Be grateful ye mothers, and ever be glad,
For here no fell tyrant can make your heart sad;
To tear from your bosoms the infants you love,
In thankfulness bow to the Saviour above.
[And I will shew wonders in the heaven above, and signs in the earth beneath; blood, and fire, and vapour of smoke. The sun shall be turned into darkness, and the moon into blood, before that great and notable day of the Lord come.-Acts 2: 19, 20. Then shall he say also unto them on the left hand, Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels. And these shall go away into everlasting punishment: but the righteous into life eternal.-Mat. 25: 41, 46.]
The angel's trump it loudly sounds!
It shook the vaulted sky,
And tore the earth's foundations up!
And forked lightnings fly!
Behold, the mountains melt in flame!
The sea begins to boil;
The planets from their spheres are hurl'd,
And threaten soon to fall.
The moon is turn'd in crimson gore,
And who 's blowu out the sun;
This earth is folding like a scroll;
Terrific lightnings run.
The stars of heaven begin to fall,
The earth is wrapt in flame;
The Archangel sounds his dreadful trump,
And judgment doth proclaim.
How dreadful must the sight appear,
To him that hath no God;
He seeks to hide his guilty head,
But sinks beneath his load.
Before the judgment bar appear,
To hear your final doom;
Depart ye cursed from my face,
My power shall crush you down.
In vain he gnasheth now his teeth,
His spirit's wrapt in flame;
Beneath God's ire he's sinking down,
His dear bought hell to claim.
Who can portray the judgment scene,
Without supporting grace?
I'll fall in deep bumility,
Before my Father's face.
Rose of Sharon sweetly bloom,
Let thy fragrance reach the tomb,
And perfume my lonely way;
From my bosom do not stay,
I have found you here below,
And no other rose I know.
Grace divine thou truly art,
Thou canst cheer the broken heart,
Thou canst soothe my deepest woe,
This no other rose can do;
Come and dwell within my heart,
With this rose I will not part.
Lo, its birth, it is divine,
Sweeter far than milk or wine;
In my heart this rose shall grow,
While I live on earth below;
When I soar to worlds unknown,
Sweeter far my rose shall bloom.
When I soar to worlds above,
I will sing redeeming love;
Sharon's rose will flourish there,
And the Father's glory share;
With my Iose my soul shall dwell,
It I ne'er will bid farewell.
Who would not this rose then choose?
On its virtues sweetly muse,
There's no earthly flowers that bloom,
That can cheer the lonely tomb;
This will cheer the dreary way,
And lead us to eternal day.
THE SANCTUARY.
[How amiable are thy tabernacles, O Lord of hosts! My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of the Lord my heart and my flesh crieth out for the living
God. For a day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.-Ps. 84: 1, 2, 10.]
With joy I tread thine earthly courts,
Thy presence there to find;
Thy footsteps they are glorious,
Thine image is divine.
Thy presence there disperses gloom,
And makes our souls rejoice;
We'll strive to praise thy holy name,
And lift our feeble voice.
No greater honors do we seek,
While we sojourn below,
Than with the blessed saints to meet !
Our hearts with love o'erflow.
Thy holy Zion we prefer,
Ábove our greatest joy ;
For it perpetually we pray,
Our zeal shall never cloy.
Up to thy courts with joy we go,
Our Savior there to find;
His presence makes our paradise,
For he is ever kind.
For souls immortal there we pray,
And wrestle with the Lord,
And point them to their Savior dear,
And to his blessed word.
This guide it, never misdirects,
'Tis like the magnet true;
It points us to the throne of God,
If we its way pursue.
With joy we search thy holy word,
New courage thence we take;
And warn poor sinners to repent,
And all their sins forsake.
A thousands sweets the Sabbath brings,
With mercy on its healing wings,
Its plumage all is love;
Its voice is mild, its aspect sweet,
The saints the Sabbath love to greet,
The weary here find rest.
The holy angels hast'ning down,
The sanctuary oft surround,
And listen to our songs;
Swift as an angel back they fly,
And bear our message to the sky,
Up to our Father's throne.
On this blest day the Lord arose,
Triumphant over all his foes,
He burst the bands of death;
The holy messengers came down,
The sepulchre they did surround,
Where our blest Savior lay.
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