346.

BELIEVE not those who say

The upward path is smooth,
Lest thou shouldst stumble in the way,

And faint before the truth.

It is the only road

Unto the realms of joy,

But he who seeks that blest abode

Must all his powers employ.

Arm, arm thee for the fight;

Cast useless bonds away;

Watch through the darkest hours of night,
Toil through the hottest day.

To labour and to love,

To pardon and endure,

To lift thy heart to God above,

And keep thy conscience pure;

Be this thy constant aim,

Thy hope, thy chief delight;

What matter who should whisper blame?

What matter scorn or slight?

If but thy God approve,

There lives within thy breast

The quickening comfort of His love,

The earnest of His rest.

ANNE BRONTË, d. 1849.

347.

(PSALM LXXXIV.)

PLEASANT are Thy courts above
In the land of light and love;
Pleasant are Thy courts below
In this land of sin and woe:
O, my spirit longs and faints
For the converse of Thy saints,
For the brightness of Thy face,
For Thy fulness, God of grace.

Happy birds that sing and fly
Round Thy altars, O Most High !
Happier souls that find a rest
In a heavenly Father's breast!
Like the wandering dove that found
No repose on earth around,
They can to their ark repair,
And enjoy it ever there.

Happy souls, their praises flow

Even in this vale of woe;

Waters in the desert rise,

Manna feeds them from the skies ;
On they go from strength to strength,
Till they reach Thy throne at length,
At Thy feet adoring fall,

Who hast led them safe through all.

Lord, be mine this prize to win;
Guide me through a world of sin,
Keep me by Thy saving grace,
Give me at Thy side a place.
Sun and Shield alike Thou art,
Guide and guard my erring heart:
Grace and glory flow from Thee;
Shower, O shower them, Lord, on me.

HENRY FRANCIS LYTE, 1834.

348.

JERUSALEM, my happy home,
Name ever dear to me,

When shall my labours have an end
In joy, and peace, and thee?

When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls

And pearly gates behold,

Thy bulwarks with salvation strong,

And streets of shining gold?

There happier bowers than Eden's bloom,

Nor sin nor sorrow know:

Blest seats, through rude and stormy scenes

I onward press to you.

Why should I shrink from pain and woe,

Or feel at death dismay?

I've Canaan's goodly land in view,
And realms of endless day.

Apostles, martyrs, prophets, there

Around my Saviour stand,
And soon my friends in Christ below
Will join the glorious band.

Jerusalem, my happy home,

My soul still pants for thee:

Then shall my labours have an end,

When I thy joys shall see.

Varied by JOSEPH BROMEHEAD, 1795, from versions by F. B. P., circ. 1600, and W. PRID, 1585, of a Latin hymn by ST. PETER DAMIANI, d. 1072.

349.

A FEW more years shall roll,
A few more seasons come,

And we shall be with those that rest
Asleep within the tomb:
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that great day;
O wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

A few more suns shall set
O'er these dark hills of time,
And we shall be where suns are not,
A far serener clime:

Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that bright day;
O wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

A few more storms shall beat
On this wild rocky shore,

And we shall be where tempests cease,
And surges swell no more:
Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that calm day;
O wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

A few more struggles here,
A few more partings o'er,
A few more toils, a few more tears,
And we shall weep no more :
Then, O my Lord. prepare
My soul for that blest day :
O wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

"Tis but a little while

And He shall come again,

Who died that we might live, who lives
That we with Him may reign:

Then, O my Lord, prepare
My soul for that glad day;

O wash me in Thy precious blood,
And take my sins away.

HORATIUS BONAR, circ. 1842.

350.

(HOSEA VI., I-4.)

COME, let us to the Lord our God
With contrite hearts return;

Our God is gracious, nor will leave
The desolate to mourn.

His voice commands the tempest forth,
And stills the stormy wave;

And though His arm be strong to smite,
'Tis also strong to save.

Long hath the night of sorrow reigned
The dawn shall bring us light;
God shall appear, and we shall rise
With gladness in His sight.

Our hearts, if God we seek to know,
Shall know Him and rejoice:
His coming like the morn shall be,
Like morning songs His voice.

JOHN MORRISON, 1781.