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tongue, and nation, and hast made us unto our God kings and priests.”
“Coelo quos eadem gloria consecrat.”
May we together join, with earthly voice,
By arduous labours, and the better choice.
And ye drink full of joy's o'erflowing wells,
And by the sacred fountain ever dwells.
From inmost shrines from whence the Godhead
streams, The King, himself, with his own countenance, Shines o'er you, and, unsparing of his beams,
Fills the soul's dwelling with his radiance.
From out the golden altar, 'neath the throne,
Blood of the Innocent for mercy pleads;
For ever sues anew, and ever bleeds.
Mid lightnings numberless, thro' the dim vast
Of light, the adoring elders bow them down,
And each before him casts his golden crown.
For ever sing the inexpressive song,
Him the thrice holy, and the only Good. Glory on earth, and glory be above,
To Father, Son, and Spirit, ever blest. Who with o’erflowing, boundless love,
Saints to their fulness fill with perfect rest. *
I love thy kingdom, Lord,
The house of thine abode;
With his own precious blood.
Her walls before thee stand,
And graven on thy hand.
My voice or hands deny,
This voice in silence die.
Beyond my highest joy
I prize her heavenly ways;
Her hymns of love and praise. .
Our Saviour, and our King,
Shall great deliverance bring.
Sure as thy truth shall last,
To Zion shall be given
And brighter bliss of heaven.
THE FIELD OF THE WORLD.
A MORAVIAN MISSIONARY HYMN.
High on his everlasting throne,
The King of saints his work surveys; Marks the dear souls he calls his own,
And smiles on that peculiar race. He rests well pleased their toil to see,
Beneath his easy yoke they move, With all their heart and strength agree,
In the sweet labour of his love.
His eye the world at once looks through
A vast, uncultivated field; Mountains and vales in ghastly show,
Abarren, uncouth prospect yield.
Cleared of the thorns by civil care,
A few less hideous wastes are seen; Yet still they all continue bare,
And not one spot of earth is green.
A busy multitude appear!
His husbandry they toil to clear.
And strengthens their unwearied hands; They spend their blood, and sweat, and pains,
To cultivate Emmanuel's lands.
Alarmed at their successful toil,
Satan and his wild spirits rage,
And blast the rising heritage.
Nor leave one seed of good behind.
Look up and calmly persevere; Supported by the Master's word,
The adverse powers they scorn to fear. Gladly their happy work pursue ;
The labour of their hands is seen, Their hands the face of earth renew;
Some spots at least are lively green.
To dig the ground they thus bestow
Their lives, from every softened clod They gather out the stones, and sow
The immortal seed, the word of God. They water it with tears and prayers,
Then long for the returning word; Happy, if all their pains and cares,
Can bring forth fruit to please the Lord. Jesus their work delighted sees,
Their industry vouchsafes to crown; He kindly gives the wished increase,
And sends the promised blessing down. The sap of life, the Spirit's powers,
He rains incessant from above; He all his gracious fulness showers,
To perfect their great work of love.
O multiply thy sower's seed,
And fruit we every hour shall bear; Throughout the world thy gospel spread,
Thy everlasting grace declare; We all in perfect love renewed,
Shall know the greatness of thy power, Stand in the temple of our God,
As pillars, and go out no more.