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HERE AND THERE

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Publishing Committee · Rochester, N. Y. · Oct 24, 1854

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 6, No. 11.

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HERE AND THERE.

By Editor

The following hymn, by Hannah Moore, has proved a solace to many Christians under the trials we must endure "here" to fit us for glory "there."
HERE, bliss is short, imperfect, insecure; But total, absolute, and perfect there. Here, time's a moment, short our happiest state; There, infinite duration is our date. Here, Satan tempts, and troubles e'en the best; There, Satan's power extends not to the blest. In a weak simple body, here I dwell; But there, freed from this frail and sickly shell. Here, my best thoughts are stained with guilt and fear; But love and pardon shall be perfect there. Here, my best duties are defiled with sin; There, all is ease without and peace within. Here, feeble faith supplies my only light; There, faith and hope are swallowed up in sight. Here, love of self my fairest work destroys; There, love of God shall perfect all my joys. Here things, as in a glass, are darkly shown; There, I shall know as clearly as I'm known. Frail are the fairest flowers which bloom below; There, freshest palms on roots immortal grow. Here, wants and cares perplex my anxious mind But spirits there a calm fruition find. Here, disappointments my best schemes destroy; There, those that sowed in tears shall reap in joy. Here, vanity is stamped on all below; Perfection there, on every good shall grow. Here, my fond heart is fastened on some friend, Whose kindness may, whose life must have an end; But there, no failure can I ever prove,— God cannot disappoint, for God is love. Here, Christ for sinners suffered, groaned and bled: But there, he reigns the great triumphant Head. Here, mocked and scourged, he wore a crown of thorns; A crown of glory there his brow adorns. Here, error clouds the will, and dims the sight; There, all is knowledge, purity, and light. Here, so imperfect is this mortal state, If blest myself, I mourn some other's fate— At every human wo I here repine; The joy of every saint shall there be mine. Here, if I lean, the world shall pierce my heart; But there, that broken reed and I shall part. Here, on no promised good can I depend; But there, the Rock of ages is my friend. Here, if some sudden joy, delight inspire, The dread to lose it damps the rising fire; But there, whatever good the soul employ, The thought that 'tis eternal crowns the joy!