Multitude of Flowers with When the trump of the great archangel and How pleasant, how divinely fair

When the trump of the great archangel
Its mighty tones shall sound,
And, the end of the world proclaiming,
Shall pierce the depths profound,
When the Son of man shall come in his glory
With all the saints on high,
What a shouting in the skies from the multitudes that rise,
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye.

When he comes in the clouds descending,
And they who lov’d him here,
From their graves shall awake and praise him
With joy and not with fear,
When the body and the soul are united,
And cloth’d no more to die,
What a shouting there will be when each other’s face we see,
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye.

O the seed that was sown in weakness
Shall then be rais’d in pow’r,
And the songs of the bloodbought millions
Shall hail that blissful hour.
When we gather safely home in the morning,
And night’s dark shadows fly,
What a shouting on the shore when we meet to part no more,
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye.

Chorus
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye,
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye,
The trumpet shall sound, the dead shall be rais’d,
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye.
                                                Fanny J. Crosby

How pleasant, how divinely fair,
O Lord of Hosts! Thy dwellings are!
With long desire my spirit faints,
To meet th’ assemblies of Thy saints.

My flesh would rest in Thine abode,
My panting heart cries out for God;
My God! my King! why should I be
So far from all my joys, and Thee?

Blest are the saints who sit on high,
Around Thy throne above the sky;
Thy brightest glories shine above,
And all their work is praise and love.

Blest are the souls, who find a place
Within the temple of Thy grace;
There they behold Thy gentler rays,
And seek Thy face, and learn Thy praise.

Cheerful they walk with growing strength,
Till all shall meet in heaven at length;
Till all before Thy face appear,
And join in nobler worship there.

Rev. Isaac Watts

Blue, Red, Green with More holiness give me and Wait, O my soul, thy Maker’s will

More holiness give me,
More strivings within;
More patience in suff’ring,
More sorrow for sin;
More faith in my Savior,
More sense of his care;
More joy in his service,
More purpose in pray’r.

More gratitude give me,
More trust in the Lord;
More pride in his glory,
More hope in his Word;
More tears for his sorrows,
More pain at his grief:
More meekness in trial,
More praise for relief.

More purity give me,
More strength to o’ercome;
More freedom from earth stains,
More longings for home;
More fit for the kingdom,
More used would I be;
More blessed and holy,
More, Savior, like thee.
                                  P. P.  Bliss
Wait, O my soul, thy Maker’s will;
Tumultuous passions, all be still;
Nor let a murmuring thought arise;
His ways are just, His counsels wise.

He in the thickest darkness dwells,
Performs His work, the cause conceals;
And though His footsteps are unknown,
Judgment and truth support His throne.

In heaven and earth, in air and seas,
He executes His wise decrees;
And by His saints it stands confessed,
That what He does is ever best.

Then, O my soul, submissive wait,
With reverence bow before His seat:
And midst the terrors of His rod,
Trust in a wise and gracious God.

Rev. Benjamin Beddome

Glass Basket, Peonies with How dear to my heart is the story of old and God’s glory is a wondrous thing

How dear to my heart is the story of old,
The story that ever is new,
The message that saints of all ages have told,
The message so tender and true.

It came to my heart when, all fettered by sin,
I sat in the prison of doubt:
Like angel of old, the glad story came in
And led me triumphantly out.

It comes to my soul when the tempter is nigh
With snares for my way weary feet;
It tells of the Rock that is higher than I,
And leads to its blissful retreat.

When sorrow is mine, and on pillows of stone
My aching head seeks for repose,
This story brings comfort and peace from the throne,
My desert blooms forth like the rose.

When down in the “valley and shadow of Death,”
I enter the gloom of the grave,
I’ll tell the old story with life’s latest breath,
Of Christ and his power to save.

Chorus
The story that never grows old,
Though over and over ‘tis told:
The story so dear, bringing heav’n so near,
Sweet story that never grows old.
                          John H. Yates God’s glory is a wondrous thing,
  Most strange in all its ways,
And, of all things on earth, least like
  What men agree to praise.

Thrice blest is he to whom is given
  The instinct that can tell
That God is on the field, when he
  Is most invisible!

Blest too is he who can divine
  Where real right doth lie,
And dares to take the side that seems
  Wrong to man’s blindfold eye!

Then learn to scorn the praise of men,
  And learn to lose with God!
For Jesus won the world through shame,
  And beckons thee His road.

For right is right, since God is God;
  And right the day must win;
To doubt would be disloyalty,
  To falter would be sin!

Rev. Frederick W. Faber

Wild Looking Flowers with Do you fear the foe will in the conflict win and The Bible is the book I need

Do you fear the foe will in the conflict win?
Is it dark without you-darker still within?
Clear the darkened windows, open wide the door,
Let a little sunshine in.

Does your faith grow fainter in the cause you love?
Are your prayers unanswered by your God above?
Clear the darkened windows, open wide the door,
Let a little sunshine in.

Would you go rejoicing in the upward way,
Knowing naught of darkness, dwelling in the day?
Clear the darkened windows, open wide the door,
Let a little sunshine in.

Chorus
Let a little sunshine in,
Let a little sunshine in;
Clear the darkened windows, open wide the door,
Let a little sunshine in.

Ada Blenkhorn

The Bible is the book I need,
So precious, so precious;
It helps me ev’ry time I read
Its message for the day;
The words of everlasting love,
There whispered by the Holy Dove,
Bring consolation from above,
So precious, so precious.

Joy glitters on its open page,
So precious, so precious;
The guide of youth, the staff of age,
The lamp that lights our way;
It tells me of redeeming might
That puts the pow’rs of sin to flight,
Of cleansing blood and garments white,
So precious, so precious.

The Bible is the book for me,
So precious, so precious;
Until my Savior’s face I see
And in his presence stay;
Till then, my Father’s blessed will,
And strength his bidding to fulfill,
I’ll gather from my Bible still,
So precious, so precious.

E. E. Hewitt

Green Eggs, Blue Vase and Red-Orange Flowers and We are pilgrims looking home

We are pilgrims looking home,
Sad and weary, oft we roam,
But we know ‘twill all be well in the morning;
When, our anchor safely cast,
Ev’ry stormy wave is past,
And we gather safe at last in the morning.

O these tender broken ties,
How they dim our aching eyes,
But like jewels they will shine in the morning;
When our victor palms we bear,
And our robes immortal wear,
We shall know each other there in the morning.

When our fettered souls are free,
Far beyond the narrow sea,
And we hear the Savior’s voice in the morning;
When our golden sheaves we bring
To the feet of Christ our King,
What a chorus we shall sing in the morning.

Thro’ our pilgrim journey here,
Tho’ the night is sometimes drear,
Let us watch and persevere till the morning;
Then our highest tribute raise
For the love that crowns our days,
And to Jesus give the praise in the morning.

Chorus:
When we all meet again in the morning,
On the sweet, blooming hills in the morning;
Never more to say good night
In that sunny region bright,
When we hail the blessed light of the morning.

Lizzie Edwards

Mother's Mirror and Fresh Peonies with God will fill our hearts for service and All praise to Him who reigns above

God will fill our hearts for service,
In the same old way;
He will answer prayer and bless us
In the same old way.

Does your heart burn for another
In the same old way?
Will you seek to win some other
In the same old way?

God will help the weak and weary
In the same old way;
He will cheer the life that’s dreary
In the same old way.

Will you tell the wondrous story
In the same old way?
That your Lord may have the glory
In the same old way?

Chorus
In the same old way,
In the same old way;
God will bless and save His people
In the same old way.






All praise to Him who reigns above,
In majesty supreme;
Who gave his Son for man to die,
That he might man redeem.

His name above all names shall stand,
Exalted more and more,
At God the Father’s own right hand,
Where angel hosts adore.

Redeemer, Savior, Friend of man,
Once ruined by the fall,
Thou hast devised salvation’s plan,
For thou hast died for all.

His name shall be the Counsellor,
The mighty Prince of Peace,
Of all earth’s kingdoms conqueror,
Whose reign shall never cease.

The ransomed hosts to thee shall bring
Their praise and homage meet;
With rapturous awe adore their King,
And worship at his feet.

Then shall we know as we are known,
And in that world above
Forever sing around the throne
His everlasting love.

Chorus:
Blessed be the name, blessed be the name,
Blessed be the name of the Lord;
Blessed be the name, blessed be the name,
Blessed be the name of the Lord.

W. H. Clark

Sleeping Cat with Hark to the music resounding and I am waiting for the Master

Hark to the music resounding,
Reapers are needed today;
Fields are all white, to the harvest
Let us be up and away!
Ever the Master is calling,
Hasten! the shadows are falling;
On to the harvest field,
Gather the golden yield,
Precious sheaves.

Forward with hearts full of gladness,
Reapers, I pray you, make haste;
Grain there is ready and waiting,
If not soon gathered, will waste;
Then let us hear you replying,
Labor with courage undying,
Send up a word of cheer,
Tell of the rest so near,
Rest at home.

Hark to the song they are singing!
See, they have treasures so rare;
Soon will the harvest be ended,
Haste, then, their trophies to share.
Let no one be idly dreaming,
Look! look! the harvest is gleaming,
Join ye the reaping band,
Lend them a helping hand,
Ere the night.

Chorus
Hark! hark! comes the song,
On!  on!  join the throng;
Forth with joyful, loving heart,
Bravely do your part;
Hark! hark! rings the call;
Haste! haste! one and all;
On where the harvest stands,
Waiting for willing hands
Souls to win.

Lizzie DeArmond

I am waiting for the Master,
Who will bid me rise and come
To the glory of his presence,
To the gladness of his home.

Many a weary path I’ve traveled,
In the darkest storm and strife,
Bearing many a heavy burden, -
Often struggling for my life.

Many friends that traveled with me
Reached that portal long ago;
One by one they left me battling
With the dark and crafty foe.

Yes, their pilgrimage was shorter,
And their triumphs sooner won;
Oh, how lovingly they’ll greet me
When the toils of life are done.

Yet, O Lord, I wait thy pleasure,
For thy time and ways are best;
Hear me, Lord, for I am weary;
O my Father, bid me rest.

CHORUS:
They are watching at the portal,
They are waiting at the door;
Waiting only for my coming
All the loved ones gone before.

Mrs. Kate M. Reasoner