Hymnal: Christian Psalms and Hymns
Date: 1839
Compiler: Walter Scott and Silas Leonard
Publisher/Printer: A S Tilden
First Line: There is a glorious mansion
Topic: <no topic given>
Writer: <no first name given> <no last name given>
Composer:
Tune:
Hymn Number: 667
Page Number: 360, click to see hymnal pages
LyicsTHERE is a glorious mansion,
A happy home above,
Beyond the starry regions,
Built by the God we love;
An everlasting temple,
Where saints array'd in white,
Adore their great Redeemer,
And dwell with him in light.
It is no world of trouble,
The God of peace is there,
He wipes away their sorrows,
And banishes their care;
Their joys are still increasing,
Their songs are ever new,
They praise th' eternal Father
And praise the Saviour too.
The weakest child in glory
Outshines the radiant sun;
But who can speak the splendor,
Of that eternal throne,
Where Jesus sits exalted,
In godlike majesty?
The elders fall before him,
The angels bend the knee.
Is this the man of sorrows,
Who stood at Pilate's bar,
Contemn'd by haughty Herod,
And by his men of war?
He seems a mighty conqu'ror,
Who spoil'd the powers below,
And ransom'd many captives
From everlasting wo.
The hosts of saints around him
Proclaim his work of grace;
The patriarchs and prophets,
And all the godly race;
Who speak of fiery trials,
And tortures on their way
Thy came from tribulation,
To everlasting day.
Now with a holy transport,
They tell their suff'ring o'er,
Their tears and their temptations,
And all the pains they bore;
They turn and bow to Jesus,
Who gain'd their liberty;
Amid our fiercest dangers,
Our lives are hid in thee.
Long time I was invited
To gain that heavenly rest;
Grace made no hard condition,
'Twas only to be bless'd;
But earth's bewitching pleasures
Inclined me long to stay;
I sought her dreams and shadows,
And joys that pass away.
But now the Lord has giv'n me,
The better way to find;
To serve my great Creator,
And leave my sins behind;
In guilt's seducing mazes
I will no longer roam;
My soul belongs to Jesus,
Who brings the ransom'd home.
And what shall be my journey,
How long I'll stay below,
Or what shall be my trials,
Are not for me to know:
In every day of trouble
I'll raise my thoughts on high;
I'll think of the bright temple,
And crowns above the sky.