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rivalled by Zaragoza. The author is happy to the people there was none with me, for I will tread refer his readers to the interesting narrative of his them in mine anger, and trample them in my friend Mr. Vaughan. fury."-Isaiah lxiii. 3.




Several of these hymns were originally published in the Christian Observer, in the years 1811 and 1812, and were then accompanied by the following prefatory notice, which it is thought due to the author, should be here preserved.

"The following Hymns are part of an intended series, appropriate to the Sundays, and principal holidays of the year; connected in some degree with their particular Collects and Gospels, and designed to be sung between the Nicene Creed and the Sermon. The effect of an arrangement of this kind, though only partially adopted, is very striking in the Romish liturgy; and its place should seem to be imperfectly supplied by a few verses of a Psalm, entirely unconnected with the peculiar devotions of the day, and selected at the discretion of a clerk or organist. On the merits of the present imperfect essays, the author is unaffectedly diffident; and as his labours are intended for the use of his own congregation, he will be thankful for any suggestion which may advance or correct them. In one respect, at least, he hopes the following poems will not be found reprehensible;-no fulsome or indecorous language has been knowingly adopted: no erotic addresses to him whom no unclean lip can approach, no allegory ill understood, and worse applied. It is not enough, in his opinion, to object to such expressions that they are fanatical; they are positively profane. When our Saviour was on earth and in great humility conversant with mankind; when he sat at the tables, and washed the feet, and healed the diseases of his creatures; yet did not his disciples give him any more fami liar name than Master or Lord. And now at the right hand of his Father's majesty, shall we address him with ditties of embraces and passion, or language which it would be dis graceful in an earthly sovereign to endure? Such expressions, it is said, are taken from Scripture; but even if the original application, which is often doubtful, were clearly and unequivocally ascertained, yet, though the collective Christian church may very properly be personified as the spouse of Christ, an application of such language to individual believers. is as dangerous as it is absurd and unauthorized. Nor is it going too far to assert, that the brutalities of a common swearer can hardly bring religion into more sure contempt, or more scandalously profane the Name which is above every name in heaven and earth, than certain epithets applied to Christ in our popular collections of religious poetry."

Bishop Heber subsequently arranged these hymns, with some others by various writers, in a regular series adapted to the services of the Church of England throughout the year, and it was his intention to publish them soon after his arrival

in India; but the arduous duties of his station left little time, during the short life there allotted to him, for any employment not immediately connected with his diocese. This arrangement of them has been published in England since his death, and republished in this country.



HOSANNA to the living Lord!
Hosanna to the incarnate Word!
To Christ, Creator, Saviour, King,
Let earth, let heaven, Hosanna sing!
Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest!

Hosanna, Lord! thine angels cry;
Hosanna, Lord! thy saints reply;
Above, beneath us, and around,
The dead and living swell the sound;
Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest!

Oh, Saviour! with protecting care,
Return to this thy house of prayer!
Assembled in thy sacred name,
Where we thy parting promise claim
Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest!

But chiefest, in our cleansed breast,
Eternal! bid thy spirit rest,
And make our secret soul to be
A temple pure, and worthy thee!
Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest!

So, in the last and dreadful day,
When earth and heaven shall melt away,
Thy flock, redeemed from sinful stain,
Shall swell the sound of praise again,
Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest!



THE Lord will come! the earth shall quake,
The hills their fixed seat forsake;
And, withering, from the vault of night
The stars withdraw their feeble light.

The Lord will come! but not the same
As once in lowly form he came,
A silent lamb to slaughter led,
The bruised, the suffering, and the dead.

The Lord will come! a dreadful form,
With wreath of flame, and robe of storm,
On cherub wings, and wings of wind,
Anointed Judge of human-kind!

Can this be Thee who wont to stray
A pilgrim on the world's highway;
By power oppressed and mocked by pride?
Oh, God! is this the crucified?

Go, tyrants! to the rocks complain!
Go, seek the mountain's cleft in vain!
But faith, victorious o'er the tomb,
Shall sing for joy-the Lord is come!


In the sun and moon and stars
Signs and wonders there shall be;
Earth shall quake with inward wars,
Nations with perplexity.

Soon shall ocean's hoary deep,

Tossed with stronger tempests, rise:
Darker storms the mountain sweep,
Redder lightning rend the skies.
Evil thoughts shall shake the proud,
Racking doubt and restless fear;
And amid the thunder cloud

Shall the Judge of men appear.
But though from that awful face
Heaven shall fade and earth shall fly,
Fear not ye, his chosen race,
Your redemption draweth nigh!

Come, Jesus! come! return again;

With brighter beam thy servants bless, Who long to feel thy perfect reign, And share thy kingdom's happiness!

A feeble race, by passion driven,

In darkness and in doubt we roam, And lift our anxious eyes to Heaven,

Our hope, our harbour, and our home! Yet mid the wild and wint'ry gale, When Death rides darkly o'er the sea, And strength and earthly daring fail, Our prayers, Redeemer! rest on Thee! Come, Jesus! come! and, as of yore

The prophet went to clear thy way, A harbinger thy feet before,

A dawning to thy brighter day:

So now my grace with heavenly shower
Our stony hearts for truth prepare;
Sow in our souls the seed of power,

Then come and reap thy harvest there!

THE FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT. THE world is grown old, and her pleasures are past;

The world is grown old, and her form may not last;
The world is grown old, and trembles for fear;
For sorrows abound and judgment is near!
The sun in the heaven is languid and pale;
And feeble and few are the fruits of the vale;
And the hearts of the nations fail them for fear,
For the world is grown old, and judgment is near!
The king on his throne, the bride in her bower,
The children of pleasure all feel the sad hour;
The roses are faded, and tasteless the cheer,
For the world is grown old, and judgment is near!
The world is grown old!-but should we complain,
Who have tried her and know that her promise is

Our heart is in heaven, our home is not here,
And we look for our crown when judgment is



OH, Saviour, is thy promise fled?

No longer might thy grace endure, To heal the sick and raise the dead, And preach thy gospel to the poor?


OH, Saviour, whom this holy morn
Gave to our world below;
To mortal want and labour born,
And more than mortal wo!

Incarnate Word! by every grief,
By each temptation tried,
Who lived to yield our ills relief,
And to redeem us died!

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Who shall yet return from high,
Robed in might and majesty,
Hear us! help us when we cry!
Jesus! hear and save!


BRIGHTEST and best of the sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid! Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid!

Cold on his cradle the dew drops are shining, Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall, Angels adore him in slumber reclining,

Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all!

Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion,
Odours of Edom and offerings divine?
Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest or gold from the mine?

Vainly we offer each ample oblation;

Vainly with gifts would his favour secure : Richer by far is the heart's adoration;

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid! Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid!



ABASHED be all the boast of age! Be hoary learning dumb! Expounder of the mystic page,

Behold an Infant come!

Oh, Wisdom, whose unfading power Beside th' Eternal stood,

To frame, in nature's earliest hour,

The land, the sky, the flood;

Yet didst not Thou disdain awhile

An infant form to wear;
To bless thy mother with a smile,
And lisp thy faltered prayer.
But, in thy Father's own abode,

With Israel's elders round,
Conversing high with Israel's God,

Thy chiefest joy was found.

So may our youth adore thy name!
And, Saviour, deign to bless
With fostering grace the timid flame
Of early holiness!


By cool Siloam's shady rill

How sweet the lily grows!

How sweet the breath beneath the hill

Of Sharon's dewy rose!

Lo! such the child whose early feet

The paths of peace have trod;
Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,
Is upward drawn to God!
By cool Siloam's shady rill
The lily must decay;

The rose that blooms beneath the hill
Must shortly fade away.

And soon, too soon, the wint'ry hour
Of man's maturer age

Will shake the soul with sorrow's power,
And stormy passion's rage!

O Thou, whose infant feet were found
Within thy Father's shrine!

Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned,
Were all alike divine,

Dependent on thy bounteous breath,
We seek thy grace alone,

In childhood, manhood, age and death,
To keep us still thine own!

OH, hand of bounty, largely spread,
By whom our every want is fed,
Whate'er we touch, or taste, or see,
We owe them all, oh Lord! to Thee;
The corn, the oil, the purple wine,
Are all thy gifts, and only thine!

The stream thy word to nectar dyed,
The bread thy blessing multiplied,
The stormy wind, the whelming flood,
That silent at thy mandate stood,
How well they knew thy voice divine,
Whose works they were, and only thine!

Though now no more on earth we trace
Thy footsteps of celestial grace,
Obedient to thy word and will
We seek thy daily mercy still;
Its blessed beams around us shine,
And thine we are, and only thine!


INCARNATE Word, who, wont to dwell
In lowly shape and cottage cell,
Didst not refuse a guest to be
At Cana's poor festivity:

Oh, when our soul from care is free,
Then, Saviour, may we think on Thee,
And seated at the festal board,
In Fancy's eye behold the Lord.

Then may we seem, in Fancy's ear,
Thy manna-dropping tongue to hear,
And think,-even now, thy searching gaze
Each secret of our soul surveys!

So may such joy, chastised and pure,
Beyond the bounds of earth endure;
Nor pleasure in the wounded mind
Shall leave a rankling sting behind!


WHEN on her Maker's bosom
The new-born earth was laid,
And nature's opening blossom
Its fairest bloom displayed;
When all with fruit and flowers
The laughing soil was drest,
And Eden's fragrant bowers
Received their human guest;
No sin his face defiling,

The heir of Nature stood,
And God, benignly smiling,
Beheld that all was good!

Yet in that hour of blessing,

A single want was known;
A wish the heart distressing;
For Adam was alone!

Oh, God of pure affection!
By men and saints adored,
Who gavest thy protection

To Cana's nuptial board.
May such thy bounties ever

To wedded love be shown,
And no rude hand dissever

Whom thou hast linked in one.

From the lusts whose deep pollutions
Adam's ancient taint disclose,
From the tempter's dark intrusions,
Restless doubt and blind repose;

From the miser's cursed treasure,

From the drunkard's jest obscene, From the world, its pomp and pleasure, Jesus! Master! make us clean!


WHEN through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming,

When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming,

Nor hope lends a ray the poor seamen to cherish, We fly to our Maker-" Help, Lord! or we perish!"

Oh, Jesus! once tossed on the breast of the billow,
Aroused by the shriek of despair from thy pillow,
Now, seated in glory, the mariner cherish,
Who cries in his danger-" Help, Lord! or we

And oh, when the whirlwind of passion is raging,
When hell in our heart his wild warfare is waging,
Arise in thy strength thy redeemed to cherish,
Rebuke the destroyer-" Help, Lord! or we

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THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. That wait on life's declining year,


LORD! whose love, in power excelling, Washed the leper's stain away. Jesus! from thy heavenly dwelling, Hear us, help us, when we pray!

From the filth of vice and folly,

From infuriate passion's rage, Evil thoughts and hopes unholy, Heedless youth and selfish age;

Secure a blessing for your age,
And work your Maker's business here!

"And ye, whose locks of scanty gray
Foretell your latest travail near,
How swiftly fades your worthless day!
And stand ye yet so idle here?

"One hour remains, there is but one!
But many a shriek and many a tear
Through endless years the guilt must moan
Of moments lost and wasted here!"

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