Classic Poem

When priestly lips would bid us praise,
The Lord of life who loves us all,
The Church doth Hallelujahs raise,
And doubly sweet regard the call.

Then lowly hearts with rapture thrill,
Reviewing countless mercies given,
While faith grows firm, and doubts are still,
And Hope is catching views of Heaven:

Then lays the Church her ashes by,
And beauty in their place receives,
While to the deep—the contrite sigh,
Succeeds the peace that Jesus gives.

But oh, if sweet the call to praise,
Within the earthly fane of God,
What loud ascriptions shall we raise,
Admitted to yon bright abode.

If lovelier than the song-bird's note,
Devotion's gushing strain of love,
How richly will our anthems float,
When the freed spirit soars above.

Dear Saviour, rising thus to Thee,
Encumbered by no fleshly thrall,
Will not Thy faithful children see,
That D EATH CAN GIVE THE Sweetest CALL .