The Prospect (2)

  O to be with the One who ever liveth
    Within the courts of empyreal light,
  Where the eternal Father glory gives,
    According to His love and wealth and might,
        To His sons, whom grace
        Shall set before His face
  For His unspeakable and endless pleasure,
  In blessing which no creature mind may measure!

  O to be near Him who by blood has bought me!
    To sit before Him, and to worship Him!
  To hear Him tell me how He loved and sought me
    When, lost, I wandered in the darkness dim;
        And of how He bore
        For me the judgment sore
  And drained to the last drop the bitter chalice
  When made the mark for man’s disgraceful malice!

  To see Him—Him in whom my soul delighteth;
    To feast mine eyes upon His face divine;
  Where glory, radiant with love, inviteth
    The confidence of this poor heart of mine!
        With supreme delight
        I shall behold that sight
  Reserved for those who here on earth confess Him,
  And morning, noon, and night extol and bless Him.

  O to be like Him, to the satisfaction
    Of His, and of His Father’s loving heart;
  No more to suffer sorrowful distraction,
    No more from my Redeemer made to part;
        But with Him to share
        Glory eternal there,
  Free from invasion by the foot defiling,
  Safe from the serpent and his base beguiling!

  To be enravished with the heavenly cadence
    Of that sweet voice which thrills throughout my soul,
  And with the fullness of the Godhead ladens
    My heart set free from sin’s distressful dole!
        Life-imparting voice
        Making my soul rejoice;
  Heard when I, lost, lay in my black transgression.
  Heard now in glory making intercession.

  O just to feel that I am His—His only,
    When this great wilderness and waste are past;
  And all my weary wanderings so lonely
    Have ended In His home, at length, at last:
        Tears all wiped away!
        Come, glad, glorious day!
  For I am Thine in singing or in sighing,
  Thine, Jesus, Thine! Thine living, ay, or dying!

  Lord Jesus, precious, living, loving, Fountain
    Of life eternal and of endless bliss,
  Call home Thy flock from valley and from mountain,
    From bruit of battle and necropolis.
        O beloved Lord,
        Speak Thou that welcome word,
  That shall the sons of God together gather
  Into the bosom of the living Father.

  Then I shall ever be with Thee, and near Thee,
    Then shall I see Thee, Saviour, as Thou art,
  Then shall I like Thee be, then shall I hear Thee
    Tell in the glory all Thy loving heart.
        O Thou faithful Friend,
        Come, and the desert end!
  For my poor heart to see her Lord is burning,
  And slow the wheels of laggard time are turning.

  Come, break the cords that bind to dust Thy sleeping;
    Wake with Thy voice the quiet of the grave.
  Their souls and bodies, Lord, are in Thy keeping,
    Waiting the first, and the most welcome, wave
        Of Thy power divine,
        Which shall to sparkling wine
  The water turn, and cause this cursed creation
  In freedom to break forth with exultation.