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THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT.

VIRGIN-born, we bow before thee;
Blessed was the womb that bore thee;
Mary, mother meek and mild,
Blessed was she in her child.

Blessed was the breast that fed thee,
Blessed was the hand that led thee,
Blessed was the parent’s eye
That watched thy slumbering infancy.

Blessed she by all creation,
Who brought forth the world’s salvation,
And blessed they, for ever blessed,
Who love thee most and serve thee best.

Virgin-born, we bow before thee;
Blessed was the womb that bore thee;
Mary, mother meek and mild,
Blessed was she in her child.

FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

O, King of earth and air and sea,
The hungry ravens cry to thee;
To thee the scaly tribes that sweep
The bosom of the boundless deep;

To thee the lions roaring call,
The common Father, kind to all;
Then grant thy servants, Lord, we pray,
Our daily bread from day to day.

The fishes may for food complain;
The ravens spread their wings in vain;
The roaring lions lack and pine;
But, God thou carest still for thine.

Thy bounteous hand with food can bless
The bleak and lonely wilderness;
And thou hast taught us, Lord, to pray
For daily bread from day to day.

And O, when through the wilds we roam
That part us from our heavenly home;
When lost in danger, want, and wo,
Our faithless tears begin to flow;

Do thou thy gracious comfort give,
By which alone the soul may live ;
And grant thy servants, Lord, we pray,
The bread of life from day to day.

FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

O Thou, whom neither time nor space
Can circle in, unseen, unknown,

Nor faith in boldest flight can trace,
Save through thy Spirit and thy Son ;

And Thou, that from thy bright abode,
To us in mortal weakness shown,

Didst graft the manhood into God,
Eternal, co-eternal Son;

And Thou, whose unction from on high
By comfort, light, and love is known,

Who, with the parent Deity,
Dread Spirit, art for ever one!

Great First and Last, thy blessing give,
And grant us faith, thy gift alone,
To love and praise thee while we live,

And do whate’er thou wouldst have done. SIXTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

THE Lord of might, from Sinai's brow,
Gave forth his voice of thunder;
And Israel lay on earth below,
Outstretched in fear and wonder.
Beneath his feet was pitchy night,
And, at his left hand, and his right,
The rocks were rent asunder.

The Lord of love, on Calvary,
A meek and suffering stranger,
Upraised to heaven his languid eye,
In nature's hour of danger.
For us he bore the weight of wo,
For us he gave his blood to flow,
And met his Father's anger.

The Lord of love, the Lord of might,
The king of all created,
Shall back return to claim his right,
On clouds of glory seated ;
With trumpet-sound and angel-song,
And hallelujahs loud and long
O'er Death and Hell defeated.

GOOD FRIDAY.

O more than merciful! whose bounty gave
Thy guiltless self to glut the greedy grave,
Whose heart was rent to pay thy people’s price,
The great High-priest at once and sacrifice ;
Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain,
Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain.

When sin with flowery garland hides her dart,
When tyrant force would daunt the sinking heart,
When fleshly lust assails, or worldly care,
Or the soul flutters in the fowler’s snare,
Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain,
Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain.

And, chiefest then, when nature yields the strife, And mortal darkness wraps the gate of life, When the poor spirit, from the tomb set free, Sinks at thy feet and lifts its hopes to thee— Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain, Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain.

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