and monuments, and crowns
Are mouldered down to dust.

5 So, gracious Saviour, on our breast,
May thy dear name be worn,
A sacred ornament and guard,
To endless ages borne.

209

L. M. 6 lines.

THOU eternal Victim, slain A sacrifice for guilty man, By the eternal Spirit made An offering in the sinner's stead, Our everlasting Priest art thou, Pleading thy death for sinners now. 2 Thy offering still continues new; Thy vesture keeps its crimson hue; Thou art the ever-slaughtered Lamb, Thy priesthood still remains the same; Thy years, O Lord, can never fail; Thy goodness is unchangeable.

WITH joy we meditate thy grace
Thou great High Priest above;

Thy heart is made of tenderness,
Thy bosom glows with love.

2 Touched with a sympathy within,
Thou know'st our feeble frame;

Thou know'st what sore temptations

mean,

For thou hast felt the same.