1 Он, yet, we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill,
2 Celestial streams shall gently flow;
The wilderness shall joyful be;
Lilies on parchéd ground shall grow;
And gladness spring on every tree;
3 The weak be strong, the fearful bold,
The deaf shall hear, the dumb shall sing,
The lame shall walk, the blind behold,
And joy through all the earth shall ring.
4 Monarchs and slaves shall meet in love; 3
Old pride shall die, and meekness reign,-
When God descends from worlds above,
To dwell with men on earth again.
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The Cloud and Pillar of Fire.
1 LONG as the darkening cloud abode,
So long did ancient Israel rest;
Nor moved they, till the guiding Lord
In brighter garments stood confest.
2 Father of spirits, Light of light,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;
That nothing walks with aimless feet,
That not one life shall be destroyed,
Or cast as rubbish to the void,
When God hath made the pile complete.
That not a worm is cloven in vain ;
That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire,
Or but subserves another's gain.
4 Behold, we know not anything;
We can but trust that good shall fall
At last far off-at last, to all,
And every winter change to spring.
Lift up the cloud, and rend the veil:
Shine forth in fire, amid that night,
Whose blackness makes the heart to fail.
3 'T is done! to Christ the power is given; 2
His death has rent the veil away,
Our great forerunner entered heaven,
And oped the gates of endless day.
Thou, God, wilt hear.
STILL prayers are strong, and God is good;
Man is not made for endless ill;
Dear spirit! my soul's tormented mood
Has yet a hope thou canst not kill.
Thou, God, wilt hear! thy pangs are meant
To heal the spirit, not destroy;
And what may seem for vengeance sent,
When thou commandest, works for joy.
1 Он, could we speak the matchless worth,
Oh, could we sound the glories forth,
Which in our Saviour shine,
We'd soar, and touch the heavenly strings,
And vie with Gabriel, while he sings,
In notes almost divine.
2 We'd sing the characters he bears,
And all the forms of love he wears,
Exalted on his throne:
In loftiest songs of sweetest praise,
We would, to everlasting days,
Make all his glories known.
3 Well, the delightful days will come,
When our dear Lord will bring us home,
And we shall see his face:
Then, with our Saviour, brother, friend,
A blest eternity we 'll spend,
Triumphant in his grace.
And hailed th' auspicious day, When Christ should all his grace disclose And cure the world of all its woes, By truth's triumphant sway.
1 ОH, let your mingling voices rise
In grateful rapture to the skies,
And hail a Saviour's birth:
Let songs of joy the day proclaim,
When Jesus all-triumphant came
To bless the sons of earth!
Prospect of Universal Blessedness.
1 Lo! what a glorious sight appears
To our believing eyes!
The earth and seas are passed away,
And the old rolling skies.
2 From the third heaven, where God resides,
That holy, happy place,
The new Jerusalem comes down,
Adorned with shining grace.
3 Attending angels shout for joy,
And the bright armies sing,"Mortals! behold the sacred seat Of your descending King:4 "The God of glory down to men Removes his blessed abode; Men, the dear objects of his grace, And he, the loving God.
5 "His own soft hand shall wipe the tears From every weeping eye;
2 The fathers had not all of thee!
New births are in thy grace;
All open to our souls shall be
Thy glory's hiding-place.
3 On us thy Spirit hast thou poured,
To us thy Word has come;
We feel, we bless thee, quickening Lord,
Thou shalt not find us dumb.
4 Thou comest near; thou standest by;
Our work begins to shine;
Thou dwellest with us mightily;
On speed the years divine!
And pains and groans, and griefs and fears, 2
And death itself shall die."
6 How long, dear Saviour, oh, how long
Shall this bright hour delay?
Fly swifter round, ye wheels of time,
And bring the welcome day.
1 IN latter days the mount of God O'er mountain tops shall rise; Shall be exalted o'er the hills,
And draw the wondering eyes.
The beams that shine on Zion's hill
Shall lighten every land;
The King who reigns in Zion's towers
Shall all the world command.
The nations, by his justice blest,
Shall give their battles o'er; [swords, To ploughshares they shall beat their And learn to war no more.
1 O God! our God! thou shinest here, 4 Come, then,- oh, come from every land,
Thine own this latter day;
To us thy radiant steps appear;
Here beams thy glorious way!
To worship at his shrine;
And, walking in the light of God,
With holy beauty shine.
1 THOU, whose wide extended sway
Suns and systems e'er obey!
Thou, our Guardian and our stay,
Evermore adored:
In prospective, Lord, we see
Jew and Gentile, bond and free,
Reconciled in Christ to thee,
Holy, Holy Lord.
2 Thou by all shalt be confessed,
Ever blessing, ever blest,
When to thy eternal rest,
In the courts above,
Thou shalt bring the sore oppressed;
Fill each joy-desiring breast;
Make of each a welcome guest,
At the feast of love.
3 When destroying death shall die,
Hushed be every rising sigh,
Tears be wiped from every eye,
Never more to fall;
Then shall praises fill the sky,
And angelic hosts shall cry,
Holy, Holy Lord, Most High,
Thou art All in All!
See your foemen take the ground;.
While the signal trumpets sound
Hear his accents pour around,
Cheering melody!
2 Christian soldier, on with me!
Soon the enemies must flee;
Your reward before you see
Sparkling from on high!
Boldly take the glorious field;
You may fall-but must not yield;:
You shall write upon your shield
Vict'ry, though you die !!
3 By the ransom which he gave,. By his triumph o'er the grave;. Trust his mighty power to save;:
Firm and faithful be: And when death's dark hour is nigh,. When the tear-drop dims the eye, You shall, in the parting sigh,. Grasp the victory.
The Ministry of Suffering.
1 O LIFE, O death, O world, O time,
O grave, where all things flow,
'Tis yours to make our lot sublime,
With your great weight of woe!
2 Though sharpest anguish hearts may wring,
Though bosoms torn may be,
Yet suffering is a holy thing;
Without it, what were we?
To trust his firm decrees; Sweet to lie passive in his hands,
And know no will but his.
1 TEACH me the measure of my days,
Thou Maker of my frame!
I would survey life's narrow space,
And learn how frail I am.
2 A span is all that we can boast,—
An inch or two of time;
Man is but vanity and dust,
In all his flower and prime.
3 Some walk in honor's gaudy show;
Some dig for golden ore;
They toil for heirs, they know not who,
And straight are seen no more.
4 What should I wish or wait for, then,
From creatures, earth, and dust?
They make our expectations vain,
And disappoint our trust.
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