Wesley Corpus

Rejoice in glorious hope Of that great day unknown, When all shall be caught up And stand before his throne, Call'd to partake the marriage feast, And lean on our Immanuel's breast. Page 143 The everlasting doors Shall soon the saints receive, Above those angel powers In glorious joy to live: Far from a world of grief, and sin, With God eternally shut in. Then let us wait to hear The trumpet's welcome sound, To see our Lord appear Watching let us be found; When Jesus doth the heavens bow, Be found as Lord thou find'st us now. Hymns for the Watch-Night. Hymn XIX. Sinners look up, by grace forgiven, Behold an open door in heaven, Attend, ye souls in Jesus found, The Saviour's voice, the trumpet's sound. Hither come up, he cries, and see The secrets of eternity. Rise, in the Spirit's rapture, rise To yon bright throne above the skies, To him who sits sublime thereon, In colour like a sardine stone, And scatters, as the jasper's rays, The glories of his dreadful face. Tremble; yet O! With love draw near, The showery bow forbids your fear, The throne it quite incircles round, (And grace on every side is found,) In colour like an emerald seen, Delightful, and eternal green. Page 144 Turn as he will, the eyes divine Must ever meet that sacred sign, Sign of his covenanted grace, Confirm'd to all our ransom'd race, Who sing the great Redeemer's love, Triumphant with that host above. Near the Most-High, on either hand Behold a venerable band! Twenty and four on seats behold! Inrobed in white, and crown'd with gold, With Jesu's joy supremely blest, Inthron'd in everlasting rest! God over all his state maintains, And high amidst his antients reigns, Voices are heard, and thunders roar, And loud proclaim his awful power, And waving flames of lightning shine, Thick-flashing from the throne divine. Burning before the Sovereign Sire Are seven lamps of living fire, His ministerial spirits they, Who ever in his presence stay, The purest essences above, The brightest flames of heavenly love. Fronting the throne a chrystal sea Rolls on its perfect purity, Laver of sanctifying grace, It justly holds the middle space, For none approach the holy God, 'Till throughly wash'd in Jesu's blood.