No. 2.

While many cry, in Nature's night,
Ah! who will show the way to bliss?
Lord! lift on us thy saving light;
We seek no other guide than this.

Gladness thy sacred presence brings,
More than the joyful reaper knows;
Or he who treads the grapes, and sings,
While with new wine his vat o'erflows.

In peace I lay me down to sleep;
Thine arm, O Lord! shall stay my head,
Thine angel spread his tent, and keep
His midnight watch around my bed.

T HE earth is thine, Jehovah! — thine
Its peopled realms and wealthy stores;
Built on the flood, by power divine,
The waves are ramparts to the shores.

But who shall reach thine holy place,
Or who, O Lord! ascend thine hill?
The pure in heart shall see thy face,
The perfect man that doth thy will.

He who to bribes hath closed his hand,
To idols never bent the knee,
Nor sworn in falsehood, — He shall stand
Redeem'd, and own'd, and kept by Thee.

L IFT up your heads, ye gates! and wide
Your everlasting doors display;
Ye angel-guards! like flames divide,
And give the King of Glory way.

Who is the King of Glory? — He,
The Lord Omnipotent to save,
Whose own right arm in victory
Led captive death, and spoil'd the grave.

Lift up your heads, ye gates! and high
Your everlasting portals heave;
Welcome the King of Glory nigh;
Him let the heaven of heavens receive.

Who is the King of Glory? — Who?
The Lord of Hosts; — behold his name;
The kingdom, power, and honour due
Yield Him, ye saints, with glad acclaim.