“Fresh as the grass our bodies stand,
And flourish bright as day—
A blasting wind sweeps o’er the land,
And fades the grass away!”
Brother Butters:—“We now come to the joy of the saints in heaven who behold the sufferings of sinners and unbaptized infants in hell. They shall see their doleful state, and it will heighten their sense of blessedness. When they shall see the smoke of their torment, and the raging of the flames, and hear their dolorous shrieks and cries, and consider that they in the meantime are in the most blissful state for all eternity, how they will rejoice!”
Brother Hyatt:—“Oh, listen ye to the comforts of the church! Oh, speed that happy day!”
“Hark! Hark! The notes of joy
Roll o’er the heav’nly plains,
And all the seraphs find employ
For their sublimest strains!”