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tr., John Brownlie




Borne on the wings of light,

Behold the Lord ascend,

Up to the portals bright

Where heavenly powers attend,

And fling the gates of glory wide,

While praises rise like flowing tide.


Back to the Father’s bliss

From war and strife below,

From toil and loneliness

’Mid scenes of sin and woe;—

Loud plaudits hail the Victor now,

Who comes with triumph on His brow.


Lord, in the peace of heaven,

Far from our toil and pain,

Think of the promise given,

And come to us again;—

Remember, Thou, the toilsome road,

That brought Thee to Thy blest abode.


And see the toils we bear,

And hear the prayers we send;

In answer to our prayers,

Our needy souls befriend;—

We need not languish in the night,

Though heaven receive Thee from our sight.


O Promised Spirit, come,

And fill the empty place,

Till in our heavenly home

We look upon His face,

Who fought with us in earthly strife,

And won for us immortal life.

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