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 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
215
HYMN I.
[Come let us join our friends above]
Come let us join our friends above
That have obtain'd the prize,
And on the eagle wings of love
To joy celestial rise;
Let all the saints terrestrial sing
With those to glory gone,
For all the servants of our King
In earth and heaven are one.
That have obtain'd the prize,
And on the eagle wings of love
To joy celestial rise;
Let all the saints terrestrial sing
With those to glory gone,
For all the servants of our King
In earth and heaven are one.
One family we dwell in Him,
One church above, beneath,
Though now divided by the stream,
The narrow stream of death:
One army of the living God,
To His command we bow:
Part of His host hath cross'd the flood,
And part is crossing now.
One church above, beneath,
Though now divided by the stream,
The narrow stream of death:
One army of the living God,
To His command we bow:
Part of His host hath cross'd the flood,
And part is crossing now.
Ten thousand to their endless home
This solemn moment fly,
And we are to the margin come,
And we expect to die:
His militant, embodied host,
With wishful looks we stand,
And long to see that happy coast,
And reach that heavenly land.
This solemn moment fly,
And we are to the margin come,
And we expect to die:
216
With wishful looks we stand,
And long to see that happy coast,
And reach that heavenly land.
Our old companions in distress
We haste again to see,
And eager long for our release
And full felicity:
Even now by faith we join our hands
With those that went before,
And greet the blood-besprinkled bands
On the eternal shore.
We haste again to see,
And eager long for our release
And full felicity:
Even now by faith we join our hands
With those that went before,
And greet the blood-besprinkled bands
On the eternal shore.
Our spirits too shall quickly join,
Like theirs, with glory crown'd,
And shout to see our Captain's sign,
To hear His trumpet sound:
O that we now might grasp our Guide!
O that the word were given!
Come, Lord of Hosts, the waves divide,
And land us all in heaven.
Like theirs, with glory crown'd,
And shout to see our Captain's sign,
To hear His trumpet sound:
O that we now might grasp our Guide!
O that the word were given!
Come, Lord of Hosts, the waves divide,
And land us all in heaven.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |