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HYMN 33

C. M.

The blessed society in heaven.

426

Raise thee, my soul, fly up, and run

Through every heav'nly street,

And say, there's naught below the sun

That's worthy of thy feet.

[Thus will we mount on sacred wings,

And tread the courts above;

Nor earth, nor all her mightiest things,

Shall tempt our meanest love.]

There on a high majestic throne

Th' Almighty Father reigns,

And sheds his glorious goodness down

On all the blissful plains.

Bright like a sun the Savior sits,

And spreads eternal noon;

No evenings there, nor gloomy nights,

To want the feeble moon.

Amidst those ever-shining skies,

Behold the sacred Dove!

While banished sin and sorrow flies

From all the realms of love.

The glorious tenants of the place

Stand bending round the throne;

And saints and seraphs sing and praise

The infinite Three One.

[But O! what beams of heav'nly grace

Transport them all the while

Ten thousand smiles from Jesus' face,

And love in every smile!]

Jesus! and when shall that dear day,

That joyful hour, appear,

When I shall leave this house of clay,

To dwell amongst them there?

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