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Oh, land relieved from sorrow! Oh, land secure from tears! Oh, res-pite on the morrow From all the toil of years!

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To thee we hasten ever, To thee our steps ascend, Where darkness cometh nev-er, And joy shall never end.

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HIEROSOLYMA. 7s, 6s. D.

J. BARNBY.

For thee, O dear, dear Country, Mine eyes their vigils keep; For very love, be hold -ing Thy hap-py name, they weep.

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1196 Paradise of Joy.

FOR thee, O dear, dear Country,
Mine eyes their vigils keep;
For very love, beholding

Thy happy name, they weep.
The mention of thy glory

Is unction to the breast,
And medicine in sickness,
And love, and life, and rest.

2 With jasper glow thy bulwarks, Thy streets with emeralds blaze; The sardius and the topaz

Unite in thee their rays; Thine ageless walls are bonded With amethyst unpriced; The saints build up its fabric,

The corner-stone is Christ.

3 Thou hast no shore, fair ocean; Thou hast no time, bright day: Dear fountain of refreshment

To pilgrims far away: Upon the Rock of ages

They raise thy holy tower; Thine is the victor's laurel,

And thine the golden dower.

4 Oh, sweet and blesséd Country,
The home of God's elect!
Oh, sweet and blesséd Country,
That eager hearts expect!

Jesus, in mercy bring us

To that dear land of rest; Who art, with God the Father, And Spirit, ever blest.

1197 Meaben Explains All. OUR yet unfinished story

Is tending all to this: To God the greatest glory,

John M. Neale, tr.

To us the greatest bliss.
Our plans may be disjointed,
But we may calmly rest:
What God has once appointed
Is better than our best.

2 We cannot see before us,
But our all-seeing Friend
Is always watching o'er us,

And knows the very end; And when amid our blindness

His disappointments fall, We trust his loving-kindness

Whose wisdom sends them all. 3 They are the purple fringes That hide his glorious feet; They are the fire-wrought hinges Where truth and mercy meet; By them the golden portal Of Providence shall ope, And lift to praise immortal The songs of faith and hope. Frances R. Havergal.

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1198 The New Jerusalem. JERUSALEM, the golden,

With milk and honey blest! Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice oppressed: I know not, oh, I know not,

What joys await me there, What radiancy of glory,

What light beyond compare.

2 They stand, those halls of Zion,
All jubilant with song,
And bright with many an angel,
And all the martyr throng;
The Prince is ever in them,
The daylight is serene;
The pastures of the blesséd

Are decked in glorious sheen. 3 There is the throne of David; And there, from care released, The song of them that triumph,

The shout of them that feast: And they who, with their Leader,

Have conquered in the fight

For ever and for ever

Are clad in robes of white.

John M. Neale, tr.

1199 "Short Toil."

BRIEF life is here our portion;

Brief sorrow, short-lived care; The life, that knows no ending, The tearless life, is there: Oh, happy retribution!

Short toil, eternal rest;
For mortals, and for sinners,
A mansion with the blest!

2 And there is David's fountain,
And life in fullest glow;
And there the light is golden,
And milk and honey flow;
The light, that hath no evening,
The health, that hath no sore,
The life, that hath no ending,
But lasteth evermore.

3 There Jesus shall embrace us,
There Jesus be embraced,-
That spirit's food and sunshine,
Whence earthly love is chased:
Yes! God my King and Portion,
In fullness of his grace,
We then shall see for ever,
And worship face to face.

John M. Neale, tr.

BENEVENTO. 78. D.

S. WEBBE.

:8:

While, with ceaseless course, the sun Hasted thro' the former year, Ma- - ny souls their race have run, D.S.-We a little longer wait,

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2 As the wingéd arrow flies

Speedily the mark to find; As the lightning from the skies Darts, and leaves no trace behind, Swiftly thus our fleeting days

Bear us down life's rapid stream; Upward, Lord, our spirits raise,

All below is but a dream.

3 Thanks for mercies past receive;
Pardon of our sins renew;
Teach us henceforth how to live,
With eternity in view:
Bless thy word to young and old;
Fill us with a Saviour's love;
And, when life's short tale is told,
May we dwell with thee above!

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John Newton.

SWELL the anthem, raise the song;

Praises to our God belong;

Saints and angels join to sing

Praises to the heavenly King.

Blessings from his liberal hand
Flow around this happy land:
Kept by him, no foes annoy;
Peace and freedom we enjoy.

2 Here, beneath a virtuous sway,
May we cheerfully obey;
Never feel oppression's rod,
Ever own and worship God.
Hark! the voice of nature sings
Praises to the King of kings;
Let us join the choral song,
And the grateful notes prolong.

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PRAISE to God, immortal praise,
For the love that crowns our days!
Bounteous Source of every joy,
Let thy praise our tongues employ.
For the blessings of the field,
For the stores the gardens yield;
For the fruits in full supply,
Ripened 'neath the summer sky;-

2 All that spring with bounteous hand
Scatters o'er the smiling land;
All that liberal autumn pours
From her rich, o'erflowing stores;
These to thee, my God, we owe,
Source whence all our blessings flow;
And for these my soul shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise.

Mrs. Anna L. Barbauld.

ST. GEORGE. 7s. D.

493

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1203 Song for Harvest.

COME, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of Harvest Home!
All is safely gathered in,

Ere the winter storms begin:
God our Maker doth provide
For our wants to be supplied:
Come to God's own temple, come,
Raise the song of Harvest Home!

2 We ourselves are God's own field,
Fruit unto his praise to yield:
Wheat and tares together sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown:
First the blade, and then the ear,
Then the full corn shall appear:
Grant, O Harvest-Lord, that we
Wholesome grain and pure may be!

3 For the Lord our God shall come,
And shall take his harvest home:
From his field shall in that day
All offences purge away:
Give his angels charge at last
In the fire the tares to cast:
But the fruitful ears to store
In his garner evermore.

4 Then, thou Church Triumphant, come,
Raise the song of Harvest Home!

All are safely gathered in,

Free from sorrow, free from sin :

There, for ever purified,

In God's garner to abide :

Come, ten thousand angels, come,
Raise the glorious Harvest Home!

Henry Alford.

1204 The Close of the Pear.
THOU who roll'st the year around,
Crowned with mercies large and free,
Rich thy gifts to us abound,

Warm our praise shall rise to thee.
Kindly to our worship bow,

While our grateful thanks we tell,
That, sustained by thee, we now
Bid the parting year-farewell!
2 All its numbered days are sped,
All its busy scenes are o'er,
All its joys for ever fled,

All its sorrows felt no more.
Mingled with the eternal past,
Its remembrance shall decay;
Yet to be revived at last

At the solemn judgment-day.

3 All our follies, Lord, forgive!
Cleanse us from each guilty stain;
Let thy grace within us live,

That we spend not years in vain.
Then, when life's last eve shall come,
Happy spirits, may we fly

To our everlasting home,

To our Father's house on high!

Ray Palmer.

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