White and forgiven,
Thou'lt enter heaven,
And pass, unchallenged, the Golden Gate,
Where welcoming spirits watch and wait
To hail thy coming with sweet accord
To the Holy City of God the Lord!
If thou art humble, and wilt not scorn.
However wretched, a brother forlorn,--
If thy purse is open to misery's call,
And the God thou lovest is God of all,
Whatever their colour, clime or creed,
Blood of thy blood, in their sorest need,--
If every cause that is good and true,
And needs assistance to dare and do,
Thou helpest on through good and ill,
With trust in Heaven, and God's good will,--
All God's angels will say, "Well done!"
Whenever thy mortal race is run.
White and forgiven, Thou'lt enter heaven,
And pass, unchallenged, the Golden Gate,
Where welcoming spirits watch and wait
To hail thy coming with sweet accord
To the Holy City of God the Lord!
[Footnote: By the late Charles Mackay, LL.D., F.S.A.]
The effect of the last eight-line chorus sung by thousands of
voices, was marvellous. Such a spirit of exaltation pervaded the
music that the common wooden shed-like building in which these
followers of one earnest man asserted their faith in God rather than
in a Church, seemed to take upon itself all the architectural beauty
of a temple costing millions of money.
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