3 Nor fraud, nor deceit, nor the hand of oppression, Can injure the dwellers in that holy grove; No wickedness there, not a shade of transgression: O say, will you go to the Eden above? Will you go, etc. 4 Each saint has a mansion, prepared and all furnished, Ere from this clay house he is summoned to move; Its gates and its towers with glory are burnished, O say, will you go to the Eden above? Will you go, etc. 5 March on, happy pilgrims, that land is before you, And soon its ten thousand delights we shall prove; Yes, soon we shall walk o’er the hills of bright glory, And drink the pure joys of the Eden above. We will go, we will go; O yes, we will go to the Eden above. 6 And yet, guilty sinner, we would not forsake thee, We halt yet a moment as onward we move; O come to thy Lord, in his arms he will take thee, And bear thee along to the Eden above. Will you go, will you go, O say, will you go to the Eden above? 332 12s. The voice of free grace. The voice of free grace cries, “Escape to the mountain!” For Adam’s lost race Christ hath opened a fountain; For sin and uncleanness, and every transgression, His blood flows most freely in streams of salvation. CHORUS. Hallelujah to the Lamb! he hath purchased our pardon; We’ll praise him again when we pass over Jordan. 2 Ye souls that are wounded! O! flee to the Saviour; He calls you in mercy—’tis infinite favor; Your sins are increasing—escape to the mountain— His blood can remove them, it flows from the fountain. 3 O Jesus! ride onward, triumphantly glorious, O’er sin, death, and hell, thou art more than victorious; Thy name is the theme of the great congregation, While angels and saints raise the shout of salvation. 333 11s & 10s. The wandering sinner, etc. Restless thy spirit, poor wandering sinner, Restless and roving: O, come to thy home! Return to the arms, to the bosom, of mercy; The Saviour of sinners invites thee to come. 2 Darkness surrounds thee, and tempests are rising, Fearful and dangerous the path thou hast trod; But mercy shines forth in the rainbow of promise, To welcome the wanderer home to his God. 3 Peace to the storm in thy soul shall be spoken, Guilt from thy bosom be banished away; And heaven’s sweet breezes, o’er death’s rolling billows, Shall waft thee at last to the regions of day. 334 12s & 11s. The harvest is past, etc. Jer. 8:20.