And while His glorious voice we hear,
Our spirits are all eye, all ear,
And silence speaks His praise.
4 (O might I die that awe to prove,
That prostrate awe which dares not move
Before the great Three-One!
To shout by turns the bursting joy,
And all eternity employ
In songs around the throne.)
From the Latin of BERNARD OF CLUNY.
To thee, O dear, dear country,
Mine eyes their vigils keep;
For very love, beholding
Thy happy name, they weep.
The mention of thy glory
Is unction to the breast,
And medicine in sickness,
And love, and life, and rest.
2 O one, O only mansion,
O Paradise of joy,
Where tears are ever banished,
And joys have no alloy !
Thy ageless walls are radiant
With precious stones unpriced;
The saints build up its fabric;
The corner-stone is Christ.
8 I know not-O, I know not
What social joys are there,
What radiancy of glory,
What light beyond compare!
And when I fain would sing them,
My spirit fails and faints,
And vainly would it image
The' assembly of the saints.
4 Midst power that knows no limit,
And wisdom without bound,
The beatific vision
Shall gladden saints around:
There God, my King and Portion,
In fulness of His grace,
Shall we behold for ever,
And worship face to face.
5 They stand, those halls of Sion,
All jubilant with song;
And bright with many an angel,
And many a martyr throng.
The Prince is ever in them,
The light is aye serene;
The pastures of the blessed
Are decked in glorious sheen.
6 There is the throne of David;
And there, from toil released,
The shout of them that triumph,
The song of them that feast:
And they, beneath their Leader
Who conquered in the fight,
For ever and for ever
Are clad in robes of white.
7 Jerusalem, the glorious,
The joy of the elect,
O! dear and future vision
That eager hearts expect;
E'en now by faith I see thee,
E'en now thy walls discern,
To thee my thoughts are kindled,
And strive and pant and yearn.
8 And, now, we fight the battle,
And, then, we wear the crown
Of full, and everlasting,
And passionless renown.
O land that seest no sorrow!
O state that know'st no strife!
O princely bowers! O land of flowers!
Ô realm and home of life!
WHEN shall we sweetly remove!
O when shall we enter our rest,
Return to the Sion above,
The mother of spirits distrest!
That city of God, the great King, Where sorrow and death are no more; But saints our Immanuel sing, And cherub and seraph adore. 2 Not all the archangels can tell The joys of that holiest place, Where Jesus is pleased to reveal The light of His heavenly face; When caught in the rapturous flame, The sight beatific they prove, And walk in the light of the Lamb, And bask in the beams of His love. 3 Thou know'st, in the spirit of prayer, We long Thy appearing to see, Resigned to the burden we bear, But longing to triumph with Thee: 'Tis good at Thy word to be here, "Tis better in Thee to be gone, And see Thee in glory appear, And rise to a share in Thy throne. 4 To mourn for Thy coming is sweet, To weep at Thy longer delay; But Thou, whom we hasten to meet, Shalt chase all our sorrows away. The tears shall be wiped from our eyes, When Thee we behold in the cloud, And echo the joys of the skies,
And shout to the trumpet of God.
THE Church in her militant state
Is weary, and cannot forbear;
The saints in an agony wait
To see Him again in the air.
The Spirit invites, in the Bride,
Her heavenly Lord to descend,
And place her, enthroned at His side,
In glory that never shall end.
2 The news of His coming I hear,
And join in the catholic cry,
REPENT, the Voice celestial cries,
No longer dare delay:
For he who scorns the mandate, dies,
And meets a fiery day.
2 No more the sovereign eye of God
O'erlooks the crimes of men;
His heralds are despatched abroad,
To warn the world of sin.
3 Together in His presence bow,
And all your guilt confess :
Accept the offer'd Saviour now,
Nor trifle with His grace.
4 Bow, ere the awful trumpet sound,
And call you to His bar;
For mercy knows the appointed bound,
And turns to judgment there.
5 Amazing Love,-that yet will call,
And yet prolong our days:
Our hearts, subdued by goodness, fall,
And weep, and love, and praise.
In the large Hymn-Book, 1780, Mr. Wesley closed his INTRODUCTORY HYMNS with a few entitled, Praying for a Blessing. These may be found, with similar Hymns, (Nos. 51-66,) in the Section on DIVINE WOR
Describing Formal Religion; See HYMNS 336-338,
Describing Inward Religion,; See HYMNS 383-385.
Praying for Repentance.
485 (425) L.M. 6 lines.
ATHER of Lights, from whom proceeds Whate'er Thy every creature needs; Whose goodness, providently nigh, Feeds the young ravens when they cry;
To Thee I look, my heart prepare,
Suggest, and hearken to my prayer.
2 Since by Thy light myself I see
Naked, and poor, and void of Thee,
Thy eyes must all my thoughts survey,
Preventing what my lips would say;
Thou seest my wants, for help they call,
And, ere I speak, Thou know'st them all.
3 Thou know'st the baseness of my mind,
Wayward, and impotent, and blind;
Thou know'st how unsubdued my will,
Averse from good, and prone to ill;
Thou know'st how wide my passions rove,
Nor checked by fear, nor charmed by love!
4 Fain would I know, as known by Thee,
And feel the indigence I see;
Fain would I all my vileness own,
And deep beneath the burden groan;
Abhor the pride that lurks within,
Detest and loathe myself and sin.
5 Ah! give me, Lord, myself to feel;
My total misery reveal:
Ah! give me, Lord, (I still would say,)
A heart to mourn, a heart to pray:
My business this, my only care,
My life, my every breath, be prayer!
JESUS, my great High Priest above,
My Friend before the Throne of Love;
If now for me prevails Thy prayer,
If now I find Thee pleading there;
If Thou the secret wish convey,
And sweetly prompt my heart to pray;
Hear, and my weak petitions join,
Almighty Advocate, to Thine!
2 Fain would I know my utmost ill,
And groan my nature's weight to feel:
To feel the clouds that round me roll,
The night that hangs upon my soul,
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