CCCXI. CHRIST our Forerunner, and the Foundation of our Hope.

JESUS the Lord our Souls adore,
A painful Suff'rer now no more;
High on his Father's Throne he reigns
O'er Earth, and Heav'n's extensive Plains.

His Race for ever is compleat;
For ever undisturb'd his Seat;
Myriads of Angels round him fly,
And sing his well-gain'd Victory.

Yet 'midst the Honours of his Throne,
He joys not for himself alone;
His meanest Servants share their Part,
Share in that royal tender Heart.

Raise, raise, my Soul, thy raptur'd Sight
With sacred Wonder and Delight;
Jesus thine own Forerunner see
Enter'd beyond the Veil for thee.

Loud let the howling Tempest yell,
And foaming Waves to Mountains swell,
No Shipwreck can my Vessel fear,
Since Hope hath fix'd its Anchor here.