The Celestial Country continued

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Puritan Board Freshman
And martyrdom hath roses
Upon that heavenly ground;
And white and virgin lilies
For virgin-souls abound.
There grief is turned to pleasure-
Such pleasure as below
No human voice can utter,
No human heart can know;
And after fleshly scandal,
And after this world’s night,
And after storm and whirlwind,
Is calm, and joy, and light.

And now we fight the battle,
But then shall wear the crown
Of full and everlasting
And passionless renown:
And now we watch and struggle,
And now we live in hope,
And Syon in her anguish,
With Babylon must cope;
But He whom now we trust in
Shall then be seen and known,
And they that know and see Him
Shall have Him for their own.

The miserable pleasures
Of the body shall decay;
The bland and flattering struggles
Of the flesh shall pass away;
And none shall there be jealous,
And none shall there contend,
Fraud, clamor, guile – what say I?
All ill, all ill shall end!

And there is David’s fountain,
And life in fullest glow;
And there the light is golden,
And milk and honey flow-
The light that hath no evening,
The health that hath no sore,
The life that hath no ending,
But liveth evermore.

There Jesus shall embrace us,
There Jesus be embraced –
That spirit’s food and sunshine
Whence earthly love is chased
Amidst the happy chorus,
A place, however low,
Shall show Him us, and showing,
Shall satiate evermo.

By hope we struggle onward:
While here we must be fed
By milk, as tender infants,
But there by Living Bread.
The night was full of terror,
The morn is bright with gladness;
The cross becomes our harbor,
And we triumph after sadness.

And Jesus to His true ones
Brings trophies fair to see;
And Jesus shall be loved, and
Beheld in Galilee –
Behold when morn shall waken,
And sadness shall decay,
And each true-hearted servant
Shall shine as doth the day;
And every ear shall hear it –
“Behold the King’s array,
Behold thy God in beauty,
The law hath pass’d away!”
Yes! God my King and Portion,
In fullness of Thy grace,
We then shall see for ever,
And worship face to face.
Then Jacob into Israel,
From earthlier self estranged,
And Leah into Rachel
For ever shall be changed;
Then all the halls of Syon
For aye shall be complete,
And in the land of Beauty,
All things of beauty meet.

For thee, O dear, dear Country!
Mine eyes their vigils keep;
For very love, beholding
Thy happy name, they weep.
The mention of Thy glory
Is unction to the breast,
And medicine in sickness,
And love, and life, and rest.
O one, O only Mansion!
O Paradise of Joy!
Where tears are ever banished,
And smiles have no allow,
Beside Thy living waters
All plants are, great and small,
The cedar of the forest,
The hyssop of the wall;
With jaspers glow thy bulwarks,
Thy streets with emeralds blaze,
The sardius and the topaz
Unite in thee their rays;
Thine ageless walls are bonded
With amethyst unpriced;
Thy saints build up its fabric,
And the cornerstone is Christ.

The Cross is all thy splendor,
The Crucified thy praise;
His laud and benediction
Thy ransomed people raise:
“Jesus, the Gem of Beauty,
True God and Man,” they sing,
“The never-failing Garden,
The ever-golden Ring;
The Door, the Pledge, the Husband,
The Gaurdian of his Court;
The Day-star of Salvation,
The Porter and the Port!”

Thou hast no shore, fair ocean!
Thou hast no time, bright day!
Dear fountain of refreshment
To pilgrims far away!
Upon the Rock of Ages
They raise thy holy tower;
Thine is the victor’s laurel,
And thine the golden dower!

Thou feels’t in mystic rapture,
O Bride that know’st no guile,
The Prince’s sweetest kisses,
The Prince’s loveliest smile;
Unfading lilies, bracelets
Of living pearl thine own;
The Lamb is ever near thee,
The Bridegroom thine alone.
The Crown is He to guerdon,
The Buckler to protect,
And He Himself the Mansion,
And He the Architect.

The only art thou needest –
Thanksgiving for thy lot;
The only joy thou seekest –
The Life where Death is not.
And all thine endless leisure,
In sweetest accents, sings
The ill that was thy merit,
The wealth that is thy King’s!

Jerusalem the golden,
With milk and honey blest,
Beneath thy contemplation
Sink heart and voice oppressed.
I know not, O I know not,
What social joys are there!
What radiancy of glory,
What light beyond compare!

And when I fain would sing them,
My spirit fails and faints;
And vainly would it image
The assembly of the saints.
They stand, those halls of Syon,
Conjubilant with song,
And bright with many an angel,
And all the martyr throng;
The Prince is ever in them,
The daylight is serene;
The pastures of the Blessed
Are decked in glorious sheen.

There is the throne of David,
And there, from care released,
The song of them that triumph,
The shout of them that feast;
And they who, with their Leader,
Have conquered in the fight,
For ever and for ever
Are clad in robes of white!


Puritan Board Freshman
I like that. Who wrote it?

Bernard of Cluny - 12th century monk. The first part I posted on July 11th this year and the conclusion I'll post soon. The translator was John Mason Neale of the 19th century: obviously much credit goes to him for the beauty of the poem.
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