gardens, wreaths, &c. 
47 
In the garden of his love, 
Rescued from the storms of time, 
Saints, as trees of life, shall stand, 
Planted by the Lord’s right hand : 
Round the fair enclosure here. 
Flames no cherub’s threatening sword ; 
Ye who enter ! feel no fear: 
Roof’d by heaven, with verdure floor’d, 
Breathing balm from blossoms gay, 
This be Paradise to-day! 
Yet one moment meditate 
On that dreary banishment. 
When from Eden’s closing gate, 
Hand-in hand, our parents went; 
Spikenard-groves no more to dress, 
But a thorny wilderness. 
Then remember Him, who laid 
Uncreated splendour by; 
Lower than the angels made. 
Fallen man to glorify. 
And from death beyond the grave, 
An apostate world to save. 
Think of Him : your souls He sought, 
Wandering never to return. 
Hath he found you 1—At the thought 
All your hearts within you burn. 
