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It is around this throne that those who have passed through the tribulations and the trying scenes of this lower world and burst through the gates of death are singing redemption's sweet song. Who does not desire to join that happy, heavenly throng and wave those palms and wear those white robes and sing those sweet songs over beyond the shadowy vale of death?
Yours is a noble nature, You are a prince a knight a man of honor. I throw myself upon your heart protect me Or if I'm lost beyond redemption's power, Give me your tears in pity for my fate. A daring favorite of the king demands My hand his name Ruy Gomez, Count of Silva, The king consents the bargain has been struck, And I am sold already to his creature. Sold! you sold!
Redemption's plan for each sinful world is somewhat similar to ours, so that there is a oneness in the whole family of the redeemed. This is one main factor that makes the bond of unity perfect and renders the fellowship of the celestial hosts absolutely without a flaw. True enough, each of the seven classes of intelligences is a mystery and a glory to the others. But there is no friction, no jar.
There was not much of "comeliness" in the "marred face" of an unresenting Christ, but how fascinating the autocratic, prophet-painted, empire-inscribed pose of Redemption's Champion, clad in ermine of final decree, alternately welcoming his ancient "Elect," and with awful leftward gesture upon countless millions pronouncing the changeless judgment of "Depart."
With sable gauze The nave was all o'erhung; the altar round Stood twenty giant saints, uplifting each A torch; and in the midst reposed on high The coffin, with o'erspreading pall, that showed, In white, redemption's sign; thereon were laid The staff of sovereignty, the princely crown, The golden spurs of knighthood, and the sword, With diamond-studded belt: And all was hushed In silent prayer, when from the lofty choir, Unseen, the pealing organ spoke, and loud From hundred voices burst the choral strain!
Oh, remember The cloister's sacred vows! DON MANUEL. Thenceforth one path My footsteps wooed; the fickle train was still Of young desires new felt my being's aim, My soul revealed! and as the pilgrim turns His wistful gaze, where, from the orient sky, With gracious lustre beams Redemption's star; So to that brightest point of heaven, her presence, My hopes and longings centred all.
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