A HOME ON THE NEW EARTH.
By A. L. Wilkinson
TRANSPORTING thought! with joy replete,
How do thy glories sweetly greet
And ravish faith's undaunted eye.
What zeal and aspiration high
Is kindled in the pilgrim's heart,
When lone, in sadness, and apart
From joys and comforts of this life,
And weary of this world's vain strife;
Its tiresome cares, and sorrow's tears,
Its pains and groans, and haunting fears,
The stealthy tread of th' last great foe,
Whose prisoners daily are laid low;
And all the ills that meet him here
That make this life a desert drear.
To think of a home of perfect peace,
The New Earth fair, with Eden face,
To range its fields of living green,
Where ne'er a blight will more be seen!
The curse will then be all removed,
And by our Lord 'twill be approved.
For 'twill be then, as we are told,
A glorious, bright, enduring world.
And the eternal God will then,
Take his abode and dwell with men.
O ransomed earth! thou hast no woes,
We would on thy fair breast repose;
We long for rest, thy rest, sweet rest,
To be by our Creator blessed
With life immortal, bliss complete,
Then we will worship at his feet.
There'll be no sorrow, there no groans,
No widow's sigh, nor orphan's moans,
No prisoners there in dungeon damp,
No warriors' march with murderous tramp,
No aching limbs, nor fevered brow,
No treacherous foe with vengeful vow,
No lovely face laid cold in death,
No poisonous, pestilential breath,
No blighting frosts, nor scorching sun,
No midnight black, nor clouded noon,
No fierce tempestuous hurricane,
Driving and raging o'er the main;
'Twill all be peace, naught will destroy,
And the redeemed shall all employ
Their harps to praise the King of kings,
While hallelujah sweetly rings
Through all the joyous ransomed throng,
Loud uttered as from angel's tongue. A. L. WILKINSON.
Owasso, Mich.