HAIL the day that sees Him rise
Glorious to His native skies.
Christ, awhile to mortals given,
Reascends His native heaven.
There the glorious triumph waits;
Lift your heads, eternal gates.
Christ hath vanquished death and sin;
Take the King of glory in.
See, the heaven its Lord receives;
Yet He loves the earth He leaves;
Though returning to His throne,
Still He calls mankind His own.
See, He lifts His hands above;
See, He shows the prints of love;
Hark! His gracious lips bestow
Blessings on His church below.
Still for us He intercedes,
His prevailing death He pleads;
Near Himself prepares our place,
Harbinger of human race.
O, though parted from our sight,
High above yon azure height,
Grant our hearts may thither rise,
Following Thee beyond the skies.
CHARLES WESLEY, 1739, varied by T. COTTERILL, 1820.
THE eternal gates lift up their heads,
The doors are opened wide,
The King of glory is gone up
Unto His Father's side.
Thou art gone in before us, Lord,
Thou hast prepared a place,
That we may be where now Thou art,
And look upon Thy face.
And ever on our earthly path
A gleam of glory lies,
A light still breaks behind the cloud
That veils Thee from our eyes.
Lift up our hearts, lift up our minds,
And let Thy grace be given,
That, while we linger yet below,
Our treasure be in heaven;
That, where Thou art at God's right hand,
Our hope, our love may be:
Dwell in us now, that we may dwell
For evermore in Thee.
CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER, 1852.
THOU art gone up on high
To mansions in the skies,
And round Thy throne unceasingly
The songs of praise arise.
But we are lingering here,
With sin and care oppressed;
Lord, send Thy promised Comforter,
And lead us to Thy rest.
Thou art gone up on high;
But Thou didst first come down,
Through earth's most bitter agony
To pass unto Thy crown:
And girt with griefs and fears
Our onward course must be;
But only let that path of tears
Lead us at last to Thee.
Thou art gone up on high;
But Thou shalt come again,
With all the bright ones of the sky
Attendant in Thy train.
O by Thy saving power
So make us live and die,
That we may stand, in that dread hour,
At Thy right hand on high.
HE is gone beyond the skies;
A cloud receives Him from our eyes;
Gone beyond the highest height
Of mortal gaze or angels' flight;
Through the veils of time and space,
Passed into the Holiest place;
All the toil, the sorrow done,
All the battle fought and won.
He is gone—and we remain
In this world of sin and pain;
In the void which He has left
On this earth, of Him bereft;
We have still His work to do,
We can still His path pursue;
Seek Him both in friend and foe;
In ourselves His image show.
He is gone towards their goal
World and Church must onwards roll;
Far behind we leave the past;
Forward are our glances cast:
Still His words before us range
Through the ages, as they change:
Wheresoe'er the truth shall lead,
He shall give whate'er we need.
He is gone-but, not in vain,
Wait, until He comes again:
He is risen, He is not here,
Far above this earthly sphere:
Evermore in heart and mind,
There our peace in Him we find;
To our own eternal Friend,
Thitherward let us ascend.
THE High Priest, once a year,
Went in the Holy Place,
With garments white and clear;
It was the day of grace.
Without the people stood,
While, unseen and alone, With incense and with blood, He did for them atone.
So we without abide
A few short passing years, While Christ, who for us died, Before our God appears.
Before His Father there
His sacrifice He pleads;
And with unceasing prayer
For us He intercedes.
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