They praise the eternal Father
The Son and Spirit too."
3 The meanest child of glory
Outshines the radiant sun;
But who can speak the splendour
Of that eternal throne,
Where Jesus sits exalted,
In godlike majesty?
The elders fall before him,
The angels bend the knee.
4 Is this the man of sorrows,
Who stood at Pilate's bar,
Condemin'd by haughty Herod,
And by his men of war?
He seems a mighty conqueror,
Who spoil'd the powers below,
And ransom'd many captives
From everlasting wo.
5 The hosts of saints around him
Proclaim his work of grace;
The patriarchs and prophets,
And all the godly race,
Who speak of fiery trials
And tortures on their way,
They came from tribulation,
To everlasting day.
6 Now with a holy transport,
They tell their suff'rings o'er,
Their tears and their temptations,
And all the pains they bore:
They turn and bow to Jesus,
Who gained their liberty:
Amid our fiercest dangers,
Our lives are hid in thee.
7 Long time I was invited
To gain that heav'nly rest;
Grace made no hard condition,
'Twas only to be bless'd;
But earth's bewitching pleasures
Inclin'd me long to stay:
I sought her dreams and shadows,
And joys that pass away.
8 But now it is my purpose
The better way to find;
To serve my great Creator,
And leave my sins behind:
In guilt's seducing mazes
I will no longer roam;
I'll give my soul to Jesus,
Who brings the ransom'd home.
9 And what shall be my journey,
How long I'll stay below,
Or what shall be my tria's,
Are not for me to know:
In every day of trouble,
I'll raise my thoughts on high;
I'll think of the bright temple,
And crowns above the sky.
HYMN 140. P. M.
VITAL spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling 'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.
2 Hark! they whisper! angels say,
Sister spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses? shuts my sight?
Drowns my spirit? draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
3 The world recedes, it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly
O grave! where is thy victory?
O death! where is thy sting?
HYMN 141. L. M.
'The saints in full prosperity;
MAY I worthy prove to see,
To see the bright, the glittering bride,
Close seated by her Saviour's side.
2 I'm glad that I am born to die,
From grief and wo my soul shall fly:
Bright angels shall covey me home,
Away to New Jerusalem.
3 I'll praise him while he lends me breath,
I hope to praise him after death;
I hope to praise him when I die,
And shout salvation as I fly.
Farewell, vain world, I'm going home,
My Saviour smiles and bids me come;
Kind angels beckon me away,
To sing his praise in endless day.
5 And when to that bright world I rise,
And join the anthems in the skies,
Above the rest this note shall swell,
My Jesus has done all things well.
6 There I shall see my blessed God,
And praise him in his bright abode;
My theme through all eternity,
Shall glory, glory, glory be.
IT When Zion's light shall conie;
HE glorious day is drawing nigh,
She shall arise and shine on high
Bright as the morning sun.
The north and south their songs resign,
And earth's strong pillars bend;
Adorn'd as a bride Jerusalem,
All glorious shall descend.
2 The King that bears the golden crown, The azure flaming bow;
The holy city shall come down
To bless his saints below.
When Sion's bleeding, conquering King, Shall sin and death destroy;
The morning stars together sing,
And Sion shout for joy.
3 The holy, bright, musician band Shall tune their harps of gold,
With palms of vict'ry they shall stand,
Fair Salem to behold'
Descending with such melting strains,
Jehovah's name adore;
Such notes through earth's extensive plains,
Were never heard before!
4 Let Satan rage and boast no more;
Ye fiends of darkness fly;
Though saints are feeble, weak and poor,
Their great Redeemer's nigh.
He is their shield-their hiding place-
A covert from the wind-
A shady rock of boundless grace,
Throughout this weary land.
5 The crystal streams run down from heav'n,
They issue from the throne;
The floods of strife away are driv'n,
The church becomes but one.
That peaceful union she shall know,
And live upon his love!
And shout and sing of grace below,
As angels do above!
HYMN 143. P. M.
Jesus, the crown of my hope,
My soul is in haste to be gone;
O! bear me, ye cherubim, up,
And waft me away to his throne
2 My Saviour, whom absent I love,
Whom, not having seen, I adore,
Whose name is exalted above,
All glory, dominion, and power.
3 Dissolve thou the bands that detain
My soul from her portion in thee
Oh! strike off the adamant chain,
And make me eternally free.
4 Then that happy era begins,
When array'd in thy glory I shine, And no longer pierce with my sins The bosom on which I recline.
HYMN 144. C. M.
IN strives to
N vain my fancy strives to paint
The glories that surround the saints,
When yielding up their breath.
2 One gentle sigh their fetters breaks We scarce can say "They're gone!" Before the willing spirit takes
Her mansion near the throne.
3 Faith strives, but all its efforts fail,
To trace her in her flight;
No eye can pierce without the veil
Which hides the world of light.
4 Thus much, and this is all we know,
They are completely blest;
Have done with sin, and care, and wo,
And with their Saviour rest.
5 On harps of gold they praise his name, His face they always view:
Then let us follow'rs be of them,
That we may praise him too.
6 Their faith and patience, love and zeal,
Should make their mem'ry dear;
And, Lord, do thou their prayers fulfil,
They offered for us here.
7 While they've gain'd, we losers are,
We miss them day by day;
But thou canst every breach repair,
And wipe our tears away.
8 We pray as in Elisha's case,
When great Elijah went-
May double portions of thy grace,
To us who stay be sent.
7HILE on the verge of life I stand, And view the scene on either hand, My spirit struggles with my clay, And longs to wing its flight away.
2 Where Jesus dwells my soul would be, And faints my much lov'd Lord to see; Earth twine no more about my heart, For 'tis far better to depart.
3 Come, ye angelic convoys, come, And lead the willing pilgrims home
|