FAR from these narrow scenes of night Unbounded glories rise; And realms of infinite delight, Fair distant land! could mortal eyes No cloud those blissful regions know, For sin, the source of mortal woe, Prepare us, Lord, by grace divine, For Thy bright courts on high: + WESTMINSTER. C. M. JAMES TURLE. 1852. 236. THERE is a land of pure delight, Infinite day excludes the night, There everlasting spring abides, O could we make our doubts remove, Could we but climb where Moses stood, Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood, |