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402

That great city, the holy Jerusalem. Rev. xxi: 10.

I Jerusalem, my happy home,
Name ever dear to me!
When shall my labors have an end
In joy, and peace, and thee?

2 When shall these eyes thy heaven-
built walls,

And pearly gates behold? Thy bulwarks with salvation strong,

And streets of shining gold?

3 There happier bowers than Eden's

bloom,

Nor sin nor sorrow know;

The mansions by my Lord prepared,

For faithful souls below.

4 Why should I shrink from pain and woe,

5

Or feel at death dismay?
I've Canaan's goodly land in
view,

And realms of endless day.
Jerusalem, my happy home!
My soul still pants for thee;
My labors then shall have an end,
When I thy joys shall see.

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Sing-ing to wel-come the pil-grims, the pil-grims of the night. A -MEN.

403

He shall give his angels charge over thee. Matt, iv: 6.

I Hark, hark, my soul! Angelic songs are swelling
O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore:
How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling
Of that new life when sin shall be no more.
Angels of Jesus, angels of light,

||: Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night.:||

2 Onward we go, for still we hear them singing,
Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come:
And through the dark, its echoes sweetly ringing,
The music of the Gospel leads us home.
Angels of Jesus, etc.

3 Far, far away, like bells at evening pealing,
The voice of Jesus sounds o'er land and sea;
And laden souls, by thousands meekly stealing,
Kind Shepherd, turn their weary steps to Thee.
Angels of Jesus, etc.

4 Rest comes at length; though life be long and dreary,
The day must dawn, and darksome night be past;
Faith's journey ends in welcome to the weary,

And heaven, the heart's true home, will come at last.
Angels of Jesus, etc.

5 Angels, sing on, your faithful watches keeping,
Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above;
Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping,
And life's long shadows break in cloudless love.
Angels of Jesus, etc.

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403

He shall give his angels charge over thee. Matt. iv: 6.

I Hark! hark, my soul! Angelic songs are swelling
O'er earth's green fields, and ocean's wave-beat shore;
How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling
Of that new life when sin shall be no more!
Angels of Jesus, Angels of light,

Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night.
2 Onward we go, for still we hear them singing,
"Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come ;"
And through the dark, its echoes sweetly ringing,
The music of the Gospel leads us home.
Angels of Jesus, etc.

3 Far, far away, like bells at evening pealing,
The voice of Jesus sounds o'er land and sea,
And laden souls by thousands meekly stealing,
Kind Shepherd, turn their weary steps to Thee.
Angels of Jesus, etc.

9:4

94

4 Rest comes at length, though life be long and dreary,
The day must dawn, and darksome night be past;
Faith's journey ends in welcome to the weary,

And heaven, the heart's true home, will come at last.
Angels of Jesus, etc.

5 Angels, sing on your faithful watches keeping;
Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above;
Till morning's joy shall end the night of weeping,
And life's long shadows break in cloudless love.
Angels of Jesus, etc.

A -MEN.

e

404 He showed me a pure river of water of life, proceeding out of the throne of God.

Rev. xxii: 1.

The sun lights not, nor any heat.
Give us with them at length to be;
And send us here what pleaseth Thee.

I There is a stream whose waters rise 3 There is a people who have cast
Amid the hills of Paradise,
The strife and toil away at last ;
Where foot of man hath never trod, On whom—so calm their rest and
Proceeding from the throne of God; sweet-
O give me sickness here, or strife,
So I may reach that spring of life.
2 There is a rock that nigh at hand
Gives shadow in a weary land.
Who by that stricken rock hath rest,
Finds waters gushing from its
breast;

Here grant me, Lord, my wand'rings o'er,

To rest, and drink, and thirst no

more.

4

Thou only Good! Thou only Wise!
Who dost so lovingly chastise
To give more strength and add more
grace

Grant me Thy spirit to embrace,
The more, the more that nature faints,
The glorious portion of Thy saints.

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