These are the everlasting hills,

With summits bathed in day:

The slopes down which the living rills,
Soft-lapsing, take their way.

Fair vision! how thy distant gleam
Brightens time's saddest hue;
Far fairer than the fairest dream,
And yet so strangely true!

Fair vision! how thou liftest up
The drooping brow and eye;
With the calm joy of thy sure hope
Fixing our souls on high.

Thy light makes even the darkest page
In memory's scroll grow fair;
Blanching the lines which tears and age
Had only deepened there.

With thee in view, the rugged slope

Becomes a level way,

Smoothed by the magic of thy hope,
And gladdened by thy ray.

With thee in view, how poor appear
The world's most winning smiles;
Vain is the tempter's subtlest snare,
And vain hell's varied wiles.

Time's glory fades; its beauty now
Has ceased to lure or blind;
Each gay enchantment here below
Has lost its power to hind.

Then welcome toil, and care, and pain!

And welcome sorrow too!

All toil is rest, all grief is gain,

With such a prize in view.

Come crown and throne, come robe and palm! Burst forth, glad stream of peace!

Come, holy city of the Lamb!

Rise, Sun of Righteousness!

When shall the clouds that veil thy rays
Forever be withdrawn?

Why dost thou tarry, day of days?
When shall thy gladness dawn?

THE CENTRE OF MY BLISS.

JE

SAMUEL CROSSMAN.

ERUSALEM on high
My song and city is,

My home whene'er I die,
The centre of my bliss:

O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

Thy walls, sweet city, thine,
With pearls are garnished;
Thy gates with praises shine,
Thy streets with gold are spread;

O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

No sun by day shines there,
Nor moon by silent night;
O no! these needless are;
The Lamb's the city's light.
O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,

To see Thy face?

There dwells my Lord, my King,

Judged here unfit to live;

There angels to Him sing,

And lowly homage give.
O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

The patriarchs of old

There from their travels cease:

The prophets there behold

Their longed-for Prince of Peace.

O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

The Lamb's apostles there
I might with joy behold;
The harpers I might hear
Harping on harps of gold.
O happy place!

When shall I be,

My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face?

IN JESUS' SIGHT.

GEORGE H. HOUGHTON.

JERUSALEM! Jerusalem!

is to behold

The glory of thy jasper-walls,
Thy streets of purest gold;

To see the twelve Apostles' names
Upon thy bulwark traced;
Thy gates-each one a solid pearl,

By each an angel placed;

The stream of life from 'neath the throne,
Nor yet that throne to see-
That I would pray, "O may my home
Be found at last in Thee!"

No earthly eye I know hath seen
The glories that are thine;

Nor ear hath heard such strains as rise
From 'mid the host divine.

But more than all thy streets can boast
My eager eyes would see!

JESUS, the precious Lamb of God,

Who died to ransom me!

"Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

Name ever dear to me,

O may at last my name be found,"
With CHRIST, my Lord, in Thee!

THY GATES OF GLISTENING PEARL UN

JERUS

FOLD.

JOHN HENRY HOPKINS, Jr.

ERUSALEM, my Home,
I see thy walls arise;

Their jasper clear and sardine stone
Flash radiance through the skies.
In clouds of heaven-descending,
With angel train attending,
Thy gates of glistening pearl unfold
On streets of glassy gold.

No sun is there, no day or night;
But of seven-fold splendors bright,
Thy Temple is the LIGHT OF LIGHT,

Jerusalem, my Home.

Jerusalem, my Home,

Where shines the royal Throne,

Each king casts down his golden crown
Before the Lamb thereon.

Thence flows the crystal River,
And, flowing on forever,