FAR from these narrow scenes of night

Unbounded glories rise;

And realms of infinite delight,
Unknown to mortal eyes.

Fair distant land! could mortal eyes
But half its charms explore,
How would our spirits long to rise,
And dwell on earth no more!

No cloud those blissful regions know,
For ever bright and fair;

For sin, the source of mortal woe,
Can never enter there.

Prepare us, Lord, by grace divine,

For Thy bright courts on high:
Then bid our spirits rise and join
The chorus of the sky.

+

WESTMINSTER. C. M.

JAMES TURLE. 1852.

236.

THERE is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign,

Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.

There everlasting spring abides,
And never-withering flowers;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
This heavenly land from ours.

O could we make our doubts remove,
Those gloomy doubts that rise,
And see the Canaan that we love,
With unbeclouded eyes;

Could we but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o'er,

Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood,
Should fright us from the shore.