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TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

FROM foes that would the land devour;
From guilty pride, and lust of power;
From wild sedition's lawless hour;
From yoke of slavery ;
From blinded zeal by faction led ;
From giddy change by fancy bred;
From poisonous error's serpent head,
Good Lord, preserve us free.

Defend, O God, with guardian hand,
The laws and ruler of our land,
And grant our church thy grace to stand
In faith and unity;
The spirit's help of thee we crave,
That thou, whose blood was shed to save,
Mayest, at thy second coming, have
A flock to welcome thee.

TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

To conquer and to save, the Son of God
Came to his own in great humility,
Who wont to ride on cherub wings abroad,
And round him wrap the mantle of the sky.
The mountains bent their necks to form his road ;
The clouds dropt down their fatness from on high ;
Beneath his feet the wild waves softly flowed,
And the winds kissed his garment tremblingly.

The grave unbolted half his grisly door,
(For darkness and the deep had heard his fame,
Nor longer might their ancient rule endure;)
The mightiest of mankind stood hushed and tame :
And, trooping on strong wing, his angels came
To work his will, and kingdom to secure;
No strength he needed save his father's name;
Babes were his heralds, and his friends the poor.

For ST JAMES’ DAY.

THourgH sorrows rise and dangers roll
In waves of darkness o'er my soul,
Though friends are false and love decays,
And few and evil are my days,
Though conscience, fiercest of my foes,
Swells with remembered guilt my woes,
Yet even in nature’s utmost ill,
I love thee, Lord, I love thee still.

Though Sinai’s curse, in thunder dread,
Peals o'er mine unprotected head,
And memory points, with busy pain,
To grace and mercy given in vain,
Till nature, shrieking in the strife,
Would fly to hell, to 'scape from life,
Though every thought has power to kill,
I love thee, Lord, I love thee still.

0, by the pangs thyself hast borne,
The ruffian's blow, the tyrant’s scorn ;
By Sinai's curse, whose dreadful doom
Was buried in thy guiltless tomb:
By these my pangs, whose healing smart
Thy grace hath planted in my heart;
I know, I feel, thy bounteous will,
Thou lov'st me, Lord, thou lov'st me still,

I

MICHAELMAS DAY.

O, captain of God’s host, whose dreadful might Led forth to war the armed Seraphim,

And from the starry height,

Subdued in burning fight,
Cast down that ancient dragon, dark and grim.

Thine angels, Christ, we laud in solemn lays, Our elder brethren of the crystal sky,

Who, 'mid thy glory's blaze,

The ceaseless anthem raise,
And gird thy throne in faithful ministry.

We celebrate their love, whose viewless wing Hath left for us so oft their mansion high,

The mercies of their king,

To mortal saints to bring,
Or guard the couch of slumbering infancy.

But thee, the first and last, we glorify,
Who, when thy world was sunk in death and sin,

Not with thine hierarchy,

The armies of the sky,
But didst with thine own arm the battle win ;

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Alone didst pass the dark and dismal shore, Alone didst tread the wine-press, and alone,

All glorious in thy gore,

Didst light and life restore,
To us who lay in darkness and undone;

Therefore, with angels and archangels, we To thy dear love our thankful chorus raise,

And tune our songs to thee

Who art, and ought to be, And, endless as thy mercies, sound thy praise.

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