EMMANUEL.

C. M.

L. V. BEETHOVEN.

d

163

ƒ TH

'HE golden gates lift up their heads,
The doors are opened wide;

The King of Glory is gone in

Unto His Father's side.

mf 2 Thou art gone up before us, Lord,
To make for us a place,

That we may be where now Thou art,
And look upon God's face.

cr 3 And ever on our earthly path
A gleam of glory lies;

A light still breaks behind the cloud
That veiled Thee from our eyes.

f4 Lift up our hearts, lift up our minds,
Let Thy dear grace be given,

dim That, while we linger yet below,

cr

Our treasure be in heaven.

f5 That, where Thou art at God's right hand,

Our hope, our love may be ;

Dwell now in us, that we may dwell
For evermore in Thee.

Amen.

EDEN.

66.66.

A men.

C. FRANCES ALEXANDER.

O. M. FEILden.

A men.

Be scattered now before Him;
Let all on Him with joy repose,

In worship who adore Him.

cr Before the Lord let them rejoice,

f And in His praise lift up their voice Who rideth on the heavens.

mf 2 When Thou, O God, Thy flock didst

guide,

Earth shook at Thy descending:
When Thou on Sinai didst abide,

The rocks beneath were rending.
Thou, Lord, didst send a plenteous rain,
And didst Thy heritage sustain,
Their weariness refreshing.

f3 Thou hast gone up, O God, on high,
With angel hosts attending;
Thou captive ledd'st captivity,

dim

To heaven's high throne ascending.
Thou hast received gifts for men,
That God might dwell with them again;
E'en with our race rebellious.

f4 Blest be the Lord for all His love,
The God of our salvation;
He daily blesseth from above

His own-His ransomed nation.
ff The Father, Son, and Spirit bless,
One God of Power and Holiness;
Eternal be our praises. Amen.
TR. NEW CONGREGATIONAL HYMN BOOK, 1859, v. 1, Z. 4 altd.

17. HIS REIGN.

DIADEMATA. (1st Tune.)

D.S.M.

G. J. ELVEY, Mus. Doc.

ROWN Him with many crowns, mf [3
The Lamb upon His throne;

Hark! how the heavenly anthem drowns
All music but its own.

Awake, my soul, and sing

Of Him Who died for thee,

cr And hail Him as thy chosen King Through all eternity.

dim

cr

Rich Wounds, yet visible above
In beauty glorified :

? No angel in the sky

Can fully bear that sight,

But downward bends his burning eye
At mysteries so bright.

Crown Him the Lord of Peace:
Whose power a sceptre sways
From pole to pole-that wars may cease,
Absorbed in prayer and praise:
His reign shall know no end,
And round His pierced Feet
Fair flowers of paradise extend
Their fragrance ever sweet.]

Crown Him the Lord of heaven,
One with the Father known,

And the blest Spirit, through Him given,
From yonder glorious throne !

f All hail! Redeemer, hail!

For Thou hast died for me:
Thy praise shall never, never fail
Throughout eternity. Amen.

M. BRIDGES.