3 O! for an angel’s perfect love, A seraph’s soaring wing, To sing with thousand saints above, The triumphs of our King.
4 On earth our feeble voice we try, In weakness and in shame, We bless, we laud, we magnify, We conquer in his name.
5 But, O! with pure and sinless heart, His mercies to adore, My God, to know thee as thou art, Nor grieve thy Spirit more!
6 O! blessed hope! a “little while,” And we, amidst that throng, Shall live in our Redeemer’s smile, And swell the immortal song.
1132 C. M. Far up the everlasting hills.
There is a fold where none can stray, And pastures ever green, Where sultry sun, or stormy day, Or night, is never seen.
2 Far up the everlasting hills, In God’s own light it lies; His smile its vast dominion fills With joy that never dies.
3 One narrow vale, one darksome wave, Divides that land from this; I have a Shepherd pledged to save, And bear me home to bliss.
4 Soon at his feet my soul shall lie, In life’s last struggling breath; But I shall only seem to die, I shall not taste of death.
5 Far from this guilty world to be Exempt from toil and strife; To spend eternity with thee— My Saviour, this is life!
1133 S. M. Inheritance of the saints in light. Col. 1:12.
And is there, Lord, a rest For weary souls designed, Where not a care shall stir the breast, Or sorrow entrance find?
2 Is there a blissful home, Where kindred minds shall meet, And live, and love, nor ever roam From that serene retreat?
3 Are their bright, happy fields, Where nought that blooms shall die; Where each new scene fresh pleasure yields, And healthful breezes sigh?
4 Are there celestial streams, Where living waters glide, With murmurs sweet as angel dreams, And flowery banks beside?
5 For ever blesséd they Whose joyful feet shall stand, While endless ages waste away, Amid that glorious land!
6 My soul would thither tend While toilsome years are given; Then let me, gracious Lord, ascend To sweet repose in heaven!
1134 S. M. I love to think of heaven.
I love to think of heaven, Where white-robed angels are, Where many a friend is gathered safe, From fear, and toil, and care. CHORUS. There will be no more parting there, There will be no more parting there, In heaven above, where all is love, There will be no more parting there.
2 I love to think of heaven, Where my Redeemer reigns, Where rapturous songs of triumph rise, In endless, joyous strains.
3 I love to think of heaven, The saints’ eternal home, Where palms, and robes, and crowns ne’er fade, And all our joys are one.
4 I love to think of heaven, The greetings there we’ll meet, The harps—the songs for ever ours— The walks—the golden streets.
5 I love to think of heaven, That promised land so fair; O how my raptured spirit longs To be for ever there.
1135 S. M. Come, sing to me of heaven.
Come, sing to me of heaven, When I’m about to die; Sing songs of holy ecstasy, To waft my soul on high. CHORUS. There’ll be no sorrow there, There’ll be no sorrow there, In heaven above, where all is love, There’ll be no sorrow there.
2 When the last moment comes, O, watch my dying face, To catch the bright seraphic glow, Which on each feature plays.
3 Then to my raptured ear Let one sweet song be given; Let music charm me last on earth, And greet me first in heaven!
1136 6s & 4s. Hebrews 11:16.
Know ye that better land, Where care’s unknown? Know ye that blesséd band Around the throne? There, there is happiness, There streams of purest bliss; There, there are rest and peace— There, there alone.
2 Yes, yes, we know that place, We know it well; Eye hath not seen his face, Tongue can not tell; There are the angels bright, There saints enrobed in white, All, all are clothed in light— There, there they dwell.
3 O! we are weary here, A little band, Yet soon in glory there We hope to stand; Then let us haste away, Speed o’er this world’s dark way, Unto that land of day— That better land.
4 Come! hasten that sweet day, Let time begone, Come! Lord, make no delay, On thy white throne; Thy face we wish to see, To dwell and reign with thee, And, thine for ever be— Thine, thine alone.
1137 7s, double. Who are these—and whence came they? Rev. 7:13.
Who are these in bright array, This exulting, happy throng, Round the altar night and day, Hymning one triumphant song? “Worthy is the Lamb, once slain, Blessing, honor, glory, power, Wisdom, riches, to obtain, New dominion every hour.”