ell me that my worthless name
Is graven on thy hands;
Show me some promise in thy book
Where my salvation stands.

Isaac Watts, 1707.

509 Judgment. C.M.

_The Judgment Day._ (1106)

And must I be to judgment brought,
And answer in that day,
For every vain and idle thought,
And every word I say?

2 Yes, every secret of my heart
Shall shortly be made known,
And I receive my just desert
For all that I have done.

3 How careful then I ought to live!
With what religious fear,
Who such a strict account must give
For my behavior here.

4 Thou awful Judge of quick and dead,
The watchful power bestow;
So shall I to my ways take heed,
To all I speak or do.

Charles Wesley.

510 Ewing. 7s & 6s. D.

_The New Jerusalem._

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

2 They stand, those halls of Zion,
All jubilant 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.

3 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 light,
Forever and forever
Are clad in robes of white.

Bernard of Cluny, 1145.
J.M. Neale, tr., 1751.

511 Swing. 7s & 6s. D.

_Paradise of Joy._

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.

2 Oh, sweet and blessed country,
The home of God's elect!
Oh, sweet and blessed country,
That eager hearts expect!
Jesus, in mercy bring us
To that dear land of rest;
Who art, with God the Father,
And Spirit, ever blest.

Bernard of Cluny, 1145.
J.M. Neale, tr., 1751.

512 Immanuel's Land. 7s & 6s. D.

_In Immanuel's Land._

The sands of time are wasting,
The dawn of heaven breaks;
The summer morn I've sighed for,
The fair, sweet morn awakes.
Oh, dark hath been the midnight,
But day-spring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

2