HYMN XIV.
PART II.
[O let me on the image dwell]
O let me on the image dwell,
The soul-transporting spectacle
On which even angels gaze!
An hoary saint mature for God,
And shaking off the earthy clod,
To see His open face.
The happiest hour is come at last,
When, all her toils and conflicts past,
She shall to God ascend,
Worn out and spent for Jesus' cause,
She now takes up her latest cross,
And bears it to the end.
Summon'd before the throne to' appear,
She meets the welcome messenger,
Array'd in mortal pain;
Her only fear lest flesh and blood
Should sink beneath the sacred load,
Or weakly once complain.
But Christ, the Object of her love,
Doth with peculiar smiles approve,
And all her fears control,
With glory gilds her final scene,
And not a cloud can rise between
To hide Him from her soul.
As a ripe shock of corn brought home,
Behold her in due season come
To claim her full reward!
Smiling and pleased in death she lies,
With eagle's eyes looks through the skies,
And sees her heavenly Lord.
The sight her ravish'd spirit fires,
Her panting dying breast inspires,
And fills her mouth with praise;
She owns the glorious earnest given;
The hidden life breaks out, and heaven
Resplendent in her face.
Fill'd up with love and life Divine,
The house of clay, the earthly shrine,
Dissolves, and sinks to dust;
Without a groan the body dies,
Her spirit mounts above the skies,
And mingles with the just.
With mix'd concern her flight we view,
With joy the' ascending pomp pursue,
Yet for our loss distress'd:
Our bosom friend from earth is flown,
A mother of our Israel gone
To her eternal rest.
Yet still to us she speaks, though dead,
She bids us in her footsteps tread,
As in her Saviour's she;
And O that we, like her, may prove
Our faith unfeign'd and genuine love,
And meek humility.
Who live her life her death shall die:
Come, Lord, our hearts to certify
That we the prize shall gain;
Soon as we lay the body down,
That we shall wear the' immortal crown,
And in Thy glory reign.
