Page images
PDF
EPUB
[graphic][merged small]

OR, THE SOUL'S BREATHING AFTER THE HEAVENLY COUNTRY.

BY DAVID DICKSON.-1583-1662.

[THIS grand old poem is generally attributed to David Dickson, a Scotch clergyman of the seventeenth century, born 1583, died 1662, but portions of it bear evidence of much earlier date. It seems probable, on a critical examination, that the Hymn has received contributions from various hands, and that it is partly derived from translations from the Latin, and possibly Dr. Dickson put it into its present shape. Since his day the hymn has been divided and altered in numerous ways, and adapted to the use of all denominations of worshippers in the Christian Church. The hymn in its entirety is now so seldom met with, and its various portions so hallowed by long use and holy associations, that its insertion amongst favourite English Poems possesses a claim which few other hymns in the language possess.]

O

MOTHER dear, Jerusalem,

When shall I come to thee?

When shall my sorrows have an end-
Thy joys when shall I see?

O, happy harbor of God's saints!
O, sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee no sorrows can be found-
No grief, no care, no toil.

In thee no sickness is at all,
No hurt nor any sore;

There is no death nor ugly night,

But life for evermore.

No dimming cloud o'ershadows thee,
No cloud nor darksome night,
But every soul shines as the sun-
For God himself gives light.

There lust and lucre cannot dwell,
There envy bears no sway;
There is no hunger, thirst, nor heat,
But pleasures every way.

Jerusalem Jerusalem !

Would God I were in thee !

O that my sorrows had an end,
Thy joys that I might see!

No pains, no pangs, no grieving grief, No woful night is there;

No sigh, no sob, no cry is heard—

No well-away, no fear.

Jerusalem the city is

Of God our King alone;

The Lamb of God, the light thereof,

Sits there upon His throne.

O God! that I Jerusale.n

With speed may go behold!

For why? the pleasures there abound
Which here cannot be told.
Thy turrets, and thy pinnacles,
With carbuncles do shine--
With jasper, pearl, and chrysolite,
Surpassing pure and fine.

Thy houses are of ivory,

Thy windows crystal clear,

Thy streets are laid with beaten gold-
There angels do appear.

Thy walls are made of precious stone,
Thy bulwarks diamonds square,

Thy gates are made of orient pearl-
O God! if I were there!

Within thy gates nothing can come
That is not passing clean;
No spider's web, no dirt, nor dust,
No filth may there be seen.
Jehovah, Lord, now come away,
And end my griefs and plaints--

Take me to Thy Jerusalem,

And place me with Thy saints!

Who there are crowned with glory great, And see God face to face,

They triumph still, and aye rejoice

Most happy is their case.

But we that are in banishment,

Continually do moan;

We sigh, we mourn, we sob, we weepPerpetually we groan.

Our sweetness mixed is with gall,

Our pleasures are but pain,

Our joys not worth the looking on

Our sorrows aye remain.

But there they live in such delight,
Such pleasure and such play,
That unto them a thousand years
Seems but as yesterday.

O my sweet home, Jerusalem !
Thy joys when shall I see-
Thy King sitting upon His throne,
And thy felicity?

Thy vineyards, and thy orchards,

So wonderfully rare,

Are furnished with all kinds of fruit,
Most beautifully fair.

Thy gardens, and thy goodly walks,

Continually are green;

There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen.

There cinnamon and sugar grow,

There nard and balm abound;
No tongue can tell, no heart can think,
The pleasures there are found.

There nectar and ambrosia spring—
There music's ever sweet;
There many a fair and dainty thing

Are trod down under feet.

Quite through the streets, with pleasant sound, The flood of life doth flow;

Upon the banks, on every side,

The trees of life do grow.

These trees each month yield ripened fruit

For evermore they spring;

And all the nations of the world

To thee their honors bring.
Jerusalem, God's dwelling place
Full sore I long to see ;

O that my sorrows had an end,
That I might dwell in Thee.

There David stands, with harp in hand,
As master of the choir;

A thousand times that man were blest
That might his music hear.
There Mary sings "Magnificat,"
With tunes surpassing sweet;
And all the virgins bear their part,
Singing about her feet.

"Te deum" doth St. Ambrose sing,
St. Austin doth the like;
Old Simeon and Zacharie

Have not their songs to seek.
There Magdalene hath left her moan,
And cheerfully doth sing,

With all blest saints whose harmony
Through every street doth ring.

Jerusalem Jerusalem !

Thy joys fain would I see ;
Come quickly, Lord, and end my grief,
And take me home to Thee!

O paint Thy name on my forehead,
And take me hence away,

That I may dwell with Thee in bliss,
And sing Thy praises aye.

Jerusalem, the happy home--
Jehovah's throne on high!
O sacred city, queen, and wife
Of Christ eternally!

O comely queen with glory clad,
With honour and degree,

All fair thou art, exceeding bright-
No spot there is in thee !

I long to see Jerusalem,

The comfort of us all;

For thou art fair and beautiful—
None ill can thee befall.
In thee, Jerusalem, I say,

No darkness dare appear

No night, no shade, no winter foul
No time doth alter there. .

No candle needs, no moon to shine,

No glittering star to light;

For Christ, the King of Righteousness, For ever shineth bright.

« PreviousContinue »