L In thee no sickness is at all, Nor hurt nor any sore; No murky cloud o'ershadows thee, Jerusalem! Jerusalem! Would God I were in thee! Thy turrets and thy pinnacles Thy houses are of ivory, Thy windows crystal clear, Thy streets are laid with beaten gold; Thy walls are made of precious stone, Oh my sweet home, Jerusalem! The King that sitteth on thy throne In his felicity? Thy gardens and thy goodly walks Continually are green, Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen. Right through thy streets with pleasing sound, The living waters flow, And on the banks, on either side The trees of life do grow. Those trees each month yield ripened fruit; For evermore they spring, And all the nations of the earth If heaven be thus glorious, Lord, Reach down, O Lord, thine arm of grace, Where congregations ne'er break up O mother dear, Jerusalem! When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end? 15. The stanzas which follow, constituting a wellknown and popular hymn by themselves, seem to have been formed on the same model: Jerusalem, my happy home, Name ever dear to me, When shall my labors have an end In joy and peace and thee? When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls And pearly gates behold? Thy bulwarks, with salvation strong, And streets of shining gold? There happier bowers than Eden's bloom, Nor sin nor sorrow know: Blest seats! through rude and stormy scenes Why should I shrink from pain and woe, Or feel at death dismay? I've Canaan's goodly land in view And realms of endless day. Apostles, martyrs, prophets, there And soon my friends in Christ below Jerusalem, my happy home, My soul still pants for thee; 16. Every Sunday-school scholar is familiar with the beautiful hymn, beginning, "I'm but a stranger here, Heaven is my home." Older and more experienced minds may have marked so much of evident sincerity and so little of the spirit of authorship in the lines, as to wish to know who was the author, and under what peculiar discipline of life they were composed. The hymn was written by Thomas Rawson Taylor, the son of an English Congregationalist minister. He was born near Wakefield on the 9th of May, 1807. At the age of fifteen he became a merchant's clerk, and he was subsequently apprenticed as a printer. While thus employed he became interested in the concerns of his soul, experienced great spiritual consolations in seasons of prayer, and was impressed that it was his duty to give up his secular calling and prepare for the ministry. He entered Airesdale College, where he remained three years, living a life of most elevated and self-forgetful piety. He did not wait to complete his education before he commenced active service in the cause of his Master. He seemed to feel the force of the Divine command, “Work while the day lasts." While a student he used to go out to the towns and villages near the college preaching the Word, and appearing in his young zeal like a special messenger of celestial truth. In July, 1830, he was received as minister at Haward street chapel at Sheffield. Here his health began to decline; it became evident that he was marked for an early death, and that his bright prospects of worldly usefulness were destined to be disappointed. The change gradually continued. He struggled against it for several years, and at times seemed to check the sure hand of the destroyer. But all remedial efforts proved in vain, and he died March 7, 1835. In his altered days he felt that he was a 'stranger here" in the world of life and activity. But as one by one his worldy hopes perished, and the things of earth lost their power to charm, he realized with glowing anticipations that "Heaven was his home. I'M but a stranger here, Heaven is my home; Heaven is my home. |