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FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
I praised the earth, in beauty seen
I praised the sun, whose chariot rolled
Gleamed sweetly through the summer sky:
And moon and sun in answer said,
O God, O good beyond compare,
Where thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee.
i FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
CREAToR of the rolling flood |
Who cam'st, by water and by blood,
Who from the labors of the deep
Grant us, devoid of worldly care,
To seek thy help in humble prayer,
And when, our livelong toil to crown,
To cast with joy our burthen down,
SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
WHEN spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil; .
When summer's balmy showers refresh the mower’s toil;
When winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood,
In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his Maker good.
The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade ;
The winds that sweep the mountain or lull the drowsy glade;
The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on
The moon and stars, their Master's name in si
lent pomp display.
Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky,
Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny
No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be,
Thee, Master, must we always love, and, Saviour, honor thee.
The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of summer fade,
The autumn droop in winter, the birds forsake the shade;
The winds be lulled—the sun and moon forget
their old decree,
But we in nature’s latest hour, O Lord, will cling to thee,
TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
JERUsALEM, Jerusalem! enthroned once on high,
Thou favored home of God on earth, thou heaven below the sky,
Now brought to bondage with thy sons, a curse and grief to see,
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, our tears shall flow for thee.
O, hadst thou known thy day of grace, and flocked beneath the wing
Of him who called thee lovingly, thine own anointed King,
Then had the tribes of all the world gone up thy pomp to see,
And glory dwelt within thy gates, and all thy sons been free.
• And who art thou that mournest me * replied
the ruin gray, “And fear'st not rather that thyself may prove
I am a dried and abject branch, my place is given to thee;
But wo to every barren graft of thy wild olivetree.