The Sight of God and Christ in Heaven. Col. 3. 4

I. Watts                L.M.

Descend from heaven, immortal Dove,
Stoop down and take us on thy wings,
And mount and bear us far above
The reach of these inferior things;

Beyond, beyond this lower sky,
Up where eternal ages roll,
Where solid pleasures never die,
And fruits immortal feast the soul.

O for a sight, a pleasing sight,
Of our almighty Father’s throne;
There sits our Saviour crowned with light,
Clothed in a body like our own.

[Adoring saints around him stand,
And thrones and powers before him fall;
The God shines gracious through the Man,
And sheds sweet glories on them all.

O what amazing joys they feel,
While to their golden harps they sing
And sit on every heavenly hill,
And spread the triumphs of their King!]

When shall the day, dear Lord, appear,
That I shall mount to dwell above,
And stand and bow amongst them there
And view thy face, and sing thy love?


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