Ye Britons of the South come forth,
With all your brethren of the North,
And hearken to a pastor's strains,
Who'd lead you to heav'n's blissful plains.

There is a kingdom large on high
(Above the empyreal sky)
By God out of his grace prepar'd,
And fraught with bliss, for man's reward.

This, our dear Lord, God's only Son,
For us, his wretched brethren won,
(His own heart's blood, the price is cost!)
If not through our own folly lost.

For many lose the seat of bliss,
Because they know not what it is,
And oft, like dunces, as they are,
Forego, for trifles light as air.

One, for a belly-full of drink,
Can men of such a bargain think?
Another, not more wise than he,
That he may with a whore make free.

Heav'n, Adam for an apple sold -
Cain, for one murd'rous blow of old -
For pottage, Esau - Eli's son,
For flesh :- and many, worse have done.

Some lose it, 'cause they give no ear
To truth; nor practice, what they hear ;
Others, because they do not use
Themselves to pray, the blessing lose:

But none of them, the more's their woe!
For want of faith and knowledge, know,
How great the kingdom is, they miss,
Nor dream of its ecstatic bliss.

I therefore, now, myself engage
To shew it, from each sacred page -
To try, if God, out of his grace,
Will make you long for that bless'd place.

'Tis so delightful, bright, and high,
That man, or angel, cannot fly
To such a pitch, nor e'er express
The tith of its vast happiness.

Than sea and land, 'tis larger far,
The Sun can't with its light compare,
Nor summer's heats, nor winter's snows,
Nor rain, nor storm, it ever knows.

For ever blooming it appears,
'Tis void of cares, and void of fears:
From death and revolutions free,
It lasts to all eternity.

No hunger, there, nor thirst remains,
No Sorrows, weariness, or pains;
No weakness, or no want, shall e'er
Approach the soul, that enters, there.

The sky, that is above us plac'd,
With its fix'd stars and planets grac'd,
(Though it so very lustrous is)
Is but the floor, as 'twere, of this.

As no one there can ought require,
Since all enjoy their heart's desire -
So nothing grows in that bless'd soil,
Whereat man's nature can recoil.

It is a kingdom, made by God
With his own hands, for his abode,
Where angels shall his might adore,
With all his saints, for evermore.

Full in the midst, a city, fair
Beyond conception and compare,
Which John the new Jerus'lem calls,
Lifts-up aloft its tow'ring walls -

Walls, built with precious stones - for there
Berils, and topazes appear -
There jaspers, amethysts, combine,
And sapphires, join'd with sardines, shine.

This city is a perfect square -
For all its sides quite equal are -
No artist can the figure blame,
Its length, and breadth, and heighth the same.

Twelve valves of pearl aloft are hung,
Thro' which God's fav'rite people throng,
At each of them an angel waits,
Lest ought impure shou'd pass the gates.

Its streets are wholly pav'd with gold,
For man, too dazzling to behold!
They are than polish'd glass more bright,
And flash, like chrystal, on the sight.

A fount, whose wave, like silver, gleams,
From under God's tribunal streams,
Whose current waters ev'ry street,
And is, than wine, by much more sweet:

To ev'ry street, through which it flows,
The Tree of Life projects its boughs:
Twelve sorts of fruits, divinely good,
Each month it bears, celestial food!

Whoever on its fruitage feed,
Shall never feel disease, or need;
Who quaff the stream, shall never know,
Or thirst, or any kind of woe.

None e'er shall to th' Almighty's sight
Approach, except the sons of light -
None, but the chosen and the good,
Whom Christ redeem'd with his own blood.

No murderers, no drunkards, there,
No vile idolaters, appear:
No whoremongers e'er make abode
In this, the city of our God!

No darkness, there, is ever seen,
No lie, nor falsehood, enters in,
But light, that never knows decay,
And makes an everlasting day.

This glorious city ne'er requires
The sun or moon's material fires -
The triune God, and Christ the Lamb,
With ceaseless light illume the same.

There's no one e'er inhabits, there,
Whose face does not more bright appear,
Than is the sun's eye-dazzling ray,
Upon the fairest summer's-day!

All riches, there, they lightly hold,
Or precious stones, or pearls, or gold -
With gold, they make the pavements, there,
With precious stones, their walls they rear,

And, in the midst of this abode,
Is plac'd the gorgeous throne of God,
On angels shoulders rais'd on high,
The greatest pow'rs in all the sky!

A Canopy, of em'rald green,
Is, like an arching rainbow, seen
To over-hang this glorious throne
Of God, the sacred Three-in-one!

Sev'n lamps, bright-gleaming, hung on high,
Which holy graces signify,
With wondrous lustre, always shine
Before th' Almighty's throne divine.

The cherubim, (a six-wing'd band,
And full of eyes) around it stand,
And, to the Trinity divine,
Incessant praises still assign.

Bedeck'd with might, with grace, and fire,
The Seraphim conjoin the quire,
And Holy, Holy, Holy, cry
Unto the Deity, most high!

The white-robed Elders, next to those,
On golden seats, in state repose;
But low'r their crowns, whene'er they bow
To laud him, with obeisance low.

A crown of gold, each Elder wears -
Each, like a mighty King, appears -
And each in white array is drest,
Like an officiating priest.

There, all of them, thus richly crown'd,
The praises of the Lamb resound,
And, with their censers in their hand,
To give him grateful incense stand.

Whoever enters there, may see
His vot'ries, each in his degree,
Applaud th' Almighty, and the Lamb,
Who, with such pow'r, to save us came.

The angels, first, to heaven's King
Their loud-voic'd Hallelujah's sing;
The saints then from their seats conjoin
Their notes, in symphony divine.

There is no saint, nor angel, there,
That does not with them chorus bear -
There is not one so idle found,
Who does not his just praise resound!

With notes combin'd, alike they sing,
Responsive to the tuneful string,
Harmoniously alike they laud
With harp and voice th' eternal God.

There, Hallelujah's sweet they sing
Unto th' Almighty Lord and King,
And, for his wondrous goodness raise
Their voices, to their Saviour's praise.

With pleasing notes aloud, they laud
The mercies of their high-thron'd God,
And praise the Lamb, their blessed Lord,
Who man from slavery restor'd:

And so much pleasure they receive,
Whilst to the Trinity they give
Due honours - that, to cease, is pain,
And from the task they can't refrain.

There ev'ry one alike, is free
The glorious Shekinah to see;
For, in God's presence, still there is
A never-failing fund of bliss.

Myriads of saints, from ev'ry land,
Around the white-rob'd Elders stand,
Countless as sands upon the shore,
The Lord of heaven to adore.

The face of God appears so fair
Unto his chosen saints, who are
Indulg'd to see it - they'll scarce deign
To look on ought besides again.

Before the Godhead, void of dread,
Within his hallow'd courts they tread;
And neither fiend, nor any foe,
Can further mischief to them do.

No emperor, beneath the sky,
Has courtiers like the Lord's on high;
For e'en his worst's of nobler birth
Than any potentate on earth.

They all a royal lineage own,
By blood ally'd unto a crown -
They're a King's sons, without dispute,
And come, like princes, in his suit.

They, the Messiah's brethren are,
And each of them with him coheir -
They're equal to th' angelic host -
They all a princely rank can boast.

None of them all, a moment, sleep,
But everlasting vigils keep,
Yet none of them e'er fails to last:
So pleasingly their time is past!

Like sov'reign monarchs, they appear,
For all their crowns, like monarchs, wear,
And all, without exception, reign
With Jesus Christ, a glorious train!

Each 's seated on a golden throne,
And each a milk-white vest has on,
Like priests, at sacrifice, they pay
To Christ due homage, night and day.

They all with palm-boughs in their hand,
Like victors in a triumph, stand,
Who have in conflict fierce and rude,
The world, the flesh, and fiend subdu'd.

Not Solomon, nor e'en the rose,
Was ever deck'd like one of those -
The plainest-clad, the meanest, there,
Does a more gawdy vesture wear.

The saints above, more beauteous are
Than Absalom, though wond'rous fair -
They all with radiant lustre shine,
Fram'd in their Saviour's form divine!

And as like Absalom they're fair,
Than Samson, they must stronger are -
They more than match Hazel's flight -
They are all, as God's angels, bright.

Secure they live, without annoy,
In perfect happiness and joy -
A joy, that shall for ever flow,
Exempt from pain - exempt from woe.

There, all their labour is to sing
Loud Hallelujahs to Heav'n's King,
And the Lamb's praises to sustain -
The Lamb, that for their sins was slain!

Delicious manna is their meat,
Or from the Tree of Life they eat :
Who on its fruit, but once, shall feed,
Another meal shall never need.

Their drink is from the living spring,
The fountain of th' eternal King,
Which bursts in torrents all abroad
From under-neath the throne of God.

Their chief amusement is to walk
Together with the Lamb - and talk
Along the borders of the stream -
His glorious praise their constant theme!

And when they are return'd again;
To welcome Him, and all his train,
They ready on the table find
A banquet for their use design'd.

No Persian monarch ever knew,
Nor cou'd, at a collation, shew
Such costly cates, such curious cheer,
As at our Saviour's board appear.

No eye e'er saw - no ear e'er heard -
No mind conceiv'd - all that's prepar'd
For our reception at this feast:
Its dainties cannot be exprest!

No food, than manna worse, is eat
By any, at this sumptuous treat:
The worst of liquors, at the board,
The sacred streams of Life afford.

This supper is at God's expense -
His Son, the liquors does dispense -
Authorities, the feast controul -
Archangels, hand about the bowl.

There youthful Cherubs entertain,
Upon their harps, the happy train,
Along with which, each Seraph sings,
And joins his voice unto the strings.

Hosannahs dwell on ev'ry tongue,
And this the burden of their song -
'All praise, and pow'r, and glory be
'For ever to the Trinity.'

There ev'ry want shall be supply'd -
There ev'ry wish be satisfy'd -
There ev'ry ravish'd sense shall find
Enjoyments of a proper kind.

The eye shall, there, with sights be cloy'd,
(Sights ne'er, on earth, by man enjoy'd!)
The ear be sated with sweet sounds,
With which the vault of heav'n rebounds.

The mouth with manna shall be fill'd,
And water from life's fount distill'd -
The tongue shall be employ'd, to sing
The praises of our Saviour King.

Their bodies, there, like souls shall fly,
Without incumbrance, o'er the sky,
And all throughout, from head to heel,
Like thought, no weight or hindrance feel.

There's not a member, that they have,
Which unto God due glory gave,
That shall not, for that service, rise
To honours great, in paradise.

Nay, the whole body there shall blaze,
Bright as the sun's meridian rays:-
If then the body shines thus, there;
How lustrous must the soul appear?