How blest the hope, that we shall be
Forever, Lord, at home with Thee,
The “Father’s house” within;
Within that place of cloudless light,
Where never comes one shade of night,
Nor trace of grief or sin.
Blest Lord, to see Thee satisfied,
In having us, Thy spotless bride,
Upon the throne with Thee;
To hear Thee lead the song of praise,
Which wid’ning circles round Thee raise—
The nearest circle we.
The seraphim there veil the face,
And seek to understand the grace
Which placed us on the throne;
Then, breaking forth, ascribe to Thee,
All honor, glory, majesty,
Who wrought the work alone.
The “living creatures” Thee adore,
The “elders” cast their crowns before
The throne, where sits the Lamb;
The heavenly hosts take up the song,
Which all creation bears along,
To Thee, the great I AM.
Above it all, this richest strain—
“To him who wash’d us from each stain
In his most precious blood”—
Shall flow from hearts supremely blest.
And brought by Thee to God’s own rest.
Who once as rebels stood.
February, 1883. G. W. F.