In their armor keen and bright-
Flashing from the Light of Light,
Breaking up the shades of night,
Advance the body-guard of GOD!

The Judge of all

Is seated. In his hand he bears
The sceptred Cross of Calvary;
The ruby drops of blood still fall,
And jewel with their crimson dye
The Universal Monarch's ball,

Won by his human agony and tears,

When the GOD-Man the way of sorrows trod,— Regalia of the Passion of our GOD.

A cry of misery,

A voice of lamentation low and dread
As the deep organ-note in minster high,
When men sing requiem for the coffined dead,
Throbs through the boundless nations of the lost,
Despairing, deep.

Countless in number as the yellow sand

Ribbed by the embraces of the Northern sea
When wintry waves come bounding on the coast,
With breath suspended in calm trance they stand,
And eyeballs fixed in sightless lethargy,

As men who dare not doubt that hope is fled,
Yet hear their sentence as in dream hell-sped
Of restless sleep:

They have no heart to weep,

When the once loving CHRIST lays down his love, As to the left he waves them with his hand,—

"Depart, accursed, to your chosen lot,

The fire that is not quenched, the worm that dieth not."

A breath of harmony

Touched by celestial fire,

Like the low whisper of the Æolian lyre,
First faint, then swelling louder in sweet tone
Mounts up around the everlasting throne
From the white-vested choir;

A hymn of wakening praise,

Which now the Elect of CHRIST the King upraise, Who see all doubt depart with endless life begun.

Who are they who win the prize?

Spirits of the perfect just,

Who in shock of battle stood

In the tumult and the dust,

In the forefront of the fight:
They have washed their robes in blood,
And have made them pure and white
For their heavenly Captain's eyes:
These are they the prize who win,
To GOD's joy they enter in.

Glory to the bleeding brow!

Glory to the bleeding heart!

Glory for the souls who know

What the prize, nor heed the smart ;
They have counted well the cost,
Worldly poverty and shame:
All is won and nought is lost
If they suffer for his Name.

323

Peace he leaves; his peace is given,
Not of earth he gives to them,
But he gives the peace of Heaven
In the New Jerusalem.

Bright the everlasting day

From the throne of GOD hath beamed,

With its never-fading ray,

On the ranks of the Redeemed:

Onward they haste!

In the armor of the LORD,

Shield of Faith, and Spirit's sword Salvation's helmet, sure and through, Borne on high the onset true, Breastplate firm of Righteousness, Which has stood the strain and stress Of the furious battle-blast.

A thousand times ten thousand bow
In adoration to the throne;

The books are shut, and now they know
Their hope, their joy, is all their own.
A myriad voice of melody

Swelling up to GOD on high

Fills the vales of Paradise,

Circling round the Eternal Feet,
Multitudinous and sweet,

Saint to saint in rapture calling,
As they know their friends once more;
In sweet cadence rising, falling,
Full and slumbrous as the voice

Of

many waters on the shore,

Where tempests vex not evermore

For Time is gone, and now is nigh
Eternity.

BRIGHT GLORY RESTING ON THY BROW.

D

OWN to the margin of the shadowy river,

Thy feet are pressing now;

And the bright glory from the upper temple

Is resting on thy brow.

Soon shall the hand that mine so oft has folded

Sweep o'er a harp of gold;

And thy worn feet, with all their wanderings ended, Rest in the Master's fold.

But I shall be so lonely. When the morning

Breaks up in one glad wave

How dim its light shall seem, because its shining

Falleth across thy grave!

And when the stars are dead along the brow of Heaven,

And gathering tempests moan,

My heart shall echo back their bitter wailing,

For I shall be alone.

No more my friend. The angel bands have won thee, And far from earth's regret,

In the bright city with its many mansions

Thou wilt at last forget

Forget the heart that in its holiest holy
Enshrines thee all life's years;
Forget the eyes so wearily uplooking
Through mists of gathering tears.

And yet farewell; I will not seek to keep thee,

But let life's severed bands

Draw my oppressed and fainting spirit nearer
Its house not made with hands.

And when beside my lonely hearthstone kneeling
I hush my heart for prayer,

Nearer shall seem that bright, celestial city
Because thou dwellest there.

SEE A LONG RACE THY COURTS ADORN.

ALEXANDER Pope.

ISE, crowned with light, imperial Salem, rise,
Exalt thy towery head, and lift thy eyes!

See a long race thy spacious courts adorn;
See future sons and daughters, yet unborn,
In crowding ranks on every side arise,
Demanding life, impatient for the skies!
See barbarous nations at thy gate attend,
Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend;
See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate kings,
And heaped with products of Sabean springs!
For thee, Idume's spicy forests blow,

And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow.