Sunlight of the Presence

In their joy they find,

Time, and day, and darkness
Are all left behind:
Wherefore should they reckon

Of the waning hours,
Where no hours are waning
In those blissful bowers?

But though sunshine warm them,
Warmer is the love

Kindled in the radiance

Of the courts above; Where no wolf in silence Climbs into the fold Fenced around in safety By the gates of Gold.

There no slimy serpent

Slides beneath the grass,

Where their feet securely

Through those meadows pass:

Satan finds no entrance,

Eden knows no guile,
Where the Saints repose them,
In GOD'S loving smile.

There at last before them,

With all healing rife,

Bearing twelve-fold fruitage
Blooms the Tree of Life;

HEAVEN IN SONG.

No more curse hangs o'er them,
Lest they touch that tree,
They may eat, and eating,
Live eternally.

But no Tree of Knowledge
Blooms before the Throne,
For the Saints of JESUS

Know as they are known;
Comes no guilt to try them,
Those pure courts within:
Comes there no temptation
Where may come no sin,

Through the flowery garden
Flows, their footsteps near,
Life's bright stream of water
As the crystal clear;
From no earthly fountain
Are its clear waves rolled,
For they flow untainted
Through the gates of Gold.

On the breeze of morning,
Like a distant chant
Heard in dreams half-wakeful

Sweet-toned, resonant,
Floats the sound of harpers

Harping dreamily,

As 'mid flowers of Eden

And sweet thoughts they lie.

For no cares, no sorrows

Pass the Vale of Death, Sighs ne'er mount to Heaven On the parting breath; Aching hearts their burden

Now no longer hold; That is dropt for ever

At the gates of Gold.

O my LORD, my Master,
When earth's sunlight fades,
And my footsteps falter

In the Vale of Shades,
Let mine ears in rapture
That sweet music hear
Floating on the night-wind
Nearer and more near.

O my LORD, my Captain,
Bid the martyr throng
Sound across the darkness
With the voice of song:
Bid the Angel squadrons
Sweep their dewy wings
O'er the eyes which mirror
Death's imaginings.

O my LORD, my SAVIOUR,
In the deep dead gloom
Which enfolds the vision
Passing through the tomb,

To my darkened eyesight
Those bright beams unfold,
Call me, lead me, guide me,
To the gates of Gold.

THE CELESTIAL COUNTRY.

From BERNARD of Clugny, translated by Dr. JOHN MASON NEALE.

HE world is very evil;

ΤΗ

The times are waxing late:

Be sober and keep vigil;

The Judge is at the gate:

The Judge that comes in mercy,

The Judge that comes with might,

To terminate the evil,

To diadem the right.

When the just and gentle Monarch
Shall summon from the tomb,

Let man, the guilty, tremble,

For Man, the GOD, shall doom.'

Arise, arise, good Christian,
Let right to wrong succeed;

Let penitential sorrow

To heavenly gladness lead,
To the light that hath no evening,

That knows nor moon nor sun,

The light so new and golden,

The light that is but one.

And when the Sole-Begotten
Shall render up once more
The kingdom to the FATHER
Whose own it was before,-
Then glory yet unheard of
Shall shed abroad its ray,
Resolving all enigmas,

An endless Sabbath-day.
Then, then from his oppressors
The Hebrew shall go free,
And celebrate in triumph

The year of Jubilee;

And the sunlight Land that recks not

Of tempest nor of fight,

Shall fold within its bosom

Each happy Israelite:

The Home of fadeless splendor,
Of flowers that fear no thorn,
Where they shall dwell as children,
Who here as exiles mourn.

Midst power that knows no limit,
And wisdom free from bound,

The Beatific Vision

Shall glad the Saints around:

The peace of all the faithful,

The calm of all the blest, Inviolate, unvaried,

Divinest, sweetest, best.

Yes, peace! for war is needless,

Yes, calm! for storm is past,-

And goal from finished labor,

And anchorage at last.