The times are waxing late;

Be sober and keep vigil,

The Judge is at the gate—

The Judge that comes in mercy,

The Judge that comes with might,

To terminate the evil,

To diadem the right.

When the just and gentle Monarch

Shall summon from the tomb,

Let man, the guilty, tremble,

For Man, the God, shall doom.

Arise, arise, good Christian,

Let right to wrong succeed;

Let penitential sorrow

To heavenly gladness lead;

To the light that hath no evening,

That knows nor moon nor sun,

The light so new and golden,

The light that is but one.

And when the Sole-Begotten

Shall render up once more

The Kingdom to the Father,

Whose own it was before,—

Then glory yet unheard of

Shall shed abroad its ray,

Resolving all enigmas,

An endless Sabbath-day.

Then, then from his oppressors,

The Hebrew shall go free,

And celebrate in triumph,

The year of Jubilee;

And the sunlit Land that recks not

Of tempest nor of fight,

Shall fold within its bosom

Each happy Israelite:

The Home of fadeless splendor,

Of flowers that fear no thorn,

Where they shall dwell as children,

Who here as exiles mourn.

Midst power that knows no limit,

And wisdom free from bound,

The Beatific Vision

Shall glad the saints around:

The peace of all the faithful,

The calm of all the blest,

Inviolate, unvaried,

Divinest, sweetest, best.

YES, Peace! for war is needless,—

Yes, calm! for storm is past,—

And goal from finished labour

And anchorage at last.

That peace—but who may claim it?

The guileless in their way,

Who keep the ranks of battle,

Who mean the things they say:

The peace that is for heaven,

And shall be too, for earth:

The palace that re-echoes

With festal song and mirth;

The garden, breathing spices,

The paradise on high;

Grace beautified to glory,

Unceasing minstrelsy.

There nothing can be feeble,

There none can ever mourn,

There nothing is divided,

There nothing can be torn.

'Tis fury, ill, and scandal,

'Tis peaceless peace below;

Peace, endless, strifeless, ageless,

The halls of Zion know.

O happy, holy portion,

Refection for the blest;

True vision of true beauty,

Sweet cure of all distrest!

For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. -St Paul the Apostle

JERUSALEM the golden! With milk and honey blest; Beneath your contemplation Sink heart and voice opprest. I know not, oh! I know not, What joys await us there, What radiancy of glory, What bliss beyond compare.

They stand, those halls of Zion, Conjubilant 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 deck’d in glorious sheen.

There is the throne of David, And there, from care released, The shout of those who triumph, The song of those who feast, And they, who with their Leader, Have conquer’d in the fight, Forever and forever, Are clad in robes of white.

O sweet and bless­èd coun­try, The home of God’s elect! O sweet and bless­èd 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 blessed.

-Bernard of Cluny