B~XTER'S ·POEMS. The glory hardly is bdiev'd, Of souls there blest with .[peifec~] love. ·The heavenlr Jerusalem Of [all thy] saints the mother is: The kingdom where Christ reigns with them, In everlasting [jo!lful] bliss. God and the·lamb there are .the sun, [None's dflrk] there·: all have perfect light : Their time, theii· joy, .is never done, Their [pe1fect] day-light hath no night .. As perfect health ~nclines to mirth, There [Pe?fect] love produceth joy, Souls are ·not tJ!ere clogg•d with dull earth ; No sin· [no pain] doth them annoy. Sight banisheth all uubelief : Possession's more than [strongest] hope : Those live in perfect light and life ; Who here [in flesh] did doubt and grope. 0 praise that glorious face, ye saints, Which shin~s you out ~f [fear and] pain : The praising soul there never faints : It's love [and joy] in which they reign. There we shall never wish for more ; [More love] more joy, in sense of need; . But on heav'ns satisfying store In [fullest] pleasure ever feed. As all the warbling strings of lute, In concord one [sweet] tune [do] make . All parts of God's creation suit, · No jars the concert [tlte1'e slta'tl] break .
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