Just as I am.

UST as I am-without one plea,

But that thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bid'st me come to Thee-
O Lamb of God, I come.

Just as I am and waiting not

To rid my soul of one dark blot;

To Thee who se blood can cleanse each spot

O Lamb of God, I come.

A Death-bed Hymn.

E would see Jesus"-for the shadows lengthen
Across this little landscape of our life;

"We would see Jesus," our weak faith to strengthen For the last weariness-the final strife.

"We would see Jesus"-for life's hand hath rested With its dark touch upon both heart and brow! And though our souls have many a billow breasted, Others are rising in the distance now.

"We would see Jesus"-the great rock foundation
Whereon our feet were set by sovereign grace;
Not life, nor death, with all their agitation,
Shall thence remove us, if we see His face.

"We would see Jesus"-other lights are paling, Which for long years we have rejoiced to see; The blessings of our pilgrimage are failing,

We would not mourn them, for we go to Thee.

"We would see Jesus"-yet the spirit lingers
Round the dear objects it has loved so long;
And earth to earth can scarce unclose its fingers,
Our love to Thee makes not this love less strong.

"We would see Jesus"-sense is all too blinding,
And heaven appears too dim-too far away;
We would see Thee, to gain a sweet reminding,
That Thou hast promised our great debt to pay.

"We would see Jesus"-this is all we're needing; Strength, joy, and willingness come with the sight: "We would see Jesus"-dying, risen, pleading;

Then welcome day, and farewell mortal night.

O happy, happy country, where
There enters not a sin,

And death, who keeps the portals fair,
May never once come in;

No grief can change their day to night,
The darkness of that land is light,
Sorrow and sighing God has sent
Far thence to endless banishment.
And never more may one dark tear
Bedim their burning eyes,

For every one they shed while here,
In fearful agonies,

Glitters a bright and dazzling gem
In their immortal diadem.

O lovely blooming country, there
Flourishes all that we deem fair.

For though no fields nor forests green,
Nor bowery gardens there are seen,
Nor perfumes load the breeze,

Nor hears the ear material sound,

Yet joys at God's right hand are found,

The archetypes of these.

This is the home, the land of birth

Of all we highest prize on earth;

The storms that rack this world beneath

Shall there for ever cease,

The only air the blessed breathe

Is purity and peace.

Oh may heaven's gate unclose to me,

Oh may I too its glories see,

And my faint, fighting spirit stand

Within that happy, happy land.