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82
June 17.
JOHN WESLEY. (1703.)
[_]
On the birthday of the most potent enkindler of religious life that England has produced, it is not unmeet for Englishmen to rejoice in their Heavenly citizenship.
“Our citizenship is in Heaven.”—Saint Paul.
We triumph in the glorious grace
That set us in this English land,
And welcome the high earthly place
Wherein our God hath made us stand.
That set us in this English land,
And welcome the high earthly place
Wherein our God hath made us stand.
While service to our land we bring,
The Lord's own glory we would show,
And wait upon our Heavenly King
In this our commonwealth below.
The Lord's own glory we would show,
And wait upon our Heavenly King
In this our commonwealth below.
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But O! to us a grace more great,
A dignity more dear is given:
He links us to a nobler State;
He makes us citizens of Heaven.
A dignity more dear is given:
He links us to a nobler State;
He makes us citizens of Heaven.
O mightily our hearts are bound
This goodly Father Land to love;
But more our own Emmanuel's ground,
That better, dearer land above.
This goodly Father Land to love;
But more our own Emmanuel's ground,
That better, dearer land above.
Our land's good laws we proudly praise;
Our land's great tale we gladsome tell:
But O! what majesty arrays
The people of Emmanuel!
Our land's great tale we gladsome tell:
But O! what majesty arrays
The people of Emmanuel!
Their glorious freedom how complete!
How absolute His holy will!
What tasks divine, what tribute sweet
Their spirits bring, their hands fulfil!
How absolute His holy will!
What tasks divine, what tribute sweet
Their spirits bring, their hands fulfil!
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Dear fellow-citizens they greet
Of every age, of every clime:
Far dwellers in one City meet,
Strange voices raise one song sublime.
Of every age, of every clime:
Far dwellers in one City meet,
Strange voices raise one song sublime.
Do our fond, faithful hearts partake
The Father Land's sore wounds and woe?
Ah! mourn we for the storms that break
Upon our Commonwealth below?
The Father Land's sore wounds and woe?
Ah! mourn we for the storms that break
Upon our Commonwealth below?
Those storms,—our peace they may not whelm,
They cannot reach our true abode.
O sweetness of that upper realm!
O peaceful City of our God!
They cannot reach our true abode.
O sweetness of that upper realm!
O peaceful City of our God!
O! seemeth it so sad to leave
Our commonwealth and country dear?
Poor sojourners! we wrongly grieve;
Our Father Land—it lies not here!
Our commonwealth and country dear?
Poor sojourners! we wrongly grieve;
Our Father Land—it lies not here!
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O City where God's people dwell!
O home where no sweet bonds are riven!
O country of Emmanuel!
The only Father Land is Heaven.
O home where no sweet bonds are riven!
O country of Emmanuel!
The only Father Land is Heaven.
Joy! joy! our King doth never die,
Our City shall for ever stand:
We serve the Eternal Majesty,
And hold the Heavenly Father Land.
Our City shall for ever stand:
We serve the Eternal Majesty,
And hold the Heavenly Father Land.
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