Jesus shall reign where’er the sun Does his successive journeys run. Who has more triumphantly followed the spirit of the believer into its glorious home and rest? Watts had a singularly bold and majestic manner in striking in the very first words of a hymn the key-note of the whole piece; indeed there was usually a singular fitness and force in the first line. Give me the wings of faith to rise Within the veil, and see The saints above; how great their joys, How vast their glories be! Some critics have objected to what seems to us the sweet natural pathos of that verse: How we should scorn the clothes of flesh, These fetters and this load, And long for evening to undress, That we may rest with God. Or that fine piece: Absent from flesh! O blissful thought! And the following verses, not so often quoted, or so well known: And is this heaven? and am I there? How short the road! how swift the flight! I am all life, all eye, all ear; Jesus is here my soul’s delight. Is this, the heavenly Friend who hung In blood and anguish on the tree, Whom Paul proclaimed and David sung, Who died for them, who died for me? Creator-God, eternal light, Fountain of good, tremendous power, Oceans of wonders, blissful sight! Beauty and love unknown before. Thy grace, Thy nature, all unknown In yon dark region whence I came, Where languid glimpses from Thy throne And feeble whispers teach Thy name. I’m in a world where all is new, Myself, my God; O blest amaze! Not my best hopes or wishes knew To form a shadow of His grace. Fixed on my God, my heart, adore; My restless thoughts, forbear to rove; Ye meaner passions, stir no more; But all my powers be joy and love. And one of the most touching of his funeral pieces is that magnificent funeral march for some departed saint, and worthy of the grand air to which it has often been sung—Handel’s Dead March in “Saul:” Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb! Take this new treasure to thy trust, And give these sacred relics room Awhile to slumber in the dust. Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear Invade thy bounds: no mortal woes Can reach the forms which slumber here, And angels watch their soft repose. So Jesus slept! God’s dying Son Passed through the grave and blessed the bed: Rest here, dear saint, till from His throne The morning break and pierce the shade! Break from His throne, illustrious morn! Attend, O earth, His sovereign word; Restore thy trust—a glorious form Called to ascend and meet the Lord.