The General Assembly and Church of the Firstborn

Bring me to see, Lord, bring me yet to see Those nations of Thy glory and Thy grace Who splendid in Thy splendour worship Thee. Light in all eyes, content in every face, Raptures and voices one while manifold, Love and are well-beloved the ransomed race:— Great mitred priests, great kings in crowns of gold, Patriarchs who head the army of their sons, Matrons and mothers by their own extolled, Wise and most harmless holy little ones, Virgins who, making merry, lead the dance, Full-breathed victorious racers from all runs, Home-comers out of every change and chance, Hermits restored to social neighbourhood, Aspects which reproduce One Countenance, Life-losers with their losses all made good, All blessed hungry and athirst sufficed, All who bore crosses round the Holy Rood, Friends, brethren, sisters, of Lord Jesus Christ.

“Every one that is perfect shall be as his master.”

How can one man, how can all men, How can we be like St. Paul, Like St. John, or like St. Peter, Like the least of all Blessed Saints? for we are small. Love can make us like St. Peter, Love can make us like St. Paul, Love can make us like the blessed Bosom friend of all, Great St. John, tho’ we are small. Love which clings and trusts and worships, Love which rises from a fall, Love which, prompting glad obedience, Labours most of all, Love makes great the great and small.

“As dying, and behold we live!” So live the Saints while time is flying; Make all they make, give all they give, As dying; Bear all they bear without replying; They grieve as tho’ they did not grieve, Uplifting praise with prayer and sighing. Patient thro’ life’s long-drawn reprieve, Aloof from strife, at peace from crying, The morrow to its day they leave, As dying.

“So great a cloud of Witnesses.”

I think of the saints I have known, and lift up mine eyes To the far-away home of beautiful Paradise, Where the song of saints gives voice to an undividing sea On whose plain their feet stand firm while they keep their jubilee.

As the sound of waters their voice, as the sound of thunderings, While they all at once rejoice, while all sing and while each one sings; Where more saints flock in, and more, and yet more, and again yet more, And not one turns back to depart thro’ the open entrance-door.

O sights of our lovely earth, O sound of our earthly sea, Speak to me of Paradise, of all blessed saints to me: Or keep silence touching them, and speak to my heart alone Of the Saint of saints, the King of kings, the Lamb on the Throne.

Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful; Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death; To us each unforgotten memory saith: “Learn as we learned in life’s sufficient school, Work as we worked in patience of our rule, Walk as we walked, much less by sight than faith, Hope as we hoped, despite our slips and scathe, Fearful in joy and confident in dule.” I know not if they see us or can see; But if they see us in our painful day, How looking back to earth from Paradise Do tears not gather in those loving eyes?— Ah, happy eyes! whose tears are wiped away Whether or not you bear to look on me.

Safe where I cannot lie yet, Safe where I here to lie too, Safe from the fume and the fret; You, and you, Whom I never forget.

Safe from the frost and the snow. Safe from the storm and sun, Safe where the seeds wait to grow One by one And to come back in blow.

“It is well with the child?”

Lying a-dying. Have done with vain sighing: Life not lost tut treasured, God Almighty pleasured, God’s daughter fetched and carried, Christ’s bride betrothed and married. Our tender little dove Meek-eyed and simple, Our love goes home to Love: There shall she walk in white, Where God shall be the Light, And God the Temple.

Dear Angels and dear disembodied Saints Unseen around us, worshipping in rest, May wonder that man’s heart so often faints And his steps lag along the heavenly quest, What while his foolish fancy moulds and paints A fonder hope than all they prove for best; A lying hope which undermines and taints His soul, as sin and sloth make manifest. Sloth, and a lie, and sin: shall these suffice The unfathomable heart of craving man, That heart which being a deep calls to the deep? Behold how many like us rose and ran When Christ, life-giver, roused them from their sleep To rise and run and rest in Paradise!

“To every seed his own body.”

Bone to his bone, grain to his grain of dust: A numberless reunion shall make whole Each blessed body for its blessed soul, Refashioning the aspects of the just. Each saint who died must live afresh, and must Ascend resplendent in the aureole Of his own proper glory to his goal, As seeds their proper bodies all upthrust. Each with his own not with another’s grace, Each with his own not with another’s heart, Each with his own not with another’s face, Each dove-like soul mounts to his proper place:— O faces unforgotten! if to part Wrung sore, what will it be to re-embrace?

“What good shall my life do me?”

Have dead men long to wait?—

There is a certain term For their bodies to the worm And their souls at heaven gate. Dust to dust, clod to clod, These precious things of God, Trampled underfoot by man And beast the appointed years.—

Their longest life was but a span For change and smiles and tears. Is it worth while to live, Rejoice and grieve, Hope, fear, and die? Man with man, truth with lie, The slow show dwindles by: At last what shall we have Besides a grave?—

Lies and shows no more, No fear, no pain, But after hope and sleep Dear joys again. Those who sowed shall reap: Those who bore The Cross shall wear the Crown: Those who clomb the steep There shall sit down.

The Shepherd of the sheep Feeds His flock there, In watered pastures fair They rest and leap. “Is it worth while to live?” Be of good cheer: Love casts out fear: Rise up, achieve.