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272

HYMN CCLXV.

8.6.8.6

James Montgomery

China Evangelized.

"The Lord of hosts mustereth the host of the battle."--Isa. xlii. 4.

PART I.

PART II.

PART III.

Lift up your heads, ye gates of brass!

Ye bars of Iron! yield;

And let the King of Glory pass,--

The Cross is in the field.

That banner, brighter than the star,

That leads the train of night,

Shines on their march and guides from far

His servants to the fight.

A holy war those servants wage;

--Mysteriously at strife,

The powers of heaven and hell engage

For more than death or life.

Earth's rankest soil they see outspread;

So throng'd, it seems within,

One city of the living dead,

Dead while alive to sin.

The forms of life are everywhere,

The spirit nowhere found;

Like vapours kindling in the air,

Then sinking in the ground.

No hope have these above the dust,

No being but a breath;

In vanity and lies they trust

Their very life is death.

273

Ye armies of the living God,

His sacramental host!

Where hallow'd footstep never trod,

Take your appointed post.

Follow the Cross, the ark of peace

Accompany your path,

To slaves and rebels bring release

From bondage and from wrath.

A barley-cake o'erthrew the camp

Of Midian, tent by tent,

Ere morn the trumpet and the lamp

Through all in triumph went.

Though China's sons like Midian's fill

As grasshoppers the vale,

The sword of God and Gideon still

To conquer cannot fail.

As Jericho before the blast

Of sounding rams' horns fell,

Sin's strongholds here shall be down cast,

Down cast these gates of hell.

Truth error's legions must o'erwhelm

And China's thickest wall,

(The wall bf darkness round her realm,)

At your loud summons fall.

Though few and small and weak your bands,

Strong in your Captain's strength,

Go to the conquest of all lands,

All must be His at length.

274

The closest seal'd between the poles

Is open'd to your toils;

Where thrice a hundred million souls

Are offer'd you for spoils.

Those spoils, at His victorious feet,

You shall rejoice to lay,

And lay yourselves, as trophies meet,

In His great Judgment-day.

No carnal weapons those ye bear,

To lay the aliens low;

Then strike amain, and do not spare,

There's life in every blow.

Life!--more than life on earth can be;

All in this conflict slain

Die but to sin,--eternally

The crown of life to gain.

O fear not, faint not, halt not now;

Quit you like men, be strong;

To Christ shall Buddhu's votaries bow

And sing with you this song:

"Uplifted are the gates of brass,

The bars of iron yield;

Behold the King of Glory pass;

The Cross hath won the field."

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