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“To the Father, through the Son,"
Did the ancient ritual run :
So the Christian prayer was said,
So the Christian vow was paid.
Was the suppliant bending low,
Where the Nile's broad waters flow?
Joined he in the choral praise,
Which the Seven Churches raise ?
Worshipped he in gloom and fear,
Roman soldiers lingering near ?
Still that holy prayer was one,
* To the Father, through the Son.".
Years have come, and years have gone,
And the Church no more is one;
Broken now the bonds of love :
Flown the peace-bestowing dove:
Broken now Christ's cup divine,
Spilled the Sacramental wine.
prayers to Heaven arise,
Swell the new-made Litanies,
Single homage no more given
To the Father-God of Heaven.
Only, hoping, watching still,
Lonely light on lonely hill,
Scattered Churches here and there,
Echo the old Church's prayer,
Pray, as when the Church was one,
“To the Father, through the Son."
Years will come, when years have past,
When God's Truth grows clear at last;
When the broken links again
Clasp in one unbroken chain;
When to all one Grace is poured,
From the chalice of the Lord ;
When from vast cathedral-pile,
When from far-off coral isle,
From the ladder angels tread,
From the dying infant's bed,
Rises one united prayer,
Ringing through the ringing air,
And that prayer — the same — the one,
“To the Father, through the Son."
1 Thousands, O Lord of Hosts, this day,
Around Thine altar meet;
And tens of thousands throng to pay
Their homage at Thy feet.
2 They see Thy power and glory there,
As I have seen them too; They read, they hear, they join in prayer,
As I was wont to do.
3 They sing Thy deeds, as I have sung,
In sweet and solemn lays;
Were I among them, my glad tongue
Might learn new themes of praise.
4 I, of such fellowship bereft,
In spirit turn to Thee;
Oh! hast Thou not a blessing left,
A blessing, Lord, for me?
5 The dew lies thick on all the ground;
Shall my poor fleece be dry ?
The manna rains from heaven around;
Shall I of hunger die ?
6 Behold Thy prisoner! loose my bands,
If 't is Thy gracious will:
If not, - contented in Thy hands,
Behold Thy prisoner still!
7 I may not to Thy courts repair,
Yet here Thou surely art;
Lord ! consecrate a house of prayer
In my surrendered heart !
1 Though wandering in a stranger-land,
Though on the waste no altar stand,
Take comfort, thou art not alone,
While Faith hath marked thee for her own. 2 Wouldst thou a Temple ? look above,
The Heavens stretch over all in love:
A Book ? for thine Evangile scan
The wondrous history of Man.
3 The holy band of saints renowned
Embrace thee, brother-like, around;
Their sufferings and their triumphs rise
In hymns immortal to the skies.
4 And though no organ-peal be heard,
In harmony the winds are stirred;
And there the morning stars upraise
Their ancient song of deathless praise.
1 0 Thou, the primal fount of life and peace,
Who shedd'st Thy breathing quiet all around,
In me command that pain and conflict cease,
And tune to music every jarring sound. 2 Make Thou in me, O God, through shame and
pain, A heart attuned to Thy celestial calm; Let not the spirit's pangs be roused in vain,
But heal the wounded breast with soothing balm. 3 So, firm in steadfast hope, in thought secure,
In full accord with all Thy works of Joy,
May I be nerved to labours high and pure,
And Thou Thy child to do Thy work employ. 4 In One who walked on earth, a Man of woe,
Was holier peace than even this hour inspires;
From him to me let inward quiet flow,
And give the might my failing will requires.
5 So this great Universe, -so he, and Thou,
The central source and wondrous bound of things,
May fill my heart with rest as deep as now
To land and sea and air Thy presence brings.
1 When round Thy wondrous works below
My searching rapturous glance I throw,
Tracing out Wisdom, Power, and Love,
In earth or sky, in stream or grove; — 2 Or by the light Thy words disclose
Watch Time's full river as it flows,
Scanning Thy gracious Providence,
Where not too deep for mortal sense ;
3 When with dear friends sweet talk I hold,
And all the flowers of life unfold ;-
Let not my heart within me burn,
Except in all I Thee discern.
4 When the soft dews of kindly sleep
My wearied eyelids gently steep,
Be my last thought, how sweet to rest
For ever on my Saviour's breast.
5 Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live:
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I dare not die.