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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 shalt be.

Holy, holy, holy, though the darkness hide thee, Though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see, Only thou art holy, there is none beside thee, Perfect in power, in love, and purity.

Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty,
All thy works shall praise thy name in earth and
sky and sea.
Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty,
God in three persons, blessed Trinity.

FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

Room for the proud! Ye sons of clay,
From far his sweeping pomp survey,
Nor, rashly curious, clog the way
His chariot wheels before.
Lo, with what scorn his lofty eye
Glances o'er age and poverty,
And bids intruding conscience fly
Far from his palace door.

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 h; 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 passed 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.”

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