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Bebold, Jehovah, think to whom thou e'er hast deal'd From the sea, from the land, from the south and the thus !
north, Have women ever eat their young, babes fondled in The vast generations of men are come forth.
their hands? Have Priest and Prophet e'er been slain in the Lord's The judgment! the judgment! the thrones are all set, Holy place?
Where the Lamb and the white-vested Elders are met!
All flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord, In the streets, upon the ground, lie slain the young And the doom of eternity hangs on His word!
and old ; My virgins and my youth have fallen by the sword ; Oh mercy ! oh mercy! look down from above, In thy wrath thou'st slain them, thou hast had no Creator ! on us thy sad children, with love! mercy.
When beneath to their darkness the wicked are driven,
May our sanctified souls find a mansion in heaven! Thou hast summon'd all my terrors, as to a solemn
FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.
None 'scaped, and none was left in Jehovah's day of
wrath ; All that mine arms have borne and nursed, the enemy hath slain.
ii. 20. 1, 2.
Look down on our reproach.
Our home to foreigners,
Our fuel hath its price-v. 1, 2, 3.
To Assyria for our bread.
From the sword of desert robbers.
By the fierce heat of famine.
Virgins in Judah's cities.
And age had no respect.
Boys faint 'neath loads of wood.
The young men from their music.
Woe! woe! that we have sinn'd.
Therefore our eyes are dim.
The foxes walk on it.
LORD! Thou didst arise and say
To the troubled waters Peace,"
Down they sank, the foamy seas ;
To the billows of the proud!
Quell the fierce and changing crowd!
FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.
The angel comes, he comes to reap
The harvest of the Lord!
Wide waves his flamy sword. .
The fire of Vengeance bound !
Choked the fair crop around.
And who are they, reserved in store
God's treasure-house to fill?
Amid surrounding ill.
HYMNS FOR CHURCH SERVICE.
SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT.
The chariot ! the chariot! its wheels roll on fire
O King of Mercy! grant us power
Thy fiery wrath to flee!
O gather us to Thee!
The glory! the glory! by myriads are pour'd
Like the blind beside the way:
The glory of thy perfect day!
Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Lord! they know not what they do!”
SIXTH SUNDAY IN LENT.
Ride on ! ride on in majesty!
When the dim advancing gloom
Oh then have mercy! Lord!
Oh then have mercy! Lord!
Great God of Hosts! come down to rule o'er us!
Long have we pray'd for thy peaceful reign: Change this sad earth to an Eden before us ;
Make it the mansion of bliss again! Great God of Hosts! the dreadful, the glorious !
Come and set up thy kingly Throne. Over the legions of Hell victorious,
Rule in the world of thy saints alone!
EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
When our heads are bow'd with wọe,
Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn, Thou our mortal griefs hast borne, Thou hast shed the human tear : Gracious Son of Mary, bear!
When God came down from Heav'n— the living
GodWhat signs and wonders mark'd his stately way? Brake out the winds in music where He trode?
Shone o'er the heav'ns a brighter, softer day? The dumb began to speak, the blind to see,
And the lame leap'd, and pain and paleness fled; The mourner's sunken eye grew bright with glee,
And from the tomb awoke the wondering dead ! When God went back to heav'n—the living God
Rode He the heavens upon a fiery car? Waved seraph-wings along his glorious road?
Stood still to wonder each bright wandering star? Upon the cross He hung, and bow'd the head, And pray'd for them that smote, and them that
curst; And, drop by drop, his slow life-blood was shed,
And his last hour of suffering was his worst!
When the sullen death-bell tolls For our own departed souls ; When our final doom is near, Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
Thou hast bow'd the dying head;
LORD, have mercy, and remove us
Early to thy place of rest, Where the heavens are calm above us,
And as calm each sainted breast!
Holiest, hear us! by the anguish
On the cross Thou didst endure, Let no more our sad hearts languish
In this weary world obscure ! Gracious! - yet if our repentance
Be not perfect and sincere, Lord, suspend thy fatal sentence,
Leave us still in sadness here!
From each earthly taint is free,
SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
GREAT God of Hosts! come down in thy glory!
Shake earth and heaven with thine awful tread : Seal Thou the book of our world's dark story: Summon to judgment the quick and the dead!