I love to see my Lord below,

His church displays his
grace:
But upper worlds his glory know,
And view him face to face.

I love to worship at his feet,
Though sin attack me there:
But saints exalted near his seat,
Have no assaults to fear.

I'm pleased to meet him in his court,
And taste his heavenly love;

But still I think his visits short,
Or I too soon remove.

HE

HYMN CVIII.

He came, whose embassy was peace,

He left his throne above,

To prove, if enmity would cease

Beneath the power of love.

He came, whose errand was to give,
His hand was opened wide,

Yea, at our need, that we might live,
He gave himself,--and died.

What had the world for him ?—'twas meet,

To answer love with love,

With signs of thankful joy to greet,

The stranger from above.

For him! with all its proud array,
Of kingdom, palace, tower?
He was a wanderer each day,
A mourner every hour.

For Him with all its glory spread
Before its Maker's sight?

He had not where to lay his head-
That wearied head by night.

For Him! his days were almost past,
His sorrows well nigh o'er;

But lo, the world will give at last,
From its abundant store!

The shameful cross, the piercing thorn,
The vinegar and gall,

The world gives these with cruel scorn,
And he endures them all.

Oh world! that cross doth still proclaim,
On earth,-in heaven above,
The story of thy guilt and shame,
The wonders of his love.

HYMN CIX.

JUST as thou art, without one trace
Of love, or joy, or inward grace,
Or meetness for the heavenly place,

O guilty sinner, come!

Burden'd with guilt, would'st thou be blest?
Trust not the world, it gives no rest;
Christ brings relief to hearts opprest;
O weary sinner, come!

Come, leave thy burden at the cross,
Count all thy gains but worthless dross,
His grace o'er-pays all earthly loss;

O needy sinner, come!

Come hither! bring thy boding fears, Thy aching heart, thy bursting tears, 'Tis mercy's voice salutes thine ears;

O trembling sinner, come!

HYMN CX.

WHEN I can read my title clear
To mansions in the skies,

I bid farewell to every fear,
And wipe my weeping eyes.

Should earth against my soul

engage,

And hellish darts be hurled, Then I can smile at Satan's rage, And face a frowning world.

Let cares like a wild deluge come,
And storms of sorrow fall,

May I but safely reach my home,
My God, my heaven, my all.

There shall I bathe my weary soul
In seas of heavenly rest,

And not a wave of trouble roll

Across my peaceful breast.

WATTS.

HYMN CXI.

EARLY, my God, without delay,
I haste to seek thy face;
My thirsty spirit faints away,
Without thy cheering grace.

So pilgrims on the scorching sand,
Beneath a burning sky,

Long for a cooling stream at hand,
And they must drink or die.