The ways all rugged and perplex'd
He renders smooth and straight,
And strengthens every feeble knee
To march to Zion's gate.

Through all the path I'll sing His Name,

Till I the Mount ascend,

Where toils and storms are known no more,

And anthems never end!

Philip Doddridge. 1755.

X.

THE COMMUNION OF SAINTS,

"The Communion of Saints" (Apostles' Creed).

CXXX.

When Christ the Lord would come on earth,

His messenger before Him went,

The greatest born of mortal birth

And charged with words of deep intent.

The least of all that here attend
Hath honour greater far than he;
He was the Bridegroom's joyful friend,
His Body and His Spouse are we.

A higher race, the sons of light,
Of water and the Spirit born;
He the last star of parting night,

And we the children of the morn.

And, as he boldly spake Thy word,

And joyed to hear the Bridegroom's voice, Thus may Thy pastors teach, O Lord!

And thus Thy hearing Church rejoice.

Henry Alford. 1845.

CXXXI.

How rich Thy favours, God of grace,

How various and Divine !

Full as the ocean they are pour'd,
And bright as Heaven they shine.

He to eternal glory calls,

And leads the wondrous way
To His own Palace, where He reigns
In uncreated day.

Jesus, the Herald of His love,

Displays the radiant prize,

And shows the purchase of His Blood
To our admiring eyes.

He perfects what His hand begins,
And stone on stone he lays,
Till firm and fair the building rise
A temple to His praise.

The songs of everlasting years

That mercy shall attend,

Which leads, through sufferings of an hour,

To joys that never end.

Philip Doddridge. 1755.

L

CXXXII.

PSALM LXXXIV.

Pleasant are Thy courts above
In the land of light and love;
Pleasant are thy courts below
In this land of sin and woe.
O, my spirit longs and faints
For the converse of Thy saints,
For the brightness of Thy face,
For Thy fulness, God of grace!

Happy birds that sing and fly
Round Thy altars, O Most High!
Happier souls that find a rest
In a Heavenly Father's breast!
Like the wandering dove, that found
No repose on earth around,

They can to their ark repair,

And enjoy it ever there.

Happy souls! their praises flow
Even in this vale of woe;

Waters in the desert rise,

Manna feeds them from the skies: On they go from strength to strength, Till they reach Thy throne at length, At Thy feet adoring fall,

Who hast led them safe through all.

Lord! be mine this prize to win!
Guide me through a world of sin :
Keep me by Thy saving grace;
Give me at Thy side a place :

Sun and Shield alike Thou art;

Guide and guard my erring heart!
Grace and glory flow from Thee ;
Shower, O shower them, Lord, on me!

Henry Francis Lyte. 1834.

CXXXIII.

PSALM LXXXIV.

Lord of the worlds above,
How pleasant and how fair
The dwellings of Thy love,
Thy earthly temples, are!
To Thine abode

My heart aspires
With warm desires

To see my God.

O happy souls that pray
Where God appoints to hear!
O happy men that pay
Their constant service there!

They praise Thee still;

And happy they

That love the way

To Sion's hill.

They go from strength to strength
Through this dark vale of tears,
Till each arrives at length,
Till each in Heaven appears:

O glorious seat,

When God our King

Shall thither bring

Our willing feet!

Isaac Watts. 1719.

CXXXIV.

'Tis Heaven begun below

To hear Christ's praises flow
In Zion, where His Name is known:
What will it be above

To sing redeeming love,

And cast our crowns before His throne!

When we adore Him there,
We shall be void of fear,

Nor faith, nor hope, nor patience need :
Love will absorb us quite,

Love in the midst of light,
On God's eternal love shall feed.

Oh! what sweet company
We then shall hear and see!
What harmony will there abound!
When souls unnumber'd sing
The praise of Zion's King,
Nor one dissenting voice is found!

With everlasting joy,

Such as will never cloy,

We shall be fill'd, nor wish for more;

Bright as meridian day,

Calm as the evening ray, Full as a sea without a shore.

Till that blest period come,
Zion shall be my home;

And may I never thence remove,
Till from the Church below

To heaven at once I go,

And there commune in perfect love!

Joseph Swain.

1792.