2 The blind their eyes shall open wide; To drink the light's o'erflowing tide, The deaf sweet music hear; The lame like bounding hart shall leap; The dumb no longer silence keep, But shout redemption near. 3 And there shall be a holy way, In which the simple shall not stray-- The path so plain and bright. Wayfaring men therein shall walk, And of their home and kindred talk, With rapture and delight. 4 No ravenous beast in quest of prey, No lion lurking in the way, Shall ever there be seen. The place where dragons lay concealed, Large crops of waving grass shall yield, With reeds and rushes green. 5 And when to Zion's peaceful home The ransomed of the Lord shall come, (O haste the blissful day!) Glad strains shall every tongue employ In songs of everlasting joy, And sighing flee away. 312. H. M. Doddridge. The Wilderness Transformed. Is. 41:18, 19. 1 Amazing, beauteous change! A world created new! My thoughts with transport range, The lovely scene to view: In all I trace, The work is thine; Saviour divine, Be thine the praise! 2 See crystal fountains play Amidst the burning sands; The river's winding way Shines through the thirsty lands; New grass is seen, Its carpet spreads And o'er the meads Of living green. 3 Where pointed brambles grew, Entwined with horrid thorn, Gay flowers, forever new, The painted fields adorn; The blushing rose, In union fair, And lily there, Their sweets disclose. 4 The tyrants of the plain Their savage chase give o'er; No more they rend the slain. And thirst for blood no more; But infant hands And lions yoke Fierce tigers stroke, In flowery bands. 5 O, when, Almighty Lord, Shall these glad scenes arise, To verify thy word, And bless our wondering eyes? That earth may raise, United songs With all its tongues, Of ardent praise. 313. 8s., 7s. & 4s. M. J. Taylor. The Gospel Triumphant. 1 Still in shades of midnight darkness Abject sits the Pagan world; There the banner of salvation Ne'er hath been by time unfurled; Nor their idols From their blood-stained altars hurled. 2 Yet the promise stands securely, And Messiah's reign shall spread; Not in vain his glorious conquest; Not in vain the Saviour bled. Chief immortal! God's own hand hath crowned thy head. 3 To this blessed dispensation Millions yet unborn shall fly; See the rising splendor beaming Till it gilds the western sky. Glorious Gospel! Still thy triumphs multiply. 314. P. M. Pratt's Coll.