CCCLVIII. The Conquest of Death and Grief by Views of the heavenly State.

LIFT up, ye Saints, your weeping Eyes,
Suspend your Sorrows and your Sighs;
Turn all your Groans to joyful Songs,
Which Jesus dictates to your Tongues.

Thus saith the Saviour from his Throne,
"Behold all former Things are gone,
"Past like an anxious Dream away,
"Chas'd by the golden Beams of Day.

"See in celestial Pomp array'd
"A new-created World display'd;
"Mark with what Light its Prospects shine!
"How grand, how various, how divine!

"There mine own gentle Hand shall dry
"Each Tear from each o'erflowing Eye,
"And open wide my friendly Breast
"To lull the weary Soul to Rest.

"No more shall Grief assail your Heart,
"No boding Fear, no piercing Smart;
"For ever there my People dwell
"Beyond the Range of Death and Hell".

Vain King of Terrors, boast no more
Thine ancient wide-extended Pow'r;
Each Saint in Life with Christ his Head
Shall reign, when thou thyself art dead.