The Celestial Country By Bernard Of Cluny Pdf Free
THE world is very evil, 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.
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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. For war is needless,— Yes, calm! For storm is past,— And goal from finished labor 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 Syon know. O happy, holy portion, Refection for the blest; True vision of true beauty, Sweet cure of all distrest! STRIVE, man, to win that glory, Toil, man, to gain that light; Send hope before to grasp it, Till hope be lost in sight: Till Jesus gives the portion Those blessed souls to fill, The insatiate, yet satisfied, The full, yet craving still. That fulness and that craving Alike are free from pain, Where thou, midst heavenly citizens, A home like theirs shall gain.
Creative Download Page. Here is the warlike trumpet; There, life set free from sin; When to the last Great Supper The faithful shall come in: When the heavenly net is laden With fishes many and great; So glorious in its fullness, Yet so inviolate: And the perfect from the shattered, And the fall'n from them that stand, And the sheep-flock from the goat-herd Shall part on either hand: And these shall pass to torment, And those shall to rest, The new peculiar nation, The fulness of the Blest. JERUSALEM demands them: They paid the price on earth, And now shall reap the harvest In blissfulness and mirth: The glorious holy people, Who evermore relied Upon their Chief and Father, The King, the Crucified: The sacred ransomed number Now bright with endless sheen, Who made the Cross their watchword Of Jesus Nazarene: Who, fed with heavenly nectar, Where soul-like odors play, Draw out the endless leisure Of that long vernal day: While through the sacred lilies, And flowers on every side, The happy dear-bought nations Go wandering far and wide. Their breasts are filled with gladness, Their mouths are tuned to praise, What time, now safe forever, On former sins they gaze: The fouler was the error, The sadder was the fall, The ampler are the praises Of Him who pardoned all Their one and only anthem, The fulness of His love, Who gives instead of torment, Eternal joys above: Instead of torment, glory; Instead of death, that life Wherewith your happy Country, True Isarelites! BRIEF life is here our portion; Brief sorrow, short-lived care: The life that knows no ending, The tearless life, is There. O happy retribution! Short toil, eternal rest; For mortals and for sinner A mansion with the blest! That we should look, poor wand'rers, To have our home on high!