"There remaineth a rest for the people of God."
PATIENT art Thou, Lord, and gracious
With Thy servants in their woe;
In Thy sight the tears are precious
From Heaven-turned eyes that flow:
Yet why sorrow,
Heirs of rest eternal, so?
Hast Thou nought for them that love Thee,
No sweet guerdon for their pains?
Lacks their love the power to move Thee,
Want and woe their only gains?
Boundless Giver!
For Thine own a rest remains.
Would they for some treasure tarry,
Of more sweetness be possessed?
Would they lighter burdens carry,
With more pleasant tasks be blessed?
Bootless yearning,
Theirs the everlasting rest.
Spare them, Lord, no task diurnal,
Spare Thine own no burden sore!
They can wait the Year Eternal,
They can wait the heavenly shore;
Calm they tarry,
Heirs of rest forevermore.
Here below a glorious gladness
Maketh sweet their toils and pains;
Here they drop the song of sadness
For the glad immortal strains;
Thou hast spoken!
For Thine own a rest remains.
HOW GLORIOUS MUST THE MANSION BE.
PRAISED the earth, in beauty seen
With garlands gay of various green;
I praised the sea, whose ample field
Shone glorious as a silver shield;
And earth and ocean seemed to say,
"Our beauties are but for a day."
I praised the sun, whose chariot rolled
On wheels of amber, and of gold;
I praised the moon, whose softer eye
Gleamed sweetly through the summer sky;
And moon, and sun, in answer said,
"Our days of light are numberéd."
O God! O good beyond compare!
If thus Thy meaner works are fair,
If thus Thy bounties gild the span
Of ruined earth, and sinful man,
How glorious must the mansion be,
Where Thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee!
HEAR thee speak of the better land; Thou call'st its children a happy band; Mother! O where is that radiant shore,Shall we not seek it and weep no more? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire-flies glance through the myrtle boughs?" "Not there, not there, my child!"
"Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise,
And the date grows ripe under sunny skies,
Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas
Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze,
And strange, bright birds on their starry wings
Bear the rich hues of all glorious things?"
"Not there, not there, my child!"
"Is it far away in some region old
Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold,-
Where the burning rays of the ruby shine,
And the diamond lights up the secret mine,
And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand,-
Is it there, sweet mother, that better land?"
"Not there, not there, my child!
"Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy!
Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy,
Dreams cannot picture a world so fair,-
Sorrow and death may not enter there;
Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom,
For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb,
It is there, it is there, my child!"
O joy all joys beyond,
To see the Lamb who died,
And count each sacred wound
In hands, and feet, and side!
To give to Him the praise
Of every triumph won,
And sing through endless days
The great things He hath done.
Look up, ye saints of God,
Nor fear to tread below
The path your Saviour trod
Of daily toil and woe;
Wait but a little while
In uncomplaining love;
His own most gracious smile
Shall welcome you above.
THE SECOND DAY OF CREATION.
HIS world I deem
But a beautiful dream
Of shadows that are not what they seem,
Where visions rise,
Giving dim surmise
Of the things that shall meet our waking eyes.
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