WE'VE NO ABIDING CITY HERE.
I've no abiding city here, no pleasant lovely spot.
Where roses bloom without a thorn, where sorrows are forgot;
No place where happiness is found, without a fear the morrow
Will overturn the cup of bliss, and fill my heart with sorrow. No place where love fills every heart, nor hate nor envy come
Within that sacred casket, where they ne'er should have a home;
No dear Elysian fields are here, where rest and pleasure reign,
And disappointment ne'er can come to blast our hopes again. No place is found this world around, where friends all faithful prove,
Where no harsh word is ever heard, but every thought is love;
Where joys distill and ever will, from every passing shower.
And pride spreads not o'er every spot, its soul-destroying power Ah no! for I had planned my schemes, with purest pleasure fraught,
"Romantic schemes" they might have been, but O the bliss they brought,
When fondly I believed them true: I thought not that the morrow
Would blast my fondly cherished hopes, and fill my heart with sorrow. But hopes and schemes are blasted, and my spirit turns away
And seeks beyond this "vale of tears" a brighter, better day;
Where night and sorrow never come, where joys and light are given,
Where Christ has promised me a home, a "rest" with him in heaven. There disappointment never spreads her dark and heavy wing;
There life, and love, and peace shall reign, there saints and angels sing;
There robed in light and glory, I shall dwell for ever more,
And sorrow ne'er will reach me on that happy, happy shore.—Sel.