2 The cross is all thy splendor, The Crucified, thy praise; His laud and benediction Thy ransomed people raise;-- Jerusalem! exulting On that securest shore, I hope thee, wish thee, sing thee, And love thee evermore! 3 O sweet and blessed country! Shall I e'er see thy face? O sweet and blessed country! Shall I e'er win thy grace?-- Exult, O dust and ashes! The Lord shall be thy part; His only, his forever, Thou shalt be, and thou art! Bernard of Cluny, 1145. J.M. Neale, _tr._ 1757 514 Varina. C.M. D. _The Heavenly Canaan._ (1116) There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign; Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain. There everlasting spring abides, And never-withering flowers; Death, like a narrow sea, divides, This heavenly land from ours. 2 Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood Stand dressed in living green; So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between. But timorous mortals start and shrink To cross this narrow sea, And linger, shivering on the brink, And fear to launch away. 3 O could we make our doubts remove, Those gloomy doubts that rise, And see the Canaan that we love, With unbeclouded eyes-- Could we but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er, Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood, Should fright us from the shore. Isaac Watts, 1709. 515 Varina. C.M.D. _Heavenly Rest in Anticipation_ (1118) When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I'll bid farewell to every fear And wipe my weeping eyes. Should earth against my soul engage, And fiery darts be hurled, Then I can smile at Satan's rage. And face a frowning world. 2 Let cares like a wild deluge come Let storms of sorrow fall-- So I but safely reach my home, My God, my heaven, my all. There I shall bathe my weary soul In seas of heavenly rest, And not a wave of trouble roll Across my peaceful breast. Isaac Watts, 1707. 516 Varina. C.M.D. _The Society of Heaven._ (1126) Jerusalem! my glorious home! Name ever dear to me! When shall my labors have an end, In joy, and peace, and thee? When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls And pearly gates behold? Thy bulwarks with salvation strong, And streets of shining gold? 2 Oh, when, thou city of my God, Shall I thy courts ascend, Where congregations ne'er break up, And Sabbaths have no end? There happier bowers than Eden's bloom, Nor sin nor sorrow know: Blest seats! through rude and stormy scenes I onward press to you. 3 Why should I shrink at pain and woe? Or feel at death dismay? I've Canaan's goodly land in view, And realms of endless day. Jerusalem! my glorious home! My soul still pants for thee; Then shall my labors have an end, When I thy joys shall see. Francis Baker (?), 1801. 517 Over There. P.M. _The Home Over There._ (1141)