|Share page||Visit Us On FB|
174 The BooJt of Praise.
There pain and sickness never come, And grief no more complains :
Health triumphs in immortal bloom, And endless pleasure reigns.
No cloud those blissful regions know,
For ever bright and fair ; For sin, the source of mortal woe,
Can never enter there.
There no alternate night is known,
Nor sun's faint sickly ray ; But glory from the sacred Throne
Spreads everlasting day.
The glorious monarch there displays His beams of wondrous grace ;
His happy subjects sing His praise, And bow before His face.
O may the heavenly prospect fire
Our hearts with ardent love, Till wings of faith and strong desire
Bear every thought above I
Prepare us, Lord, by grace divine, For Thy bright courts on high ;
Then bid our spirits rise, and join The chorus of the sky.
Anne Steele. 1760.