HAT now another year we see,
Lord, lift we up our hearts to thee;
Yet not without reflection due,
Let us the period past review.
Oh! think we, since the circling sun
His annual course complete has run,
How many kindred souls are fled,
To the dark region of the dead!
How many, e'en in youth's gay flow'r,
(Brief pageants of the noon-tide hour,)
Have faded in the brightest bloom,
The early tenants of the tomb.
We yet survive :-but who can say,
Or through the year, or month, or day,
He shall retain his vital breath,
And 'scape each varying form of death?
O Lord of life and seasons! we,
Our souls' dependence place on thee!
In thee we trust with rev'rent fear,
And bless thee for this new-born year.
TOW the smiling spring appears,
See, each grove new beauty wears;
Hark! the birds, with cheerful lays,
Warble their Creator's praise.
See, where lately all was snow,
Flow'rs in loveliest clusters grow ;
And the fields, in green array,
Speak the future harvest day.
Sweet the change which now takes place,
Emblem of the spring of grace :
Thus the soul, long doom'd to pine,
While estrang'd from light divine,
Wakes to hope, nor longer mourns,
When religion's sun returns,
And the Spirit's heav'nly power
Deigns its genial dew to shower.
Lord, in us thyself renew,
Let us feel what now we view;
Let thy influence from above
Wake our souls to holy love;
Let thy grace divine inspire
Faith, and hope, and pure desire;
Let thy presence, Lord, restore
Life to what was dead before.
Hymn 26. C. M.
For Good Friday.
WEEP not for me but for yourselves,"
The heav'nly Victim said,
When impious men the Lamb of God
To savage slaughter led.
Not for thy suff'rings, blessed Lord,
Thy death and cruel woes,
We mourn; but for the fatal cause,
Whence all those sorrows rose.
If still in sin we take delight,
And still our lusts retain,
Vain is this day to us, and thou
For us hast died in vain.
O then, before thy sacred cross,
Repentant, let us kneel,
And for those sins that caus'd thy death,
Remorse and horror feel!
View we, with eye of faith, thy blood
Shed on th' accursed tree,
And, mindful that thou died'st for us,
For ever live to thee.
So wilt thou not, O Lamb of God!
In vain thyself have given,
But we, thy faithful flock on earth,
Shall share thy bliss in heaven.
ESUS Christ is ris'n to-day, Our triumphant festal day; Who did once upon the cross, Suffer to redeem man's loss.
Who endur'd the cross and grave,
Sinners to redeem and save.
Hymns of praise then let us sing,
Unto Christ, our heav'nly King,
Where the angels ever sing, Hallelujah! Amen.
For Whit Sunday.
TERNAL Spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come, visit ev'ry pious mind,
Come, pour thy gifts on human kind;
From sin and error set us free,
And make us temples worthy thee.
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our souls with heav'nly love inspire;
Plenteous in grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy heav'nly energy;
Refine and cleanse our earthly parts;
purge and sanctify our hearts!
Chase from our minds th' infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
Make us eternal truths receive;
Aid us to live as we believe;
And, lest our devious feet should stray,
Protect and guide us on our way.
Immortal honour, endless fame:
Attend th' Almighty Father's name;
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for mankind's redemption died;
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Comforter, to thee.
Hymn 29. L. M.
For Trinity Sunday.
BLESS'D be the Father, and his love,
To whose celestial source we owe
Rivers of endless joys above,
And rills of comfort here below.
Glory to thee, great Son of God,
From whose dear wounded body rolls
A precious stream of vital blood,
Pardon and life for dying souls.
How great his pow'r is, none can tell,
Nor think how large his grace;
Not men below, nor saints that dwell
On high before his face.
Not angels that stand round the Lord,
Can search his secret wilt;
But they perform his heav'nly word,
And sing his praises still.
Then let me join this holy train,
And my first off'rings bring;
Th' eternal God will not disdain
To hear an infant sing.
My heart resolves, my tongue obeys,
And angels shall rejoice,
To hear their mighty Maker's praise
Sound from a feeble voice.
For the Charity Children.
Y thee, O God! the orphan's cry
Was never pass'd unheeded by:
Nor will the pray'r neglected be,
That gratitude uplifts to thee.
To thee with humble hearts we sing,
From whom our various blessings spring; To thee with reverential fear,
We shed the sadly pleasing tear.
From thee our patrons here on earth,
Have learnt to raise dejected worth;
To hush the orphan's piteous moan,
And sigh for sorrows not their own.
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