But He whose mercy breaks the charm, Reveals his own Almighty arm,
And bids us seek his face.
Then we begin to love indeed,
When from our sin and bondage freed
By this beloved friend;
We follow him from day to day,
Assured of grace through all the way,
And glory at the end.
DEAR is the hallow'd spot to me,
When village bells awake the day
And, by their sacred minstrelsy,
Call me from earthly cares away.
And dear to me the winged hour,
Spent in thy hallow'd courts, O Lord!
To feel devotion's soothing power,
And catch the manna of thy word.
And dear to me the loud Amen,
Which echoes through the blest abode,
Which swells and sinks, and swells again,
Dies on the walls, but lives to God.
And dear the rustic harmony,
Sung with the pomp of village art;
That holy, heav'nly melody,
The music of a thankful heart.
In secret I have often pray'd,
And still the anxious tear would fall;
But on thy sacred altar laid,
The fire descends, and drives them all,
Oft when the world, with iron hands,
Has bound me in its six-days chain,
This bursts them, like the strong man's bands,
And lets my spirit loose again.
Then dear to me the Sabbath morn;
The village bells, the shepherd's voice;
These oft have found my heart forlorn,
And always bid that heart rejoice.
Go, man of pleasure, strike thy lyre,
Of broken Sabbaths sing the charms,
Ours be the prophet's car of fire,
That bears us to a Father's arms.
LORD of the Sabbath, hear our vows,
On this thy day, in this thine house;
And own, as grateful sacrifice,
The songs which from the desert rise.
Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love;
But there's a nobler rest above;
To that our lab'ring souls aspire
With ardent hope and strong desire.
No more fatigue, no more distress,
Nor sin, nor death, shall reach the place;
No tears shall mingle with the songs
That warble from immortal tongues.
No rude alarms of raging foes
No cares to break the long repose-
No midnight shade, no clouded sun-
But sacred, high, eternal noon.
O long expected day begin ;
Dawn on these realms of woe and sin;
Fain would we leave this weary road,
And sleep in death to rest with God.
REMARK, my soul, the narrow bounds
Of the revolving year;
How swift the weeks complete their rounds,
How short the months appear!
So fast eternity comes on,
And that important day,
When all that mortal life has done,
God's judgment shall survey.
Yet like an idle tale we pass
The swift advancing year; And study artful ways t'increase The speed of its career.
Waken, O God, this trifling heart,
It's great concern to see;
That I may act the Christian part,
And give the year to thee.
So shall this course more grateful roll,
If future years arise;
Or this shall bear my smiling soul
To joy that never dies.
CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come visit every pious mind;
Come pour Thy joys on human kind;
From sin and sorrow set us free,
And make Thy temple worthy Thee.
O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete !
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;
Come, and Thy sacred unction bring,
To sanctify us, while we sing.
Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in Thy sevenfold energy!
Thou strength of His Almighty hand,
Whose power doth heaven and earth command,
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
Who does the gift of tongues dispense,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence.
Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay Thy hand, and hold them down.
Chase from our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.
Make us eternal truths receive,
And practice all that we believe:
Give us Thyself, that we may see
The Father, and the Son, by Thee.
Immortal honor, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty Father's name;
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died:
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to Thee.
|