Those eternal bowers, man hath never trod,
Those unfading flowers round the throne of God:
Who may hope to gain them after weary fight?
Who at length attain them, clad in robes of white?

He who wakes from slumber at the Spirit�s voice,
Daring here to number things unseen his choice:
He whose one oblation is a life of love,
Knit in God�s salvation to the blest above.

Shame upon you, legions of the heav�nly King,
Citizens of regions past imagining!
What! with pipe and tabor dream away the light,
When He bids you labor, when He tells you, �Fight�?

Jesus, Lord of glory, as we breast the tide,
Whisper Thou the story of the other side;
Where the saints are casting crowns before Thy feet,
Safe for everlasting, in Thyself complete.