THE LAND TO WHICH I'M GOING. 203
The everlasting hills shall see,
Where pain no more can come to thee,
And neither sin nor sorrow be-
The land to which thou'rt going.
"He thy Saviour and thy guide,
For thy guilty sake that died,
Even now is by thy side,
Comfort thoughts bestowing.
Angelic forms their arms extend,
And smileth many a long-lost friend
Glad welcome to thy journey's end
The land to which thou'rt going."
Then, as the burden of their song
In faint, sweet cadence dies along,
One happy, radiant look among
That group of mourners throwing;
Just as they faded from my view,
I fain would breath one fond adieu,
Till in that land we meet anew
The land to which I'm going.
PERPETUITY OF JOY IN HEAVEN.
ERE brief is the sighing,
And brief is the crying,
For brief is the life!
The life there is endless,
The joy there is endless,
And ended the strife.
What joys are in heaven?
To whom are they given?
Ah! what? and to whom?
The stars to the earth-born,
"Best robes" to the sin-worn,
The crown for the doom!
O, country the fairest!
Our country the dearest,
We press toward thee!
O, Syon the golden!
Our eyes are now holden,
Thy light till we see.
PERPETUITY OF JOY IN HEAVEN. 205
Thy crystalline ocean,
Unvexed by commotion,
Thy fountain of life;
Thy deep peace unspoken,
Pure, sinless, unbroken-
Thy peace beyond strife.
Thy meek saints all glorious,
Thy martyrs victorious,
Who suffer no more;
Thy halls full of singing,
Thy hymns ever ringing
Along thy safe shore.
Like the lily for whiteness,
Like the jewel for brightness,
Thy vestments, O Bride!
The Lamb ever with Thee,
The Bridegroom is with Thee
With Thee to abide!
We know not, we know not,
All human words show not
The joys we may reach;
The mansions preparing,
The joys for our sharing,
The welcome for each.
206 GLORY IN IMMANUEL'S LAND.
O, Syon the golden!
My eyes still are holden,
Thy light till I see;
And deep in Thy glory,
Unveiled then before me,
My King, look on Thee!
GLORY, GLORY DWELLETH IN IMMANUEL'S LAND.1
HE sands of time are sinking,
The dawn of Heaven breaks,
The summer morn I've sighed for,
The fair, sweet morn awakes!
Dark, dark hath been the midnight,
But dayspring is at hand,
And glory glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.
1 The last words of Samuel Rutherford, Professor in the University of Edinburgh, and sometime minister of the Parish of Anworth.
GLORY IN IMMANUEL'S LAND. 207
Oh, well it is forever!
Oh, well for evermore!
My nest hung in no forest
Of all this death-doomed shore.
Yea, let the vain world vanish,
As from the ship the strand,
While glory - glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.
There the Red Rose of Sharon
Unfolds its heartsome bloom,
And fills the air of Heaven
With ravishing perfume:
Oh, to behold it blossom,
While by its fragrance fanned,
glory dwelleth
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.
Oh, Christ He is the Fountain,
The deep, sweet well of love!
The streams on earth I've tasted,
More deep I'll drink above:
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