Why should the saints be fill'd with dread,
Or yield their joys to slavish fear?
Heav'n can't be full, which holds the Head,
Till ev'ry member's present there!

In heav'n the Head—the member
Ten thousand thousand, yet but one:
So far asunder, yet so near
Some yet unborn—some round the throne!

How bright eternal wisdom shines
When it displays eternal love,
Instructing by those dazzling lines
The earth beneath and heav'n above!