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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 would'st 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.

Oн 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 flow'ry garland hides her dart,

Now empty are the courts of death,
And crushed thy sting, despair:
And roses bloom in the desert tomb,
For Jesus hath been there!
And he hath tamed the strength of hell,

And dragged him through the sky,
And captive behind his chariot wheel,
He hath bound captivity!

God is gone up with a merry noise

Of saints that sing on high; With his own right hand and his holy arm He hath won the victory!

FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.

LIFE nor Death shall us dissever
From his love who reigns for ever!
Will he fail us? Never! never!
When to him we cry!

Sin may seek to snare us,
Fury passion tear us!
Doubt and fear, and grim despair,

Their fangs against us try;

But his might shall still defend us,
And his blessed Son befriend us,
And his Holy Spirit send us

Comfort ere we die!

ASCENSION DAY, AND SUNDAY AFTER.

"SIT thou on my right hand, my Son !" saith the Lord.

"Sit thou on my right hand, my Son!
Till in the fatal hour

Of my wrath and my power,
Thy foes shall be a footstool to thy throne!

When tyrant force would daunt the sinking heart," Prayer shall be made to thee, my Son!" saith

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 hope to thee-
Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain!
Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain!

EASTER DAY.

GOD is gone up with a merry noise

Of saints that sing on high;

With his own right hand and his holy arm He hath won the victory!

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We ask not, Lord! thy cloven flame,
Or tongues of various tone;
But long thy praises to proclaim
With fervour in our own.

We mourn not that prophetic skill

Is found on earth no more;
Enough for us to trace thy will
In Scripture's sacred lore.

We neither have nor seek the power
Ill demons to control;
But thou in dark temptation's hour,
Shall chase them from the soul.

No heavenly harpings sooth our ear,
No mystic dreams we share;
Yet hope to feel thy comfort near,

And bless thee in our prayer.

When tongues shall cease, and power decay,
And knowledge empty prove,
Do thou thy trembling servants stay
With Faith, with Hope, with Love!

TRINITY SUNDAY.

HOLY, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty,
Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee;
Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty!

God in three persons, blessed Trinity!

Holy, holy, holy! all the saints adore thee, Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;

Cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee, Which wert and art and evermore shall be!

Hy holy, holy! though the darkness hide thee, Though the eye of sinful man thy glory may

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Room for the proud! but slow the feet
That bear his coffin down the street:
And dismal seems his winding sheet
Who purple lately wore!

Ah! where must now his spirit fly
In naked, trembling agony?
Or how shall he for mercy cry

Who showed it not before!
Room for the proud! in ghastly state,
The lords of hell his coming wait,
And flinging wide the dreadful gate,
That shuts to ope no more.

"Lo here with us the seat," they cry, "For him who mocked at poverty, And bade intruding conscience fly Far from his palace door!"

FOR THE SAME.

THE feeble pulse, the gasping breath,
The clenched teeth, the glazed eye,
Are these thy sting, thou dreadful death!
O grave, are these thy victory?

The mourners by our parting bed,

The wife, the children, weeping nigh, The dismal pageant of the dead,—

These, these are not thy victory!

But, from the much-loved world to part,
Our lust untamed, our spirit high,
All nature struggling at the heart,
Which, dying, feels it dare not die!

To dream through life a gaudy dream

Of pride and pomp and luxury, Till wakened by the nearer gleam

Of burning, boundless agony; To meet o'er soon our angry king,

Whose love we past unheeded by;
Lo this, O Death, thy deadliest sting!
O Grave, and this thy victory!

O Searcher of the secret heart,
Who deigned for sinful man to die!
Restore us ere the spirit part,
Nor give to hell the victory!

SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

FORTH from the dark and stormy sky,
Lord, to thine altar's shade we fly;
Forth from the world, its hope and fear
Saviour, we seek thy shelter here:
Weary and weak, thy grace we pray;
Turn not, O Lord! thy guests away!

Long have we roamed in want and pain, Long have we sought thy rest in vain; Wildered in doubt, in darkness lost, Long have our souls been tempest-tost; Low at thy feet our sins we lay;

Turn not, O Lord! thy guests away!

THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

THERE was joy in heaven!
There was joy in heaven!
When this goodly world to frame
The Lord of might and mercy came:
Shouts of joy were heard on high,
And the stars sang from the sky-
"Glory to God in heaven!"

There was joy in heaven!
There was joy in heaven!
When the billows, heaving dark,
Sank around the stranded ark,
And the rainbow's watery span
Spake of mercy, hope to man,
And peace with God in Heaven!

There was joy in heaven!
There was joy in heaven!

When of love the midnight beam
Dawned on the towers of Bethlehem;
And along the echoing hill

Angels sang-" On earth good will,
And glory in the Heaven!"

There is joy in heaven!
There is joy in heaven!
When the sheep that went astray
Turns again to virtue's way;
When the soul, by grace subdued,
Sobs it prayer of gratitude,

Then is there joy in Heaven!

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

I PRAISED the earth, in beauty seen
With garlands gay of various green;
I praised the sea, whose ample field
Shone glorious as a silver shield;
And earth and ocean seemed to say,
"Our beauties are but for a day!"

I praised the sun, whose chariot rolled
On wheels of amber and of gold;
I praised the moon, whose softer eye
Gleamed sweetly through the summer sky!
And moon and sun in answer said,
"Our days of light are numbered!"
O God! O good beyond compare!
If thus thy meaner works are fair!

If thus thy bounties gild the span
Of ruined earth and sinful man,
How glorious must the mansion be
Where thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee!

FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. CREATOR of the rolling flood!

On whom thy people hope alone; Who cam❜st, by water and by blood, For man's offences to atone ;

Who from the labours of the deep

Didst set thy servant Peter free,
To feed on earth thy chosen sheep,
And build an endless church to thee.
Grant us, devoid of worldly care,

And leaning on thy bounteous hand
To seek thy help in humble prayer,
And on thy sacred rock to stand:

And when, our livelong toil to crown,
Thy call shall set the spirit free,
To cast with joy our burthen down,
And rise, O Lord! and follow thee!

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

his way,

The moon and stars, their Master's name in silent 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, honour thee.

The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of summer fade,

The autumn droop in winter, the birds forsake the shade;

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"What ruffian hand hath stript thee bare? Whose fury laid thee low ?"

"Sin for my footsteps twined her snare, And death has dealt the blow!" “Can art no medicine for thy wound, Nor nature strength supply?" "They saw me bleeding on the ground, And passed in silence by!"

"But, sufferer! is no comfort near

Thy terrors to remove?" -"There is to whom my soul was dear, But I have scorned his love."

"What if his hand were nigh to save

From endless death thy days?" -"The soul he ransomed from the grave Should live but to his praise!"

"Rise then, O rise! his health embrace,

With heavenly strength renewed; And such as is thy Saviour's grace, Such be thy gratitude!"

FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

Lo! the lilies of the field,

How their leaves instruction yield!
Hark to nature's lesson given
By the blessed birds of Heaven!
Every bush and tufted tree
Warbles sweet philosophy;
"Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow:
God provideth for the morrow!

"Say, with richer crimson glows
The kingly mantle than the rose?
Say, have kings more wholesome fare
That we, poor citizens of air?
Barns nor hoarded grain have we,
Yet we carol merrily.

Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow!
God provideth for the morrow!
"One there lives whose guardian eye
Guides our humble destiny;
One there lives who, Lord of all,
Keeps our feathers lest they fall:
Pass we blithely, then, the time,
Fearless of the snare and lime,
Free from doubt and faithless sorrow;
God provideth for the morrow!"

SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

WAKE not, oh mother! sounds of lamentation! Weep not, oh widow! weep not hopelessly! Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation, Strong is the word of God to succour thee!

Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear| him:

Hide his pale features with the sable pall: Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him: Widowed and childless, she has lost her all!

Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our weeping?

Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed? "Set down the bier-he is not dead but sleeping! "Young man, arise!"-He spake, and was obeyed!

Change, then, oh sad one! grief to exultation, Worship and fall before Messiah's knee. Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation, Strong was the word of God to succour thee!

NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

OH blest were the accents of early creation, When the word of Jehovah came down from above;

In the clods of the earth to infuse animation,

And wake their cold atoms to life and to love!

And mighty the tones which the firmament rended, When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of the wind,

By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness attended,

He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind.

And sweet was the voice of the First-born of heaven,

(Though poor his apparel, though earthly his form,)

Who said to the mourner, "Thy sins are forgiven!"

"Be whole!" to the sick,-and "Be still!" to the storm.

Oh, Judge of the world! when, arrayed in thy glory,

Thy summons again shall be heard from on high, While nature stands trembling and naked before thee,

And waits on thy sentence to live or to die;

When the heaven shall fly fast from the sound of thy thunder,

And the sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid and pale,

And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave asunder,

In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail !

TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER

TRINITY.

THE Sound of war! In earth and air

The volleying thunders roll: Their fiery darts the fiends prepare, And dig the pit, and spread the snare, Against the Christian's soul

The tyrant's sword, the rack, the flame,
The scorner's serpent tone,

Of bitter doubt, the barbed aim,
All, all conspire his heart to tame:
Force, fraud, and hellish fires assail
The rivets of his heavenly mail,

Amidst his foes alone.

Gods of the world! ye warrior host
Of darkness and of air,

In vain is all your impious boast,
In vain each missile lightning tost,
In vain the tempter's snare!
Though fast and far your arrows fly,
Though mortal nerve and bone
Shrink in convulsive agony,
The Christian can your rage defy;
Towers o'er his head salvation's crest,
Faith, like a buckler, guards his breast,
Undaunted, though alone.

'T is past! 't is o'er! in foul defeat
The demon host are fled!
Before the Saviour's mercy-seat,
(His live-long work of faith complete,)
Their conqueror bends his head.
"The spoils thyself hast gained, Lord!
I lay before thy throne:

Thou wert my rock, my shield, my sword;
My trust was in thy name and word:
'T was in thy strength my heart was strong;
Thy spirit went with mine along;
How was I then alone?".

TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER

TRINITY.

OH God! my sins are manifold, against my life they cry,

And all my guilty deeds foregone, up to thy temple fly;

Wilt thou release my trembling soul, that to despair is driven?

"Forgive!" a blessed voice replied, "and thou shalt be forgiven!"

My foemen, Lord! are fierce and fell, they spurn me in their pride,

They render evil for my good, my patience they deride;

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