I would not miss them at home in heaven; May I have them again in the land of peace, When the golden crowns at my feet are cast, When the hymn is swelling o'er heavenly hills, It cannot be that the dearest ones I would that my dear ones might all be brought Might be carried to Him when borne away But man is weak, although love be strong, And pray as Thou prayedst in Thine agony, A THE INNUMERABLE GREETING. EDWARD HENRY BICKERSTETH. ND lo, upon the extreme verge of cloud As once at Eden's portals there appear'd A company of angels clothed in light, Thronging the path or in the amber air Suspense. And in the twinkling of an eye And every word was musical with joy. "Welcome to heaven, dear brother, welcome home. Welcome to thy inheritance of light! Welcome forever to thy Master's joy! Thy work is done, thy pilgrimage is past; Thy guardian angel's vigil is fulfill'd; Thy parents wait thee in the bowers of bliss ; So sang they; and that vast defile of clouds O HAPPY SAINTS WHO DWELL IN LIGHT. JOHN BERRIDGE. HAPPY saints who dwell in light, And walk with Jesus, clothed in white; Safe landed on that peaceful shore, Where pilgrims meet to part no more. Released from sin, and toil, and grief, And now they range the heavenly plains, He cheers them with eternal smile; Ah, Lord, with tardy steps I creep, MY SAVIOUR WHOM ABSENT I LOVE. WILLIAM COWPER. M Y Saviour whom absent I love, Whose name is exalted above All glory, dominion and power. Dissolve Thou those bands that detain When that happy era begins, When arrayed in Thy glories I shine, Nor grieve any more, by my sins, The bosom on which I recline; Oh then shall the veil be removed, And round me Thy brightness be poured; I shall meet Him Whom absent I loved, I shall see Whom unseen I adored. 335 TO BE WITH CHRIST WHICH IS FAR BETTER. CHARLES WESLEY. H when shall we sweetly remove, Return to the Zion above, The mother of spirits distrest; Where sorrow and death are no more, Thou know'st in the spirit of prayer But longing to triumph with Thee: And rise to a share in Thy throne. To mourn for Thy coming is sweet, Shalt chase all our sorrows away. |