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That rest which yet remains ;
Where our Redeemer reigns ? 2 Infinite power defends the place
From all the assaults of hell;
Supplies the kingdom well. 3 Whilst labouring in the works of love,
With trials and with pains,
'Tis there your rest remains.
To animate my breast ;
Deprive me of this rest.
Grant me a humble place ;
And see His smiling face.
7s. PALMS of glory, raiment bright,
Crowns that never fade away, Gird and deck the saints in light ;
Priests and kings and conquerors they. 2 Yet the conquerors bring their palms
To the Lamb amidst the throne,
And proclaim, in joyful psalms,
Victory through His cross alone. b Kings for harps their crowns resign,
Crying, as they strike the chords,
King of kings, and Lord of lords !'
If their robes are white as snow, 'Twas the Saviour's righteousness,
And His blood that made them so. Who were these? On earth they dwelt,
Sinners once of Adam's race, Guilt and fear and suffering felt,
But were saved by sovereign grace. They were mortal, too, like us ;
Ah ! when we like them must die, May our souls, translated thus, Triumph, reign, and shine on high!
J. MONTGOMERY. 4
6666.88. AFE home, safe home in port!
Rent cordage, shattered deck,
And only not a wreck;
The wrestler nearly fell ;
But he may smile at troubles gone
Who sets the victor-garland on. 3 No more the foe can harm,
No more of leaguered camp,
And need of ready lamp:
How nearly had the foe prevailed! 4
The lamb is in the fold,
In perfect safety penned;
And thought to make an end;
And for the sheep the Shepherd died! 5 The exile is at home ;
0 nights and days of tears ! O longings not to roam !
O sins and doubts and fears ! But now has come the glorious day When God has wiped all tears away!
JOSEPH OF THE STUDIUM, trans. J. M. NEALE. 585 THE happy fields, the heavenly host, The realms of rest
above, Do make us gladsome, Lord; but most
The holy land we love. 2 O ! brigặt those golden gates must shine
That let no evil in !
No room to weep o'er lustre lent,
O’er grace outpoured in vain ;
And then offend again !
We boundlessly receive ;
Nor once Thy Spirit grieve.
But half their work fulfil ;
To climb the heavenly hill !
With what glad speed they run !
The work divinely done !
Wars here Thy pilgrim band;
T. H. GILL.
Beyond this land of woe,
Nor tears of sorrow flow;
And patient hope is crowned,
2 There is a land of peace,
Good angels know it well ;
Within its portals swell ;
Ten thousand saints adore
And Spirit, evermore.
Nor fear to tread below
Of daily toil and woe :
In uncomplaining love;
Shall welcome you above.
H. W. BAKER.
587 THE NHERE is a heaven of perfect peace,
The eternal throne is there; But what that tearless region is
* It doth not yet appear.' 2 And there are angels, strong and fair,
Who know not sin nor fear ; But what the robes of white they wear
• It doth not yet appear.' 3 And there are ransomed spirits too,
Who once were pilgrims here; But how the Saviour's face they view* It doth not yet appear.'