Till time shall end
Unchangeably the same; in thee all beauties blend.
My times are in thy hand!
Many or few, my days
I leave with thee,--this only pray,
That by thy grace, I, every day
Devoting to thy praise,
May ready be
To welcome thee
Whene'er thou com'st to set my spirit free.
My times are in thy hand!
Howe'er those times may end,
Sudden or slow my soul's release,
Midst anguish, frenzy, or in peace,
I'm safe with Christ my friend.
If he is nigh,
Howe'er I die,
'T will be the dawn of heavenly ecstasy.
My times are in thy hand!
To thee I can intrust
My slumbering clay, till thy command
Bids all the dead before thee stand,
Awaking from the dust.
Beholding thee,
What bliss 't will be
With all thy saints to spend eternity!
To spend eternity
In heaven's unclouded light!
From sorrow, sin, and frailty free,
Beholding and resembling thee,--
O too transporting sight!
Prospect too fair
For flesh to bear!
Haste! haste! my Lord, and soon transport me there!
CHRISTOPHER NEWMAN HALL.
* * * * *
A MYSTICAL ECSTASY.
E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and searched a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where in a greater current they conjoin:
So I my Best-Beloved's am; so He is mine.
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