Great First and Last! thy blessing give! SIXTH SUNDAY IN LENT. THE Lord of might, from Sinai's brow, Gave forth his voice of thunder; And Israel lay on earth below, Outstretched in fear and wonder. Beneath his feet was pitchy night, And, at his left hand and his right, The rocks were rent asunder! The Lord of love, on Calvary, A meek and suffering stranger, And met his Father's anger. The Lord of love, the Lord of might, The king of all created, Shall back return to claim his right, On clouds of glory seated; With trumpet-sound and angel-song, And hallelujahs loud and long O'er Death and Hell defeated! GOOD FRIDAY. Oн more than merciful! whose bounty gave Thy guiltless self to glut the greedy grave! Whose heart was rent to pay thy people's price, The great High-priest at once and sacrifice! Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain, Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain! When sin with flow'ry garland hides her dart, Now empty are the courts of death, And dragged him through the sky, God is gone up with a merry noise Of saints that sing on high; With his own right hand and his holy arm He hath won the victory! FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER. LIFE nor Death shall us dissever Sin may seek to snare us, Their fangs against us try; But his might shall still defend us, Comfort ere we die! ASCENSION DAY, AND SUNDAY AFTER. "SIT thou on my right hand, my Son !" saith the Lord. "Sit thou on my right hand, my Son! Of my wrath and my power, When tyrant force would daunt the sinking heart," Prayer shall be made to thee, my Son!" saith When fleshly lust assails, or worldly care, EASTER DAY. GOD is gone up with a merry noise Of saints that sing on high; With his own right hand and his holy arm He hath won the victory! We ask not, Lord! thy cloven flame, We mourn not that prophetic skill Is found on earth no more; We neither have nor seek the power No heavenly harpings sooth our ear, And bless thee in our prayer. When tongues shall cease, and power decay, TRINITY SUNDAY. HOLY, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, 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 shall be! Hy holy, holy! though the darkness hide thee, Though the eye of sinful man thy glory may Room for the proud! but slow the feet Ah! where must now his spirit fly Who showed it not before! "Lo here with us the seat," they cry, "For him who mocked at poverty, And bade intruding conscience fly Far from his palace door!" FOR THE SAME. THE feeble pulse, the gasping breath, 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, 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 past unheeded by; O Searcher of the secret heart, SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. FORTH from the dark and stormy sky, 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! There was joy in heaven! When of love the midnight beam Angels sang-" On earth good will, There is joy in heaven! Then is there joy in Heaven! FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. I PRAISED the earth, in beauty seen I praised the sun, whose chariot rolled If thus thy bounties gild the span FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. CREATOR of the rolling flood! On whom thy people hope alone; Who cam❜st, by water and by blood, For man's offences to atone ; Who from the labours of the deep Didst set thy servant Peter free, And leaning on thy bounteous hand And when, our livelong toil to crown, SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. WHEN spring unlocks the flowers to paint the laughing soil; When summer's balmy showers refresh the mower's toil; When winter binds in frosty chains the fallow and the flood, In God the earth rejoiceth still, and owns his Maker good. The birds that wake the morning, and those that love the shade; The winds that sweep the mountain' or lull the drowsy glade; The sun that from his amber bower rejoiceth on his way, The moon and stars, their Master's name in silent pomp display. Shall man, the lord of nature, expectant of the sky, Shall man, alone unthankful, his little praise deny? No, let the year forsake his course, the seasons cease to be, Thee, Master, must we always love, and, Saviour, honour thee. The flowers of spring may wither, the hope of summer fade, The autumn droop in winter, the birds forsake the shade; 1 "What ruffian hand hath stript thee bare? Whose fury laid thee low ?" "Sin for my footsteps twined her snare, And death has dealt the blow!" “Can art no medicine for thy wound, Nor nature strength supply?" "They saw me bleeding on the ground, And passed in silence by!" "But, sufferer! is no comfort near Thy terrors to remove?" -"There is to whom my soul was dear, But I have scorned his love." "What if his hand were nigh to save From endless death thy days?" -"The soul he ransomed from the grave Should live but to his praise!" "Rise then, O rise! his health embrace, With heavenly strength renewed; And such as is thy Saviour's grace, Such be thy gratitude!" FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. Lo! the lilies of the field, How their leaves instruction yield! "Say, with richer crimson glows Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow! SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. WAKE not, oh mother! sounds of lamentation! Weep not, oh widow! weep not hopelessly! Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation, Strong is the word of God to succour thee! Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear| him: Hide his pale features with the sable pall: Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him: Widowed and childless, she has lost her all! Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our weeping? Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed? "Set down the bier-he is not dead but sleeping! "Young man, arise!"-He spake, and was obeyed! Change, then, oh sad one! grief to exultation, Worship and fall before Messiah's knee. Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation, Strong was the word of God to succour thee! NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. OH blest were the accents of early creation, When the word of Jehovah came down from above; In the clods of the earth to infuse animation, And wake their cold atoms to life and to love! And mighty the tones which the firmament rended, When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of the wind, By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness attended, He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind. And sweet was the voice of the First-born of heaven, (Though poor his apparel, though earthly his form,) Who said to the mourner, "Thy sins are forgiven!" "Be whole!" to the sick,-and "Be still!" to the storm. Oh, Judge of the world! when, arrayed in thy glory, Thy summons again shall be heard from on high, While nature stands trembling and naked before thee, And waits on thy sentence to live or to die; When the heaven shall fly fast from the sound of thy thunder, And the sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid and pale, And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave asunder, In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail ! TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. THE Sound of war! In earth and air The volleying thunders roll: Their fiery darts the fiends prepare, And dig the pit, and spread the snare, Against the Christian's soul The tyrant's sword, the rack, the flame, Of bitter doubt, the barbed aim, Amidst his foes alone. Gods of the world! ye warrior host In vain is all your impious boast, 'T is past! 't is o'er! in foul defeat Thou wert my rock, my shield, my sword; TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. OH God! my sins are manifold, against my life they cry, And all my guilty deeds foregone, up to thy temple fly; Wilt thou release my trembling soul, that to despair is driven? "Forgive!" a blessed voice replied, "and thou shalt be forgiven!" My foemen, Lord! are fierce and fell, they spurn me in their pride, They render evil for my good, my patience they deride; |