THE WORSHIP OF HEAVEN. "And I saw no temple therein." WHAT turrets blend with yonder sky? Jerusalem its hallowed name To this unfolding City lends: Its images of mighty fame Swell forth, as slowly it descends. That name transports to olden time, And yet no Temple rears its pile Among those structures grand and fair: The palaces of Salem smile, Her Shrine is strangely wanting there. Fitly forgotten is that Frame, And fitly, too, its site unknown : The Lord Almighty and the Lamb Build here Their Sanctuary-Throne. Their Light, the Holiest contains! 0 0 In His own uncreated mind, In His own infinite regard, Alone shall His redeemed find Their praise, indwelling, and reward! "OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN.” O WHERE is the Land of the Blest? Yon clouds, and those stars, far above: No footstep toward it ever pressed, Nor wing of the quick-flying dove! When grace has expelled "the old leaven,”- "T is here is the Kingdom of Heaven! O what is the Land of the Blest? And splendours which endless endure ! When in infancy's slumber at even, O who in that Land of the Blest Shall share so distinguished a place? The Child of the Manger has bled! To spangle the Kingdom of Heaven! LINES SUGGESTED BY THE THOUGHT OF THE ALMOST INCREDULOUS SURPRISE THE CHRISTIAN WILL FEEL ON FINDING HIMSELF IN HEAVEN. YES, 't is Heaven! Doubt no more! And here immortal strength renew. Yes, 't is Heaven! Hark the songs Marks the oppressor's gloomy reign! See the foe, that held us, fall! List to the breaking of his chain ! Yes, 't is Heaven! He is here In whom the fatherless confide! Hushed is every panting fear While in our Father's breast we hide. Orphan rest! No longer roam,— Enter thine eternal home. Yes, 't is Heaven! Gaze around, No dust upon the coffin beats. Yes! 't is Heaven! Soft th' expanse Nor billows rise nor tempests blow. Yes, 't is Heaven! Pilgrim, blest, This long-sought refuge ne'er can fail. THE CROSS OF CHRIST. CROSS of my Lord! In thee I view Thine to Atone! Resenting wrong To Satisfy! It paid the debt To Expiate! The very stains To Reconcile ! It makes us nigh, We see the wood, the knife, the Lamb! There darts from heaven the kindling flame! The real, one, only, Sacrifice From which sweet savour could arise ! |