"This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven."
THOU Who didst the Temple fill
With Thy resplendent, awful train,
The glory of Thine Israel still,
Appear in those bright robes again.
Now send the promised unction down,
And all our waiting hearts inspire;
Lord Jesu, make Thy goings known,
Thy ministers a flame of fire.
Work with them, and confirm Thy word
To all within this holy place;
O pour upon us, holy Lord,
The heavenly dew of saving grace.
So shall Thy servants' hopes be crowned,
And glory to Thy Name be given,
While this Thy temple shall be found
The house of God, the gate of heaven. AMEN.
"The Lord shall give that which is good, and our land shall yield her increase."
LORD, while for all mankind we pray,
Of every clime and coast,
O hear us for our native land,
The land we love the most.
O guard our shores from every foe,
With peace our borders bless;
With prosperous life our cities crown,
Our fields with plenteousness.
Here let religion pure and true
On all our people smile;
And piety and virtue reign,
And bless our native isle.
Lord of the nations, thus to Thee
Our country we commend;
Be Thou her Refuge and her Trust,
Her everlasting Friend.-AMEN.
'God be merciful unto us, and bless us, and cause His
ORD Almighty, God of nations,
From Thy temple in the skies
Hear Thy people's supplications,
Now for their deliverance rise.
Lo, with deep contrition turning,
Humbly at Thy feet we bend;
See us fasting, praying, mourning,
Hear us, spare us, and defend.
Though our sins, our hearts confounding,
Loudly for Thy vengeance call,
Thou hast mercy more abounding,—
Jesu's blood can cleanse from all.
Pardon, Lord, our past transgression;
O'er us stretch Thy powerful hand;
Save Thy people from oppression;
Guard Thy Church, and bless our land. AMEN.
"He filleth thee with the finest of the wheat."
REAT God! as seasons disappear,
And changes mark the rolling year,
Thy favour still has crowned our days,
And we would celebrate Thy praise.
The harvest song we would repeat;
Thou givest us the finest wheat;
The joy of harvest we have known;
The praise, O Lord! is all Thine own.
Our tables spread, our garners stored,
O give us hearts to bless Thee, Lord!
Forbid it, Source of light and love,
That hearts and lives should barren prove.
Another harvest comes apace :
Ripen our spirits by Thy grace,
That we may calmly meet the blow
The sickle gives to lay us low.
That so, when angel-reapers come
To gather sheaves to Thy blest home,
Our spirits may be borne on high,
To Thy safe garner in the sky.—AMEN.
"In everything give thanks."
ONATION, Christian nation,
Lift high the hymn of praise!
The God of our salvation
Is love in all His ways!
He blesseth us, and feedeth
The creatures of His hand,
To succour him that needeth,
And gladden all the land.
Rejoice, ye happy people,
And peal the changing chime,
From every belfried steeple,
In symphony sublime.
Let cottage and let palace
Be thankful and rejoice,
And woods, and hills, and valleys
Re-echo the glad voice.
O praise the Hand that giveth-
And giveth evermore-
To every soul that liveth,
Abundance flowing o'er.
For every soul He filleth
With manna from above,
And over all distilleth
The unction of His love.
To God the loving Father,
Who biddeth us rejoice,
Let all within His temple
Lift high their thankful voice.
To Jesus, our Redeemer,
On His bright throne in heaven,
And Holy Ghost the Comforter,
All praise and might be given.-AMEN.
"They joy before Thee, according to the joy in
COME, ye thankful people, come,
Raise the song of harvest-home.
All is safely gathered in,
Ere the winter storms begin :
God, our Maker, doth provide
For our wants to be supplied.
Come to God's own temple, come ;
Raise the song of harvest home.
What is earth but God's own field,
Fruit unto His praise to yield?
Wheat and tares therein are sown,
Unto joy or sorrow grown;
Ripening with a wondrous power,
Till the final harvest hour:
Grant, O Lord of life, that we
Holy grain and pure may be.
For we know that Thou wilt come,
And wilt take Thy people home;
From Thy field wilt purge away
All that doth offend, that day;
And Thine angels charge at last
In the fire the tares to cast;
But the fruitful ears to store
In Thy garner evermore.
Come, then, Lord of mercy, come,
Bid us sing Thy harvest home;
Let Thy saints be gathered in,
Free from sorrow, free from sin ;
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