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L. M.

The glory of Christ in heaven.


O! the delights, the heav'nly joys,

The glories of the place,

Where Jesus sheds the brightest beams

Of his o'erflowing grace!

Sweet majesty and awful love

Sit smiling on his brow;

And all the glorious ranks above

At humble distance bow.

[Princes to his imperial name

Bend their bright sceptres down;

Dominions, thrones, and powers rejoice

To see him wear the crown.

Archangels sound his lofty praise

Through every heav'nly street,

And lay their highest honors down

Submissive at his feet.

Those soft, those blessed feet of his,

That once rude iron tore,

High on a throne of light they stand,

And all the saints adore.

His head, the dear majestic head

That cruel thorns did wound,

See what immortal glories shine,

And circle it around!]

This is the man, th' exalted man,

Whom we unseen adore;

But when our eyes behold his face,

Our hearts shall love him more.

[Lord, how our souls are all on fire

To see thy bless'd abode!

Our tongues rejoice in tunes of praise

To our incarnate God!

And while our faith enjoys this sight,

We long to leave our clay,

And wish thy fiery chariots, Lord,

To fetch our souls away.]

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