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Saints below, with heart and voice,
Still in songs of praise rejoice,
Learning here, by faith and love,
Songs of praise to sing above.
Borne upon their latest breath,
Songs of praise shall conquer death;
Then, amidst eternal joy,
Songs of praise their powers employ.

THY MERCIES ARE GREAT. J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by N. J. SPORLE. Thy mercies are great,

For Thy love is unbounded,
The rich at Thy gate

Stand abash'd and confounded;
The poor and the meek,

In Thy goodness excelling,
Thy throne they may seek,

And may enter Thy dwelling !
Thy mercies are great,

They are never denied us ;
Our footsteps await;

To Thy wisdom confide us ;
Our hope and our trust

In Thy goodness we centre,
That, arisen from dust,

We Thy kingdom may enter.

THOU ART WITH ME.

PSALM XXIII. 4. J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by J. R. THOMAS. Thou art with me, ever with me,

Lord of mercy, King of might!
In the sunshine of the morning, .

In the darkness of the night.

In sickness, when the shadow

Of the grave was on my brow,
Thy Word the staff I leant on,

And in health my comfort now.
Thou art with me, ever with me,

And no evil I will fear ;
In the hour of my affliction

Thou art by my soul to cheer :
Through Thee, my Lord and Saviour,

I am victor in the strife,
For Thy cross the portals open'd,

And made Death the Gate of Light.

THOU, WHOSE ALMIGHTY WORD. JOAN MARRIOTT.]

[Tunc-"St. Austin,”
Thou, whose almighty word
Chaos and darkness heard,

And took their flight,
Hear us, we humbly pray,
And where the Gospel-day
Sheds not its glorious ray

Let there be light!
Thou, who didst come to bring,
On Thy redeeming wing,

Healing and light,
Health to the sick in mind,
Sight to the inly blind,
Oh, now to all mankind

Let there be light!
Spirit of truth and love,
Life-giviny, holy Dove,

Speed forth Thy flight;
Move on the waters' face,
Spreading the beams of grace,
And in earth's darkest place

Let there be light!

Blessed and Holy Three,
Glorious Trinity,

Grace, Love, and Might!
Boundless as ocean's tide,
Rolling in fullest pride,
Through the world, far and wide,

Let there be light!

“LET NOT THE SUN GO DOWN ON

YOUR WRATH." J. E. CARPENTER.]

[Music by J. R. Thomas. WHEN in thy bosom the wrath has been kindled,

Bear with thy wrong, not in anger defend ;
Turn not away from the crowd where you mingled,

Leaving a foe where you sought for a friend :
Speak not in anger, but rather in sorrow;

Part, and though each take a different path, Both may be wiser and better to-morrow;

“Let not the sun go down on your wrath.” What though your prospects a moment seem blighted,

Trusting to others, by others betray'd,
There is not a wrong that can never be righted;

Justice was never by quarrelling made.
Urge but the truth, and be guided by reason,

Leaving to others the opposite path,
So will you triumph-but all in good season ;-

“Let not the sun go down on your wrath."

CHRIST'S FOLLOWERS. BISHOP R. HEBER.]

[Tune-Old 81st." THE Son of God goes forth to war,

A kingly crown to gain ;
His blood-red banner streams afar :

Who follows in His train ?

Who best can drink His cup of woe,

Triumphant over pain,
Who patient bears His cross below,

He follows in His train.
The martyr first, whose eagle eye

Could pierce beyond the grave;
Who saw his Master in the sky,

And call’d on Him to save.
Like Him, with pardon on His tongue,

In midst of mortal pain,
He prayed for them that did the wrong :

Who follows in His train ?
A glorious band, the chosen few,

On whom the Spirit came;
Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew,

And mock'd the cross and flame.
They met the tyrant's brandish'd steel,

The lion's gory mane;
They bow'd their necks the death to feel :

Who follows in their train ?
A noble army, men and boys,

The matron and the maid,
Around the Saviour's throne rejoice,

In robes of light arrayed.
They climb'd the steep ascent of heaven,

Through peril, toil, and pain ;
O God! to us may grace be given

To follow in their train !

AFFLICTION. :
BISHOP WILBERFORCE.]

[Tune" Victory."
WITHIN this leaf, to every eye
So little worth, doth hidden lie
Most rare and subtle fragrancy.
Wouldst thou its secret strength unbind ?
Crush it, and thou shalt perfume find,
Sweet as Arabia's spicy wind.

In this stone, so poor and bare
Of shape and lustre, patient care
Will find for thee a jewel rare.
But first must skilful hands assay
With file and flint to clear away
The film which hides its fire from day.
This leaf ! this stone! it is thy heart:
It must be crush'd by pain and smart,
It must be cleansed by sorrow's art,
Ere it will yield a fragrance sweet,
Ere it will shine, a jewel neat,
To lay before Thy dear Lord's feet.

A SUNDAY HYMN. DR. COTTON.]

[Tune—"Bristol.” This is the day the Lord of life

Ascended to the skies,
My thoughts pursue the lofty theme,

And to the heavens arise.
Let no vain cares divert my mind

From this celestial road;
Nor all the honours of the earth

Detain my soul from God.
Think of the splendours of that place,

The joys that are on high,
Nor meanly rest contented here

With worlds beneath the sky.
Heaven is the birthplace of the saints,

To heaven their souls ascend ;
Th’ Almighty owns His favourite race

As Father and as Friend.
Oh I may these lovely titles prove

My comfort and defence,
When the sick couch my lot shall be

And death shall call me hence.

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