THE DIVINE PILGRIM. I, who once made Him grieve; I, who once bid His gentle spirit mourn ; For His meek brow the cruel crown of thorn : O why should I have peace? Why but for that unchanged, undying love, Which would not, could not cease, Until it made me heir of joys above. Yes! but for pardoning grace, I feel I never should in glory see That once was pale and agonized for me! Let the birds seek their nest, Foxes their holes, and man his peaceful bed; Come, give me rest, and take The only rest on earth thou lovest,-within Lies bleeding, broken, penitent for sin. 87 The New Jerusalem. We are on our journey home, Where Christ, our Lord, is gone; We will meet around his throne When he makes his people one In the New Jerusalem! We see our distant home; Though clouds rise oft between ; Faith views the radiant dome, And a lustre flashes keen From the New Jerusalem! O! glory shining far From the never-setting sun! O trembling morning star! Our journey's almost done To the New Jerusalem! Our hearts are breaking now O Lord, the heavens bow, To the New Jerusalem! BLEST land of Judea! thrice hallowed of song, Where the holiest of memories pilgrim-like throng; In the shade of thy palms, by the shores of thy sea. On the hills of thy beauty, my heart is with thee! With the eye of a spirit I look on that shore Where the pilgrim and prophet have linger'd before; With the glide of a spirit I traverse the sod, Made bright by the steps of the angels of God. Blue hills of the sea! in my spirit I hear And thy spray on the dust of His sandals was thrown. Beyond are Bethulia's mountains of green, |