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Pursue the heav'nly road that leads on high;
And strong in faith and patience, walk with God.

Then, when the king of terrors comes in view,
He shall put on a smooth and smiling face;
He bears no terrors when he comes to you,
But comes the messenger of sov'reign grace :

To call you from a world of sin and woe,
To the bright realms of everlasting day;
Where trees of life, and endless pleasures grow,
Without deception, and without decay.



YE angels who stand round the throne,
And see my Immanuel's face;
In rapturous songs make him known,
Tune, tune your soft harps to his praise:

He form'd you the spirits you are;

So noble, so happy, so good:
While others sunk down in despair,
Confirm'd by his power, you stood.

Ye saints who stand nearer than they,
And cast your bright crowns at his feet;
His grace and his glory display;

O tell of his love as is meet;

He sav'd you from hell and the grave;
He ransom'd from death and despair;
For you he was mighty to save;
Almighty to bring you safe there.

O, when will the period appear,
When I shall unite in your song!
I'm weary of lingering here;

And I to your Saviour belong;

I'm fetter'd, and chain'd up in clay,

I struggle and pant to be free; I long to be soaring away,

My God and my Saviour to see.

I want to put on my attire,

Wash'd white in the blood of the lamb; I want to be one of your choir,

And tune my sweet harp to his name: I want....O, I want to be there,

(Where sorrow and sin bid adieu) Your joy and your friendship to share, To wonder and worship with you..

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THOU soft flowing Kedron, by thy silver stream,
Our Saviour at midnight, when Cynthia's pale beam
Shone bright on thy waters, would frequently stray,
And lose in thy murmurs, the toils of the day.

How damp were the vapours that fell on his head,
How hard was his pillow, how humble his bed;
The angels astonish'd, grew sad at the sight,
And follow'd their master with solemn delight.

O garden of Olivet, dear honor'd spot!
Thy name and thy wonders shall ne'er be forgot;
The theme most transporting to seraphs above;
The triumph of sorrow! the triumph of love!

'Twas here he engag'd with the lion of hell,
Beneath his strong arm all our enemies fell:
'Twas here he encounter'd with infinite wrath,
And conquer'd by love that was stronger than death.

Come saints and adore him, come bow at his feet;
O give him the glory and praise that is meet :
Let joyful hosannahs unceasing arise,
And join the grand chorus that gladdens the skies.

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GENTLE spirit, tell me where
My Miranda loves to stray?
Is she not thy watchful care

Thro' the night, and all the day?
Does she wander through the grove,
List'ning to the linnet's lay,
Musing on diviner love

Than creation can display?

Is she roving o'er the field,

Bless'd with friendship's pleasing voice,
Friendship that can pleasure yield,

Crowning all her other joys?
Is the raging main in view,
While he throws his billows high?
This, all this is known to you,
Wing'd descendant from the sky.

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