As the saints in heaven adore Thee,
We would bow before Thy throne;
As Thine angels bow before Thee,
So on earth Thy will be done!

EDWARD OSLER.

THE NEW JERUSALEM;

OR, THE SOUL'S BREATHING AFTER THE HEAVENLY COUNTRY.

"Since Christ's fair truth needs no man's art, Take this rude song in better part."

O MOTHER dear, Jerusalem,

When shall I come to thee?

When shall my sorrows have an end—
Thy joys when shall I see?

O happy harbor of God's saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!

In thee no sorrows can be found-
No grief, no care, no toil.

In thee no sickness is at all,

No hurt, nor any sore;
There is no death nor ugly night,

But life for evermore.

No dimming cloud o'ershadows thee,
No cloud nor darksome night,
But every soul shines as the sun-

For God himself gives light.

There lust and lucre cannot dwell,

There envy bears no sway;
There is no hunger, thirst, nor heat,
But pleasures every way.
Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

Would God I were in thee!
Oh! that my sorrows had an end,

Thy joys that I might see!

No pains, no pangs, no grieving grief,
No woeful night is there;

No sigh, no sob, no cry is heard-
No well-away, no fear.

Jerusalem the city is

Of God our King alone;

The Lamb of God, the light thereof,

Sits there upon His throne.

O God! that I Jerusalem

With speed may go behold!

For why? the pleasures there abound
Which here cannot be told.
Thy turrets and thy pinnacles
With carbuncles do shine-

With jasper, pearl, and chrysolite,
Surpassing pure and fine.

Thy houses are of ivory,

Thy windows crystal clear, Thy streets are laid with beaten goldThere angels do appear.

Thy walls are made of precious stone,

Thy bulwarks diamond square,
Thy gates are made of orient pearl-
O God! if I were there!
Within thy gates nothing can come
That is not passing clean;
No spider's web, no dirt, nor dust,
No filth may there be seen.
Jehovah, Lord, now come away,
And end my griefs and plaints-
Take me to Thy Jerusalem,

And place me with Thy saints!

Who there are crown'd with glory great,
And see God face to face,

They triumph still, and aye rejoice-
Most happy is their case.

But we that are in banishment
Continually do moan;

We sigh, we mourn, we sob, we weep--
Perpetually we groan.

Our sweetness mixèd is with gall,

Our pleasures are but pain,
Our joys not worth the looking on-

Our sorrows aye remain.
But there they live in such delight,

Such pleasure and such play,
That unto them a thousand years
Seems but as yesterday.

O my sweet home, Jerusalem!

Thy joys when shall I see— The King sitting upon His throne, And thy felicity?

Thy vineyards, and thy orchards,

So wonderfully rare,

Are furnish'd with all kinds of fruit,
Most beautifully fair.

Thy gardens and thy goodly walks

Continually are green;

There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers

As nowhere else are seen. There cinnamon and sugar grow,

There nard and balm abound;

No tongue can tell, no heart can think,
The pleasures there are found.

There nectar and ambrosia spring-
There music's ever sweet;
There many a fair and dainty thing
Is trod down under feet.

Quite through the streets, with pleasant sound,

The flood of life doth flow; Upon the banks, on every side,

The trees of life do grow.

These trees each month yield ripen'd fruit

For evermore they spring;

And all the nations of the world
To thee their honors bring.
Jerusalem, God's dwelling-place,
Full sore I long to see;

Oh! that my sorrows had an end,
That I might dwell in thee!

There David stands, with harp in hand,

As master of the choir;

A thousand times that man were blest
That might his music hear.
There Mary sings "Magnificat,"
With tunes surpassing sweet;
And all the virgins bear their part,
Singing about her feet.

"Te Deum" doth St. Ambrose sing, St. Austin doth the like; Old Simeon and Zacharie

Have not their songs to seek. There Magdalene hath left her moan,

And cheerfully doth sing, With all blest saints whose harmony Through every street doth ring.

Jerusalem! Jerusalem!

Thy joys fain would I see; Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief, And take me home to Thee; Oh! paint Thy name on my forehead, And take me hence away,

That I may dwell with Thee in bliss, And sing Thy praises aye.

Jerusalem, the happy homeJehovah's throne on high!

O sacred city, queen, and wife
Of Christ eternally!

O comely queen with glory clad,
With honor and degree,

All fair thou art, exceeding bright-
No spot there is in thee!

I long to see Jerusalem,

The comfort of us all;

For thou art fair and beautiful-
None ill can thee befall.
In thee, Jerusalem, I say,

No darkness dare appear

No night, no shade, no winter foulNo time doth alter there.

No candle needs, no moon to shine,
No glittering star to light;
For Christ, the King of righteousness,
For ever shineth bright.

A Lamb unspotted, white and pure
To Thee doth stand in lieu
Of light-so great the glory is

Thine heavenly King to view.

He is the King of kings, beset

In midst His servants' sight; And they, His happy household all, Do serve Him day and night. There, there the choir of angels singThere the supernal sort

Of citizens, which hence are rid

From dangers deep, do sport.

There be the prudent prophets all,
The apostles six and six,
The glorious martyrs in a row,

And confessors betwixt.

There doth the crew of righteous men
And matrons all consist-

Young men and maids that here on earth

Their pleasures did resist.

The sheep and lambs, that hardly 'scaped

The snare of death and hell, Triumph in joy eternally,

Whereof no tongue can tell;

And though the glory of each one

Doth differ in degree,

Yet is the joy of all alike

And common, as we see

There love and charity do reign,

And Christ is all in all,

Whom they most perfectly behold

In joy celestial.

They love, they praise-they praise, they love;

They "Holy, holy," cry;

They neither toil, nor faint, nor end,

But laud continually.

Oh! happy thousand times were I,
If, after wretched days,

I might with listening ears conceive
Those heavenly songs of praise,
Which to the eternal King are sung
By happy wights above,
By saved souls and angels sweet,
Who love the God of love.

Oh! passing happy were my state,
Might I be worthy found
To wait upon my God and King,
His praises there to sound;
And to enjoy my Christ above,
His favor and His grace,
According to His promise made,

Which here I interlace:

"O Father dear," quoth he, "let them Which Thou hast put of old

To me, be there where lo! I am

Thy glory to behold;

Which I with Thee before the world

Was made in perfect wise,

Have had-from whence the fountain

great

Of glory doth arise."

Again: "If any man will serve

Thee, let him follow Me;

For where I am, he there, right sure,
Then shall My servant be."
And still: "If any man loves Me,
Him loves My Father dear,
Whom I do love to him Myself
In glory will appear."

Lord, take away my misery,
That then I may be bold
With Thee, in Thy Jerusalem,
Thy glory to behold;
And so in Zion see my King,
My love, my Lord, my all-

Where now as in a glass I see,

There face to face I shall.

Oh! blessed are the pure in heart-
Their Sovereign they shall see ;
O ye most happy, heavenly wights,
Which of God's household be!
O Lord, with speed dissolve my bands,
These gins and fetters strong;
For I have dwelt within the tents
Of Kedar over long.

Yet search me, Lord, and find me out!
Fetch me Thy fold unto,
That all Thy angels may rejoice,

While all Thy will I do.

O mother dear! Jerusalem!

When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end, Thy joys when shall I see?

Yet once again I pray Thee, Lord,
To quit me from all strife,
That to Thy hill I may attain,
And dwell there all my life-
With cherubims and seraphims

And holy souls of men,

To sing Thy praise, O God of hosts! For ever and amen!

AUTHOR UNKNOWN.

THE CELESTIAL COUNTRY.

THE world is very evil;

The times are waxing late:

Be sober and keep vigil;

The Judge is at the gate: The Judge that comes in mercy, The Judge that comes with might To terminate the evil,

To diadem the right.

When the just and gentle Monarch
Shall summon from the tomb,
Let man,
the guilty, tremble,
For Man, the God, shall doom.
Arise, arise, good Christian!
Let right to wrong succeed;
Let penitential sorrow

To heavenly gladness lead;
To the light that hath no evening,

That knows nor moon nor sun, The light so new and golden,

The light that is but one.

And when the Sole-Begotten

Shall render up once more The kingdom to the Father Whose own it was before,Then glory yet unheard of

Shall shed abroad its ray, Resolving all enigmas,

An endless Sabbath-day. Then, then from his oppressors The Hebrew shall go free, And celebrate in triumph

The year of Jubilee;

And the sunlit land that recks not

Of tempest nor of fight,
Shall fold within its bosom

Each happy Israelite:
The home of fadeless splendor,

Of flowers that fear no thorn, Where they shall dwell as children,

Who here as exiles mourn.

Midst power that knows no limit,
And wisdom free from bound,
The Beatific vision

Shall glad the saints around:
The peace of all the faithful,
The calm of all the blest,
Inviolate, unvaried,

Divinest, sweetest, best.
Yes, peace! for war is needless,—

Yes, calm! for storm is past,--
And goal from finish'd labor,

And anchorage at last. That peace-but who may claim it? The guileless in their way, Who keep the ranks of battle, Who mean the thing they say: The peace that is for heaven,

And shall be for the earth:
The palace that re-echoes

With festal song and mirth;
The garden, breathing spices,
The paradise on high;
Grace beautified to glory,
Unceasing minstrelsy.
There nothing can be feeble,

There none can ever mourn,
There nothing is divided,

There nothing can be torn: 'Tis fury, ill, and scandal,

'Tis peaceless peace below; Peace, endless, strifeless, ageless, The halls of Sion know:

O happy, holy portion,

Refection for the blest; True vision of true beauty,

Sweet cure of all distrest! Strive, man, to win that glory; Toil, man, to gain that light; Send hope before to grasp it,

Till hope be lost in sight: Till Jesus gives the portion Those blessed souls to fill, The insatiate, yet satisfied,

The full, yet craving still. That fulness and that craving

Alike are free from pain, Where thou, midst heavenly citizens, A home like theirs shalt gain. Here is the warlike trumpet;

There, life set free from sin; When to the last Great Supper

The faithful shall come in: When the heavenly net is laden With fishes many and great; So glorious in its fulness,

Yet so inviolate:

And the perfect from the shatter'd,

And the fall'n from them that stand, And the sheep-flock from the goat-herd Shall part on either hand!

And these shall pass to torment,

And those shall triumph, then; The new peculiar nation,

Blest number of blest men. Jerusalem demands them:

They paid the price on earth,
And now shall reap the harvest
In blissfulness and mirth:
The glorious holy people,

Who evermore relied
Upon their Chief and Father,
The King, the Crucified:
The sacred ransom'd number

Now bright with endless sheen,
Who made the Cross their watchword
Of Jesus Nazarene :
Who, fed with heavenly nectar,

Where soul-like odors play, Draw out the endless leisure

Of that long vernal day: And through the sacred lilies, And flowers on every side, The happy dear-bought people Go wandering far and wide.