Soon as he enter'd to the realms of light,
They cloth'd him in those robes of purest white,
Which, as the gift of Christ, thy darling wears,
And more refulgent than the sun appears.
"Twas then that golden crown became his own,
Which now he casts before the eternal throne.
Such were the honours thy sweet infant graced,
When first amongst his fellows he was placed,
And now their humble souls with angels vie
To lift their Saviour's praise and glory high.
How vast the numbers of that infant throng!
How sweet to listen to their varied song!
Nor does the music from an angel's strings,
Surpass the praise each younger spirit brings.
View next the manna, and the fruitage sweet,
Which evermore they at their pleasure eat!
Behold the fount, whence living waters flow:-
Who tastes them once, no thirst again can know,
Such is the food that saints above enjoy--
A plenteous banquet, that can never cloy!
Why, then, should we in ceaseless mourning go, For those whom God releases from their woe? His love transports them to their heavenly home, And thus he takes them from the ills to come, He calls his fav'rites to eternal rest,
Lest, through injustice, they should be oppress'd,
Abel, though guiltless as a lamb, was slain;
And Joseph long in prison did remain;
A night with lions holy Daniel spent ;-
David through mighty seas of trouble went:
One, who, though rich, becomes diseased and bare; Another dies suspended by his hair!
Fall'n by the sword, the bleeding hero lies;
The drunken soul, o'erwhelm'd with liquor, dies;
The halter robs another of his breath,
While those who nurs'd him mourn so vile a death.
Some parents bring up children to be shot;
And others suffer yet a harder lot;—
They bow their heads beneath a load of shame,
And blush to hear their own dishonour'd name!
Then happy they, who, by some kindly breeze, Are wafted soon o'er life's tempestuous seas! No evil now their wandering steps attends, Nor can they grieve the least of all their friends. Weep, then, no more than nature may require, But grace and wisdom from above desire: Balm for the wound may God in mercy send, And grant each pilgrim such a happy end!
COME, hearken to a Pastor's strains,
And look to yonder blissful plains,
Where those celestial glories lie,
Which God prepares for saints on high.
How many lose the seat of bliss
Because they know not what it is?
And oft, like dunces, as they are,
Give up, for trifles, light as air!
One, for intoxicating drink ;-
Can men of such a bargain think?
Another, not more wise than he,
To eat of some forbidden tree!
Some rob their souls, because no ear
They give to all the truths they hear;
And some, because they still refuse
To ask for grace, the blessing lose.
But view the kingdom God's dear Son
For all his favour'd brethren won!
Think, too, what all its glories cost;
Nor let it be through folly lost.
Not earth its glories can declare; The sun can't with its light compare ;
Nor summer heats, nor winter snows,
Nor rain, nor storm, it ever knows.
For ever blooming it appears ;—
'Tis void of cares, and void of fears:-
From death, and revolution free,
It lasts to all eternity.-
No hunger there, nor thirst remains ;
No sorrows, weariness, or pains ;-
No weakness, want, or pining care,
-Disturbs the soul that enters there.
The sky that is above us placed,
With all the stars and planets graced,
Is but the pavement of that home
To which the just shall shortly come.
-As no one there can aught require,
While all enjoy their heart's desire;
So nothing grows in that bless'd soil,
At which our nature can recoil,
It is a kingdom, raised by God,
And form'd for his divine abode ;
Where angels shall his love adore,
With all his saints, for evermore,
Full in the midst, a city, fair Beyond conception and compare, Which John the New Jerusalem calls, Raises on high its towering walls—
Walls where each precious stone is seen:
The topaz, with the beryl green;
Jaspers and amethysts combine,
And sapphires, join'd with sardines, shine.
This city is a perfect square;
For all its sides quite equal are ;
And that the world might know its fame,
Its length, and breadth, and hight's the same. 22
Twelve gates of pearl aloft are hung,
Which open to the saints are flung;
While at their posts the angels wait
To keep out all the blessed hate.
Its streets are wholly pav'd with gold,
For man too dazzling to behold;
They are than polish'd glass more bright,
And flash, like chrystal, on the sight.
A fount, whose wave like silver gleams,
From under God's tribunal streams;
Its current waters every street,
And is than choicest wines more sweet.
To every place by which it flows
The Tree of Life its branches throws:-
Twelve sorts of fruit, divinely good,
Each month it bears-celestial food!
The souls that on its fruitage feed,
Are strangers both to pain and need ;—
They quaff the stream, and never know,
Nor thirst, nor any kind of woe.
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