Soon where earthly beauty blinds not, No excess of brilliance palls, Salem, city of the holy, We shall be within thy walls! There, beside you crystal river, There, beneath life's wondrous tree, There, with naught to cloud or sever-- Ever with the Lamb to be! Heir of glory, That shall be for thee and me! --_Horatius Bonar._ I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles, For the langed-far hame-bringin', an' my Father's welcome smiles, An' I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see The gowden gates o' heav'n an' my ain countrie. The earth is fleck'd wi' flowers, mony-tinted, fresh an' gay, The birdies warble blithely, for my Faither made them sae: But these sights an' these soun's will as naething be to me, When I hear the angels singin' in my ain countrie. I've His gude word of promise that some gladsome day, the King To His ain royal palace His banished hame will bring; Wi' een an' wi' hert rinning ower, we shall see The King in His beauty, in oor ain countrie. My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair, But there they'll never vex me, nor be remembered mair For His bluid has made me white, and His han' shall dry my e'e, When He brings me hame at last, to my ain countrie. Sae little noo I ken, o' yon blessed, bonnie place, I only ken it's Hame, whaur we shall see His face: It wad surely be eneuch for ever mair to be In the glory o' His presence, in oor ain countrie. Like a bairn to his mither, a wee birdie to its nest, I wad fain' be gangin' noo, unto my Saviour's breast, For He gathers in His bosom witless, worthless lambs like me, And carries them Himsel', to His ain countrie. He is faithfu' that hath promised, an' He'll surely come again, He'll keep His tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken; But He bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be, To gang at ony moment to my ain countrie. Sae I'm watching aye, an' singin' o' my hame as I wait For the soun'ing o' His footfa' this side the gowden gate: God gie His grace to ilka ane wha' listens noo to me, That we a' may gang in gladness to oor ain countrie. (_Unidentified._) THE SINNER'S FRIEND. O thou, the contrite sinner's Friend, Who loving, lov'st them to the end, On this alone my hopes depend, That Thou wilt plead for me! When, weary in the Christian race, Far-off appears my resting-place, And fainting, I mistrust Thy grace-- Then, Saviour, plead for me! When I have err'd and gone astray Afar from Thine own and Wisdom's way, And see no glimmering guiding ray-- Still, Saviour, plead for me! When Satan, by my sins made bold, Strives from Thy cross to loose my hold, Then with Thy pitying arms enfold, And plead, oh, plead for me! And when my dying hour draws near, Darken'd with anguish, guilt, and fear, Then to my fainting sight appear, Pleading in Heaven for me!