There is a land of pure delight
has voiced the thoughts of myriads of anxious souls, to whom only ‘a prospect of heaven’ could make ‘death easy.’ Watts seldom, if ever, showed the ecstasy of Charles Wesley. He never sang
The promised land, from Pisgah’s top,
I now exult to see;
but he knew that
Could we but climb where Moses stood,
And view the landscape o’er,
Not Jordan’s stream nor death’s cold flood
Should fright us from the shore.
There are few more tender lines than the verse in his hymn for ‘The Death and Burial of a Saint’—