Lowly may be the portal,

And dark may be the door,
The mansion is immortal-
God's palace for His poor!

Jerusalem the Golden!

There all our birds that flew-
Our flowers but half unfolden,
Our pearls that turned to dew,
And all the glad life-music
Now heard no longer here,
Shall come again to greet us
As we are drawing near.

Jerusalem the Golden!
I toil on day by day;
Heart-sore each night with longing,
I stretch my hands and pray,
That mid thy leaves of healing
My soul may find her nest;

Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest!

Gerald Massey [1828-1907]

THE NEW JERUSALEM *

From "Song of Mary the Mother of Christ "

JERUSALEM, my happy home,

When shall I come to thee?

When shall my sorrows have an end?
Thy joys when shall I see?

O happy harbor of the Saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrow may be found,
No grief, no care, no toil.

There lust and lucre cannot dwell,

There envy bears no sway;
There is no hunger, heat, nor cold,

But pleasure every way.

*For the original of this poem see page 3576.

MY AIN COUNTREE

I AM far frae my hame, an' I'm weary often whiles
For the longed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's welcome

smiles;

I'll ne'er be fu' content until my een do see
The gowden gates o' heaven, an' my ain countree.

The earth is flecked wi' flowers, mony-tinted, fresh an' gay, The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae; But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to me, When I hear the angels singing in my ain countree.

I've his gude word of promise, that some gladsome day the
King

To his ain royal palace his banished hame will bring;
Wi' een an' wi' heart running over we shall see
"The King in his beauty," an' our ain countree.

My sins hae been mony an' my sorrows hae been sair, But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair; His bluid has made me white, his hand shall wipe mine ee, When he brings me hame at last to my ain countree.

Like a bairn to his mither, a wee birdie to its nest,
I wud fain be ganging noo unto my Saviour's breast;
For he gathers in his bosom witless, worthless lambs like me,
An' he carries them himsel' to his ain countree.

He's faithfu' that hath promised, he'll surely come again;
He'll keep his tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken;
But he bids me still to watch, an' ready aye to be
To gang at ony moment to my ain countree.

So I'm watching aye an' singing o' my hame as I wait,
For the soun'ing o' his footsteps this side the gowden gate.
God gie his grace to ilka ane wha listens noo to me,
That we may a' gang in gladness to our ain countree.
Mary Lee Demarest [1838-1888]

In a manger

he beauteous files.

us Friend,

soul, awake!

e descend

or thy sake.

et but thither,

the flower of Peace, cannot wither,

and thy ease. foolish ranges; h thee secure hever changesby Life, thy Cure.

Henry Vaughan [1622-1695]

ARADISE

) Paradise,

ot crave for rest,

>t seek the happy land

that loved are blest?

yal hearts and true ever in the light,

re through and through,

's most holy sight.

Paradise, s growing old;

ot be at rest and free

is never cold?

O Paradise, O Paradise,

Wherefore doth death delay?

Bright death, that is the welcome dawn
Of our eternal day.

O Paradise, O Paradise,
'Tis weary waiting here;
I long to be where Jesus is,
To feel, to see Him near.

O Paradise, O Paradise,
I want to sin no more,
I want to be as pure on earth
As on thy spotless shore.

O Paradise, O Paradise,
I greatly long to see

The special place my dearest Lord
Is destining for me.

O Paradise, O Paradise,
I feel 'twill not be long;
Patience! I almost think I hear
Faint fragments of thy song;
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God's most holy sight.

Frederick William Faber [1814-1863]

THE WORLD

I SAW Eternity the other night,

Like a great ring of pure and endless light,

All calm, as it was bright;

And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years,

Driven by the spheres,

Like a vast shadow moved; in which the world
And all her train were hurled.