The King there, in his beauty,
Without a veil is seen;
"It were a well-spent journey,

Though seven deaths lay between. The Lamb with his fair army

Doth on Mount Zion stand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

O Christ-He is the fountain,
The deep, sweet well of love!
The streams on earth I've tasted,
More deep I'll drink above :
There to an ocean fulness

His mercy doth expand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

Oft in yon sea-beat prison
My Lord and I held tryst;
For Anworth was not heaven,
And preaching was not Christ.
And aye my murkiest storm-cloud
Was by a rainbow spanned,
Caught from the glory dwelling
In Immanuel's land.

But that he built a heaven
Of his surpassing love—
A little New Jerusalem

Like to the one above-
"Lord, take me o'er the water,

Had been my loud demand; "Take me to love's own country Unto Immanuel's land!"

But flowers need night's cool darkness,

The moonlight, and the dew; So Christ, from one who loved it,

His shining oft withdrew. And then for cause of absence

My troubled soul I scanned; But glory shadeless shineth

In Immanuel's land.

The little birds of Anworth-
I used to count them blest;
Now beside happier altars

I go to build my nest;

O'er these there broods no silence
No graves around them stand:
For glory deathless dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

Fair Anworth by the Solway,
To me thou still art dear;
E'en from the verge of heaven
I drop for thee a tear.
Oh, if one soul from Anworth
Meet me at God's right hand,
My heaven will be two heavens,
In Immanuel's land.

I've wrestled on toward heaven,

'Gainst storm, and wind, and tide;

Now, like a weary traveller

That leaneth on his guide,

Amid the shades of evening,

While sinks life's lingering sand,

I hail the glory dawning

From Immanuel's land.

Deep waters crossed life's pathway, The hedge of thorns was sharp: Now these lie all behind me.

Oh, for a well tuned harp!

Oh, to join Hallelujah

With yon triumphant band, Who sing where glory dwelleth, In Immanuel's land!

With mercy and with judgment
My web of time he wove,
And aye the dews of sorrow
Were lustered with his love.
I'll bless the hand that guided,
I'll bless the heart that planned,
When throned where glory dwelleth,
In Immanuel's land.

Soon shall the cup of glory

Wash down earth's bitterest woes; Soon shall the desert brier

Break into Eden's rose;

The curse shall change to blessing,

The name on earth that's banned Be graven on the White Stone In Immanuel's land.

Oh, I am my Beloved's,

And my Beloved is mine! He brings a poor vile sinner Into his "house of wine."

I stand upon his merit;

I know no safer stand,
Not even where glory dwelleth,
In Immanuel's land.

I shall sleep sound in Jesus,
Filled with his likeness rise,
To love and to adore him,

To see him with these eyes;
'Tween me and resurrection
But Paradise doth stand,
Then-then for glory, dwelling
In Immanuel's land!

Story of Hymns.

The bride eyes not her garments,
But her dear bridegroom's face:
I will not gaze at glory,

But at my King of grace;
Not at the crown he giveth,

But on his pierced hand:
The Lamb is all the glory
Of Immanuel's land.

I have borne scorn and hatred,
I have borne wrong and shame,
Earth's proud ones have reproached me
For Christ's thrice blessed name.
Where God's seal's set the fairest,
They've stamped their foulest brand;
But judgment shines like noonday
In Immanuel's land.

They've summoned me before them,
But there I may not come;

My Lord says, "Come up hither;"
My Lord says, "Welcome home;"

My King at his white throne

My presence doth command,
Where glory, glory dwelleth,
In Immanuel's land.

ADDISON'S TRAVELLER'S HYMN.

How are thy servants blessed. O Lord,
How sure is their defence!
Eternal Wisdom is their guide,
Their help Omnipotence.

In foreign realms, and lands remote
Supported by thy care,

Through burning climes they pass unhurt,
And breathe in tainted air.

When by the dreadful tempest borne

High on the broken wave,

They know thou art not slow to hear,

Nor impotent to save.

The storm is laid, the winds retire,
Obedient to thy will;

The sea, that roars at thy command,
At thy command is still.

In midst of dangers, fears, and deaths,
Thy goodness we 'll adore;

We'll praise thee for thy mercies past,

And humbly hope for more.

Our life, while thou preserv'st that life,

Thy sacrifice shall be:

And death, when death shall be our lot,

Shall join our souls to thee.

This hymn, often used in divine worship by travellers, was first published in No. 489 of the "Spectator," for Sept. 20, 1712. The article to which it is appended is on the sublimity of the sea, and the passages that describe the majestic phenomena of the deep in Holy Writ. It was doubtless written while the ocean scenery