^ ofjSong ^ yi^ ^%OG|CAL St»^*^^ 6V ■5S0 /^o7 THE CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THE CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG GATHERED FROM THE CHRISTIAN POETRY OF ALL AGES JOHN HENRY BURN B.D., F.R.S.E. NEW YORK E. P. BUTTON AND COMPANY 31 West Twenty-third Street 1907 PREFACE IT has fallen to my lot, during the last decade, to usher into the world a considerable number of books on various subjects. Throughout the whole of that period, the volume which I now commit to the press has been in my mind, and scarcely a month has passed without some thought being bestowed on its contents. I have aimed at producing a book which may be acceptable to Church-people of all shades of opinion. The longer I live, the more trivial do those party-cries appear, which seem to some to be of such moment that they can scarcely recog- nize as brethren those who do not utter their own particular shibboleth. It is my profound convic- tion that the time has come for insisting, above all things, upon the secondary importance of all ques- tions which lie outside the scope of the Catholic Creeds. Truth is so many-sided that no man living has sufficient intellectual power to grasp more than a tiny fragment of it; yet its essence, thank God, is of such a nature, that no man who is really in earnest need despair of being able to comprehend all that is necessary for keeping his soul in the " state of salvation " — that is, in a sound and healthy condition. Much may be done, in the way of widening and deepening one's theological conceptions, by cultivating the poetic faculty. The poets are, in fact, the greatest interpreters of Christianity, which b vi CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG is a religion of the emotions even more than of the intellect. One of the most serious mistakes made at what is called " the Reformation," was that of appealing to the intellect rather than the emotions, and so reversing the proper order of things. From this fundamental error untold mis- chief has ensued, and the Church must continue to suffer and be crippled in her resources so long as she submits to the domination of the head over the heart. I yield to none in my love of learning, but wisdom is better than knowledge, and wisdom can only be acquired by the education of one's whole being — by the training of the spirit as well as the furnishing of the mind. If this little book should be the means of helping some one, here and there, to see further into the deep things of God, and, as a consequence, to look with a more tolerant eye on those whose angle of vision is in some or even in many respects different from his own, I should feel abundantly recompensed for the time and labour spent on its compilation. It only remains for me to tender my cordial thanks to authors and publishers who have kindly allowed me to enrich these pages with copyright poems ; and, in this connexion, I desire to mention with particular gratitude the great help derived from "The Church's Year," by the Rev. G. T. S. Farquhar, M.A., Canon and Precentor of Perth Cathedral. J. H. B. Ballater Parsonage Aberdeenshire LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS Adams, Sarah F. page hallowed memories of the past .... i86 Aid6, Hamilton 1 lately talked with one who strove . . . 217 Alexander, Cecil Frances Blessed were they who, in the days of old . , 398 Come to our joyous marriage feast .... 53 He is risen, He is risen ...... 153 If hasty hand or bitter tongue .... 132 Jerusalem, why are thy voices dumb . . . 400 The flower that in the lowly vale .... 60 There are no little things on earth .... 250 There's many a happy household band . . . 417 The sunset falls on Isaac's tent .... 120 The waving fields of yellow corn .... 74 The wise men to Thy cradle-throne ... 44 Through many a far and foreign land . . 176 We seek a land of more delight .... 276 We see the leaves fall withered from the trees . 80 We walk amid a world of beauteous things . . 320 Alexander, William (Earl of Stirling) The stately heavens, which glory doth aiTay . . 91 Alford, Henry I saw two women weeping by the tomb . . . 151 Lift high the song of praise 415 Barbauld, Anna Letitia Life ! I know not what thou art .... 59 Barton, Bernard I walked the fields at morning's prime . . . 267 Woman of pure and heaven-born fame . . . 298 Baynes, Robert Hall How long and deep the shadows of our LenL . ,. i^o vn viii CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG PAGE Beaumont, Sir John Sweet hope is soveraigne comfort of our life . . 3x5 Bethune, George W. blessed Jesus ! when I see Thee bending . . 148 Blackburne, Thomas Awake, thou wintry earth 154 Blenkinsopp, Edwin L. ~ The Tree of Life in Eden stood .... 96 Blew, W. J. All hail, thou night, than day more bright . . 30 Bonar, Horatius Autumn has come at last 309 1 ask a perfect creed 52 I walk as one who knows that he is treading . . 261 Light of the better morning . . . . . 164 Show me the tears, the tears of tender love . . 285 Sorrow weeps ........ 143 Sower Divine 289 The world is sick, and yet not unto death . 18 'Tis first the true and then the beautiful . . . 255 WTiat a world with all its sorrows .... 202 BoRTHWicK, Jane Breezes of spring, all earth to life awaking . . 193 Give us Thy blessed peace, God of all might . . 365 He leads us on ...... . 76 How blessed, from the bonds of sin . . . 411 _ How long, O Lord, in weariness and sorrow . . 3 'Jesus, still lead on 136 Oh sweetest words that Jesus could have spoke . 326 The Lord shall come in dead of night ... 27 BowRiNG, Sir John Carry me, Babe, to Bethlehem now ... 37 In the Apocalypse sublime 370 Spring is but another birth 163 Brevior, Thomas All things a prophecy contain .... 257 Bronte, Charlotte Life, believe, is not a dream 265 Brown, Tom L. Oh, bright and happy Olivet 373 Browne, Simon Come, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove .... 301 LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS ix Browning, Elizabeth Barrett Since without Thee we do no good Bryant, William Cullen All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away Oh, deem not they are blest alone . Burns, James Drummond Hushed was the evening hymn Campbell, Thomas The more we live, more brief appear When Jordan hushed his waters still Carey, Patrick Open thyself, and then look in . , . Carpenter, William Boyd Christ, Who our weak flesh didst wear . Caswall, Edward Oh, weak are my best thoughts and poor Sleep, Holy Babe Why should we vex our foolish minds Charles, Elizabeth Rundle Is thy cruse of comfort wasting ? haste its scanty drops to share Thou art the Way What, what is tried in the fires of God . When scorn, and hate, and bitter envious pride Charlton, William Henry Say, from what unknown source, mysterious Nile Chatterton, Thomas O God, Whose thunder shakes the sky . Chester, Greville J. In thorny thickets below the sweetest roses Christian Lyrics Count not the days that have idly flown , Clinch, Joseph H. Thousands completely fed .... Clough, Arthur Hugh O only source of all our light and life Coleridge, Samuel Taylor My Maker ! of Thy power the trace Conder, Josiah How shall I follow Him I serve Oh, give thanks to Him that made Oh show me not my Saviour dying . PAGE 308 223 23s 179 36 83 142 178 40 316 284 405 21 149 72 372 256 6 264 282^ 302 123 63 194 X CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG CowPER, William All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades . . 176 God never meant that man should scale the heavens 292 It happened on a solemn eventide . Now theirs was converse such as it behoves . When darkness long has veil'd my mind CoxE, Arthur Cleveland Saviour, sprinkle many nations See how yon little lark is borne Who is this, with garments gory . Craik, D. M. Muloch Silence ! though the flames arise and quiver . Crashaw, Richard Mercy, my Judge, mercy, I cry Crew^dson, Jane Oh for the peace which floweth as a river Croly, George Spirit of God ! descend upon my heart . Dale, Thomas The voice of God was mighty when it brake . Dana, Richard Henry Tho' nothing once, and born but yesterday Davies, Sir John And though some impious wits do questions move Deck, J. G. Jesus, we rest in Thee De Vere, Sir Aubrey Three worlds there are . Dix, William Chatterton Lead us aside, we would not ever stay Rahel weeping for her children Doane, George Washington Fling out the banner ! let it float . Drummond, William Hamilton Come let us sound her praise abroad Drury, Anna H. He grew in wisdom .... What earth appeared to angel eyes Dryden, John Creator Spirit, by Whose aid 205 LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS xi PAGE Edmeston, James Swords of fire around us play 305 Elliott, Charlotte O Thou, the contrite sinner's Friend . . . 288 Emmet, John We cannot stay, said the winter stars . . . 268 Faber, Frederick William AL ! dearest Lord, I cannot pray .... 300 Faith of our fathers ! living still .... 214 Mother ! with us the Lord doth bide . . . 191 Now are the days of humblest prayer . . . 108 The days of old were days of might ... 20 There is a Sabbath won for us . . . . 360 To be thought ill of, worse than we deserve . . 252 Workman of God ! oh lose not heart . . . 231 Farquhar, George Taylor Shillito Behold the Sun from eastern gloom arise . . 357 For message of the Written Word ... 49 How many a Grecian youth of old .... 25 Jairus knew it now ....... 382 Lo, Gabriel, leaving the bright realms on high . 402 " Look, Master ! See yon chariot all on fire . 197 Lord, through infirmity, which lay outspread , 311 Not as a fallen stone . . . . . . 166 worshipper, who at the break of morn . . 106 September's woods are clothed in darker green . 328 Skirting the azure of the summer sky . , . 228 Spirit, exiled long from earth 212 What mighty name did the whole earth adore . 415 Wide the compass of the world .... 219 Farrar, Frederick William On the Cross we saw Him dying .... 157 Fellon, John Brooks Sent from the ark, the dove, with timid flight . 97 FisK, George Their bark is smoothly gliding o'er the sea . ." 7 Fletcher, John William Time is a prince whose resistless sway ... 65 Ford, Charles Lawrence 1 heard the voice of harpers, harping sweetly . 100 We all are in one school 226 FosBERY, Thomas Vincent Swift o'er the desert plains the wild wind sweeps . 84 xii CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Grahame, James O Nature ! all thy seasons please the eye . . 266 Sore was the famine throughout all the bounds . 293 Greg, Samuel " Stay, Master, stay upon this heavenly hill . . 281 Greville, Fulke (Lord Brooke) Eternal Truth, almighty, infinite .... 78 Grinfield, Thomas When man to Godlike being sprung . . . 386 Gurney, Archer Come, ye lofty ! come, ye lowly .... 30 Evermore their lands the Angel hosts are singing . 230 Hall, Joseph Lord, what am I? A worm, dust, vapour, nothing 313 Hart, Josiah Gird thy loins up. Christian soldier . . 361 Harvey, Christopher Love hath taught me to obey .... 270 Hastings, Lady Flora In every place, in every hour ..... 310 Havergal, William Henry Widely midst the slumbering nations . . . 342 Heber, Reginald " Who yonder on the desert heath . . 306 Hemans, Felicia O Thou ! the Unseen, the All-seeing ... 68 Herbert, George As men, for fear the stars should sleep and nod . 358 How should I praise Thee, Lord ! how should my rhymes 376 If as a flower doth spread and die . ... 82 Lord, Thou art mine, and I am Thine . . 364 Of what an easy quick access ..... 70 Oh Book ! infinite sweetness ! let my heart . 9 O Sacred Providence, Who from end to end . . 385 Teach me, my God and King . . . .271 Welcome, dear feast of Lent ..... 104 When God at first made man .... 78 Herrick, Robert Is this a fast, to keep 129 Hopkins, T. Marsland And is it so that Nature stints her praise . . 314 From out all Nature is one common voice . . 88 LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS xiii How, William Walsham The Poet. scanned with mighty awe HovviTT, Mary God might have made the earth bring forth HuRK, William There is a River, deep and broad . Irons, William Josiah ' ' He loved His own unto the end . Jackson, E. D. Charming flowers ! your day is come Johnson, Samuel The Will Divine that woke a waiting time Where then shall hope and fear their objects find JONSON, Ben Good and great God ! Can I not think of Thee Heare me, O God ...... Keble, John As hart pants high for gashing rills Fear not, for He hath sworn , Judge me, and plead my cause, O God Mercy and Truth my song would be My heart was glad to hear their call Nay, but these are breezes bright . O Lord, our Lord, in all the earth . Spirit of Christ ! Thy grace be given Therefore to Thee I musing turn When is Communion nearest . Ken, Thomas My God, to keep my heart Soul, when your flesh dissolves to dust Kinloch, Lord Christ had two several wrongs to bear Clearly I see Fall not out upon the way I hold a joy, with which I feel I sought for Wisdom in the morning time It is not Heaven alone Throw wide the gate, my heart 'Tis not the temple's shrine 'Tis not the whirlwind o'er our fair fields To Thy temple, Lord, or table View not forms with heedless scorn Watchman, what of the night Why art Thou not, O Saviour, here sweepmg PAGE 171 130 X82 244 399 260 103 121 56 128 58 185 253 322 169 17 57 189 "5 338 339 340 387 211 45 203 2 353 297 290 269 28 161 xiv CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Knollis, F. M. There is no night in Heaven 413 Kynaston, Herbert Spirit, soul and body's union 215 Leeson, Jane E. Yea, watch and wait a little while .... 393 Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth I like that ancient Saxon phrase .... 79 Longfellow, Samuel Holy Spirit, Truth Divine 208 Lynch, Thomas Toke Gracious Spirit, dwell with me .... 207 How often on a morning bright .... 77 In silence mighty things are wrought . . . 273 Irresolute, I stand perplext 54 Look up ; the rainy heaven? withdraw . . . 181 Not far from surf and wave 67 Oft when of God we ask 234 Oh, were I ever what I arn sometimes . . . 366 The Pharisee informed the Lord .... 291 The sufferer had been heard to say ... 61 What tears are these that flow so fast . . . 409 Lyra Apostolica Wherefore shrink, and say, " 'Tis vain . , . 391 Lyra Germanica Most High and Holy Trinity 213 Now take my heart and all that is in me . . 50 What had I been if Thou wert not .... 355 Ye heavens, oh haste your dews to shed . . . 390 Lyte, Henry Francis Dark was my lot, and long it spurned . . . 240 Macduff, John Ross Christ is coming ! let creation .... 26 Mackay, Charles O Piety ! O heavenly Piety 344 Mant, Richard Hark ! through the lonely waste .... 16 " Night flies before the orient morning ... 48 There is a dwelling-place above .... 286 Matson, W. F. Though clouds be dark 126 LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS xv Milton, John Blest pair of sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy . . 356 This is true glory and renown, when God . . 262 Ye flaming Powers, and winged warriors bright . 41 MoNSELL, John S. B. Awake, glad soul ! awake ! awake .... 152 Erst in Eden's happy garden ..... 94 God bless the calm and holy cheer .... i " God is Love," the Heavens tell it . . . 220 Hours, and days, and months, and years . . 42 Jesus ! gentle Sufferer, say 150 Jesus ! my loving Lord, I know .... 140 Lord ! how oft shall I forgive 369 So Matthew left his golden gains . . • . 412 This day the Church commemorates . . . 407 Montgomery, James Night turns to day when sullen darkness lowers . 350 The God of Nature and of Grace .... 86 Montgomery, Robert Priests of the Lord — let Judas warn them well . 401 Saint James was in the path of toil .... 410 The glorious Sun no man can see . . . . 11 Thy ways, O Lord, are unlike ours .... 359 What men call Nature is a Thought Divine . 87 Ye quenchless stars ! so eloquently bright . 92 Moore, Thomas Oh ! Thou that driest the mourner's tear . . 362 The turf shall be my fragrant shrine ... 89 More, Hannah Since trifles make the sum of human things . . 334 Moultrie, John Meek to suffer, strong to save .... 404 Muhlenberg, William Augustus King of kings, and wilt Thou deign . . . 196 Since o'er Thy footstool here below ... 90 Nevin, Edwin H. O Heaven ! Sweet Heaven ! the home of the blest . 173 Newman, John Henry When Royal Truth, released from mortal throes . 160 Newton, John If Solomon for wisdom prayed .... 272 My soul once had its plenteous years , . . 131 xvi CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG PAGE Noel, C. M. All around the rolling world, both night and day . i88 When evening clouds hang clustering round the sun 8 NoRRis, Alfred I would not ask Thee that my days . . . 275 . NoRRis, John How long, great God, how long must I . . . 118 Long have I view'd, long have I thought . . 280 Palmer, Ebenezer If we scan 346 Like Israel's king, oft have I too received . , 319 'Neath the full beamings of an orient sky, . . 317 Palmer, Ray Jesus, these eyes have never seen . . . . 139 Parnell, Thomas One in one hundred lost ! and ninety-nine . . 239 Peat. John How beautiful is Truth ! she wins her way . . 246 PoLLOK, Robert " Love God, love truth, love virtue, and be happy," 348 This Book, this holy Book — on every line . . 10 Pope, Alexander Heaven from all creatures hides the book of fate . 254 Procter, Adelaide Anne Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her . . . 180 Fret not, poor soul , 66 I think if thou couldst know ..... 69 Judge not ; the workings of his brain ... 19 Let me count my treasures 259 Let thy gold be cast in the furnace . . . . 218 My God, I thank Thee, Who hast made . . 165 Nothing resting in its own completeness . . 174 One by one the sands are flowing .... 248 See the rivers flowing 263 Strive ; yet I do not promise 242 " What is Life, Father ? " 14 Pyper, Mary Not as He was, a houseless stranger ... 85 Quarles, Francis Alas ! my torments ; my distracted fears . . 330 My soul is like a bird, my flesh the cage * . . 93 The world's a floor, whose swelling heaps retain . 184 True honour bides at home, and takes delight . 303 What joyful harvester did ere obtain . . . 224 LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS xvii PAGE Reed, Andrew Spirit Divine ! attend our prayers .... 378 Robert Second, King of France Holy Spirit, come, we pray 210 Robinson, E. One baptism, and one faith ..... 332 ROSENROTH, K. von Dayspring of Eternity ...... S RossE, Alexander The pilot's skill how can we know . . . . 118 RossETTi, Christina Georgina I bore with thee long weary days and nights . . 137 Russell, Alexander Tozer To Him Who for our sins was slain . . . 156 Scott, Sir Walter When Israel, of the Lord beloved .... 167 Sears, Edmund Hamilton It came upon the midnight clear .... 39 O bright Ideals, how yeshine .... 225 Sewell, William We do not dread the darkest night . . . 381 Sigourney, Lydia Huntley Man hath a voice severe 245 Watcher, who watch'st by the bed of pain . . 392 Smith, Gilbert N. Source of my life ! to Thee my grateful soul . . 172 Southern, Philip " Go thou thy way ! " It is thy Lord WTio speaks . 368 Southwell, Robert The lopped tree in time may grow again . . 75 Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn Come, Holy Spirit, from above .... 204 He is gone — we heard Him say .... 195 Steele, Anne Oh ! help me. Lord, to seek Thy face ... 232 Sterling, John When up to nightly skies we gaze .... 8i Streatfeild, John Arise, my soul, the morning sun .... 337 " God is my strength ! " Be this my shield . . 229 Lord, canst Thou condescend indeed to dwell . 345 xviii CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG SuRR, Elizabeth The blue Egean's countless waves in Sabbath sun- light smiled . 33 SwAix, Charles If thou hast lost a friend 258 Taylor, Jeremy Lord ! come away ! 24 Tennyson, Alfred, Lord Contemplate all this work of Time .... 374 Oh yet we trust that somehow good . . . 395 Strong Son of God, immortal Love . . . 363 That which we dare invoke to bless . . . 367 The wish, that of the living whole .... 396 Who loves not knowledge ? Who shall rail . . 384 You say, but with no touch of scorn , . . 377 TOMKINS, H. G. When across the inward thought .... 375 Work while it is called to-day 335 Tonna, Charlotte Elizabeth Soldier, go — but not to claim 354 Tregelles, Samuel Prideaux Thou, Lord of all, on earth hast dwelt . . . 138 Trench, Richard Chenevix Fond heart, when learn est thou to say . . . 260 I say to thee, do thou repeat 341 O blessing, wearing semblance of a curse . . 95 This did not once so trouble me . . . . 274 When prayer delights thee least, then learn to say . 190 TuppER, Martin Farquhar The waves, the winds of Circumstance . . . 389 TussER, Thomas Of God, to thy doings, a time there is sent . . 394 To pray to God continually 281 Unknown An earnest, ardent will for good .... 333 As one who, toiling up some lofty peak . . . 131 Be thou content 73 Boast of thine honours, wealth, and power . 113 Christian, did no one, thinkest thou, behold thee . 294 Fire is not quench'd with fire 62 God doth not leave His own ..... loi Happy is he who at each gift of grace . . . 312 " Have mercy on me, Lord ! " .... 117 Here must the Christian onward press . . . 133 LIST OF AUTHORS AND POEMS xix PAGE His eye toward the promised land .... 20x In the wound of Thy Right Hand .... 146 I stood and watched my ships go out . . . 349 It is not heavy, agonizing woe .... 109 Man is a busy thing, and he 107 Not ashes on the head . . . . . . 113 Not here, not here : not where the sparkUng waters 241 Nought see we here as yet in full perfection . . 99 Rise ! for the day is passing 351 See what unbounded zeal and love .... 144 Still evermore for some great strength we pray . 275 There are some hearts like wells, green-mossed and deep 336 Though I am slow to trust Thee, Lord , . . 247 Thy neighbour? it is he whom thou . . . 304 "Tired"! Well, what of that .... 187 Unanswered yet, the prayer your lips have pleaded 192 What and if the Day is breaking .... 4 What though we bear a heavy load . . . 119 Why throbs this breast ? Why heave these piteous sighs 279 Yet if his majesty our sovereign lord ... 29 Vaughan, Henry Ah, what time wilt thou come .... 23 As travellers, when the twilight's come . . . 127 Lord, with what courage and delight . . . 162 Still young and fine ! but what is still in view . 102 Then give Thy saints 318 They are all gone into the world of light . . 343 Weighing the steadfastness and state . . . 321 When first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul leave . 112 Veitch, Sophie F. F. " Get thee hence. Satan ! " in Waller, Edmund That early love of creatures, yet unmade . . 379 Watts, Isaac Up to the hills I lift mine eyes .... 134 Weld, H. Hastings Eternal Father ! God of peace .... 329 Wesley, Charles A thousand oracles divine 388 Whitefield, George Shall I, for fear of feeble man .... 209 XX CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Whittier, John Greenleaf God called the nearest Angels, who dwell with Him above Immortal Love, for ever full .... Know well, my soul, God's hand controls To weary hearts, to mourning homes Williams, Isaac Away with sorrow's sigh Crowned with immortal jubilee Father of nations ! what high thoughts endued From princely walls, in Eastern pomp arrayed How sweet the ways of wisdom early gain'd . If thou art one whose cry is Liberty Into some wave, which heedless night-winds rock Jesu, the heart's own sweetness, and true light Me hath He called to love Him, me hath deign'd Now weary men are tending to their home Oh that, ere death shall close my eyes in sleep " Our Father "—happy he that knows . Prayer is omnipotence descending, when The child leans on its parent's breast There is a time to fast .... Truth through the sacred volume hidden lies Why for thy Lord dost thou thus weep and mourn Willis, Nathaniel Parker They came on Wither, George Because the world might not pretend I should not care how hard my fortunes were Wordsworth, Christopher " Holy of Holies," awful name Thou bidd'st us " visit in distress ... WoTTON, Sir Henry How happy is he born and taught ... WRATisLAw, Albert Henry Love hath descended from His Throne on high Wynne, Shirley The time is short Young, Edward And feel I, Death, no joy from thought of thee THE CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THE SEASON OF ADVENT GOD bless the calm and holy cheer That ushers in the Christian Year; And, whatsoe'er of gloom or shade, Season or sorrow may have made, Lifts us, with its mysterious power. Out of the dark and dying hour, Into the lights which ever play Round children of th' Eternal Day. Blest Advent of our ling'ring Lord ! How high the hope, how sure the word. That thus, with every year's return. Make our dull hearts within us burn For that long sought and promised Day, When "Heaven and Earth shall pass away," And Christ from highest Heav'ns shall come. To take His waiting people home. Since childhood's early hours, our eyes Have watch'd the east for reddening skies : Year after year has Advent brought Us nearer to the Prize we sought ; But still it lingers ; — O that we Were more prepared to welcome Thee ; Thine Advent, with its Angel throng. Would not be tarrying, Lord, so long. John S. B. Monsfxl 2 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THE FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT THROW wide the gate, my heart, and give thy Lord A welcome meet ; Take all thy palms, thine homage to afford, Laid at His feet : Forth every wish and thought To meet the Christ be brought ; And song, of highest note. His glad arrival greet. He cometh, meek and lowly, as of old In prophet's view ; Haste to His path ; and all in Him foretold, Thou'lt find as true : With love of childlike glow, On Christ attendant go ; And childhood's hymns the faith of childhood's time renew. Thy Saviour on the height above had wept. Viewing thy sin : Yet onward still His faithful journey kept, Thy peace to win : Now, with salvation nigh, To share His triumph hie ; And up to Zion's dome thy course with Christ begin. Hnsanna ! blest be He, Who comes to save. In God's great Name : All things on earth, e'en stones which mark the grave. Give loud acclaim. FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT 3 Lord, in this heart of mine Enter, as God's own shrine, From which Thy holy scourge all base defilements drave. Lord Kinloch WEEK OF THE FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT MONDAY HOW long, O Lord, in weariness and sorrow. Must Thy poor people tread the pilgrim road, Mourning to-day and fearing for to-morrow, — Finding no place of rest, no sure abode ? — Sighing o'er faded flowers and cisterns broken ; Gazing on setting suns, that rise no more ; Listening to sad farewells, and last words spoken By loved ones leaving us on Jordan's shore ! How long, through snares of error and temptation, Shall noblest spirits stumble on their way? How long, through darkening storms of tribulation. Must we press forward to eternal day ? How long shall passing faults and trifles sever Hearts that have known affection's holy tie ? When shall the slanderer's tale be hushed for ever. And brethren see in all things eye to eye ? 4 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG How long shall last the night of toil and sadness, The midnight hour of gloomy doubts and fears ? When shall it dawn, that promised morn of glad- ness, When Thine own hand shall wipe away our tears? How long, O Lord ? Our hearts are sad and weary. Our voices join the whole creation's groan; With eager gaze we watch for Thine appearing. When wilt Thou come again, and claim Thine own? Return ! return ! come in Thy power and glory, With all Thy risen Saints and Angel throng ; Bring to a close Time's strange, mysterious story, How long dost Thou delay, — O Lord, how long? Jane Borthwick TUESDAY WHAT and if the Day is breaking, Day so long by seers foretold, When, from slumbers deep awaking. Saints their Saviour shall behold ; Are you ready ? are you ready ? Or is still your bosom cold ? Is it cold to Hira Who sought thee In this wilderness forlorn ? Cold to Him, the Friend Who bought thee. Nor complained of nail or thorn ? Are you ready ? are you ready ? Or do you His yearning scorn ? FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT Are you clothed in bridal raiment, Woven by anointed hands ; Given thee without thy payment, Pledge of Love's unwearied hands ? Are you ready ? are you ready ? See the portal open stands. Are you washt in holy water, You so long by sin defiled ? Should He say, " My son," " My daughter," Can you say, " Behold Thy child " ? Are you ready ? are you ready ? Thus by Jesus to be styled ? Are you ready for the meeting With the Saviour in the air? Longing for that holy greeting With the ransomed myriads there ? If not ready, if not ready, Oh ! for that great Day prepare ! WEDNESDAY DAYSPRING of Eternity, Dawn on us at morning-tide ; Light from light's exhaustless sea. Never more Thy radiance hide ; But dispel with glorious might All our night. Let the morning dew of love On our sleeping conscience rain ; Gentle comfort from above Flow through life's long parched plain ; Water daily us Thy flock From the rock. 6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Let the glow of love destroy Cold obedience faintly given ; Wake our hearts to strength and joy With the flushing eastern heaven ; Let us truly rise ere yet Life hath set. Brightest star of eastern skies, Let that final morn appear, When our bodies too shall rise Free from all that pain'd them here, Strong their joyful course to run As the sun. To yon world be Thou our light, O Thou glorious Sun of grace ; Lead us through the tearful night To yon fair and blessed place, Where to joy that never dies We shall rise. K. VON ROSENROTH THURSDAY COUNT not the days that have idly flown. The years that were vainly spent ; Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own, When thy spirit stands before the Throne, To account for the talents lent. But number the hours redeemed from sin, The moments employed for Heaven ; Oh ! few and evil thy days have been, Thy life, a toilsome but worthless scene, For a nobler purpose given. FIRST SUNDAY IN ADVENT \ Will the shade go back on thy dial-plate ? Will thy sun stand still on his way ? Both hasten on ; and thy spirit's fate Rests on the point of life's little date : Then live while 'tis called to-day. Life's waning hours, like the Sibyl's page, As they lessen, in value rise : Oh ! rouse thee and live ! nor deem man's age Stands in the length of his pilgrimage, But in days that are truly wise. Christian Lyrics FRIDAY THEIR bark is smoothly gliding o'er the sea. The storms are hush'd, and all goes merrily — Grace at the helm, and Virtue at the prow, Wafted by gales from Heav'n they onward go. And whither bound ? Oh, see ye not that light Which streams across the waters, rich and bright ? It tells of fragrant, palmy regions, where Love sits enthroned to greet His subjects there. Distant, yet near ; invisible, yet seen. Blest Land of Promise, lovely and serene. Where tempests come not, where no cross wind blows — The soul's safe refuge, and the heart's repose. The helm is right, and onward bounds the bark, Like as the arrow speeds toward the mark : Hear ye not voices borne on sunny wings, Telling Faith's children of all glorious things ? 8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Of things that make us long to cleave the air With anxious speed, to be reposing there ? Oh, listen while the choral voices sound God's loving voice to all His children round. Blow on ye breezes, ay, let ocean roar. Till the blest crew be anchor'd on the shore ; Then in God's bright pavilion they shall be Enthroned as kings throughout eternity. George Fisk SATURDAY WHEN evening clouds hang clustering round the sun, And sad, sweet memories make my heart their prey. It swells again exultant at the thought Of that great Day, When Thou wilt come with clouds that shall have caught New and surpassing glories from Thy light ; The light that then shall rise for evermore, Nor sink in night. All Nature, that before seemed one deep dream Of beauty steeped in sorrow, now doth ring With earnest voices, of expectant joy. That call their King. O wounded but undying Love ! we feel Thy veiled Presence is amongst us here : Unto the longing eyes that seek Thee now, Shine out more clear. SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT 9 Rule me, my Lord ! that love may be confirmed, By glad obedience, and by service due ; Let me be pliant underneath Thy hand, Meek, docile, true C. M. Noel. THE SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT OH Book ! infinite sweetness ! let my heart Suck every letter, and a honey gain Precious for any grief in any part, To clear the breast, to mollify all pain. Thou art all health, health thriving till it make A full eternity ; thou art a mass Of strange delights, where we may wish and take. Ladies, look here ; this is the thankful glass That mends the looker's eyes, this is the well That washes what it shows. Who can endear Thy praise too much ? Thou art Heaven's lieger here. Working against the states of death and hell. Thou art joy's handsell : Heaven lies flat in thee. Subject to every mounter's bended knee. Oh that I knew how all thy lights combine, And the configurations of their glory ! Seeing not only how each verse doth shine, But all the constellations of the story. This verse marks that, and both do make a motion Unto a third, that ten leaves oif doth lie. Then, as dispersed herbs do match a potion, These three make up some Christian's destiny. lo CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Such are thy secrets, which my life makes good, And comments on thee : for in every thing Thy words do find me out, and parallels bring, And in another make me understood. Stars are poor books, and oftentimes do miss : This book of stars lights to eternal bliss. George Herbert WEEK OF THE SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT MONDAY THIS Book, this holy Book — on every line Marked with the seal of high divinity, On every leaf bedewed with drops of love Divine, and with the eternal heraldry And signature of God Almighty stamped From first to last — this ray of sacred light, This lamp, from off the everlasting Throne, ' Mercy took down, and in the night of Time Stood, casting on the dark her gracious bow ; And evermore beseeching men, with tears And earnest sighs, to read, believe, and live. And many to her voice gave ear, and read. Believed, obeyed ; and now, as the Amen, True, Faithful Witness swore, with snowy robes And branchy palms surround the Fount of Life, And drink the streams of immortality. For ever happy, and for ever young. Robert Pollok SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT TUESDAY THE glorious Sun no man can see Except his eye may sun-like be ; And thus the Bible is not understood, Unless a sympathy divine The heart attracts for truth divine, And love, not learning, prompt it to be good. But if they read with child-like awe, Diviner truths than Plato saw Adoring peasants on their knees discern ; While secrets, which were veiled of yore And Angels' study more and more The infant-scholars of the Spirit learn. Each Lesson, with maternal care Adjusted well for praise and prayer, Long may adoring hearts in love peruse ; Until, from sin and self made free. Our lives embodied Scripture be, And, when the Saviour calls, no cross refuse ! Holding His pierced Hands on high Before enthroned Deity, The God incarnate as our Priest prevails : Go, seek His interceding grace. And in the light of that blest Face Behold a sympathy, which never fails ! If, as we learn the truth, we live, True love to God the truth will give : Spirit Divine ! do Thou interpret all, Till God's Word with divine control 12 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Reign like a soul within a soul, And prove us children when on God we call. Robert Montgomery WEDNESDAY TRUTH through the sacred volume hidden lies, And spreads from end to end her secret wing, Through ritual, type, and storied mysteries. From this or that, when Error points her sting, From all her holds. Truth's stern defences spring, And text to text the full accordance bears. Through every page the universal King, From Eden's loss unto the end of years. From east unto the west, the Son of Man appears. O Holy Truth, whene'er Thy voice is heard, A thousand echoes answer to the call ; Tho' oft inaudible Thy gentle word. While we regard not. Take me from the thrall Of passionate hopes, be Thou my all in all ; So may obedience lead me by the hand Into Thine inner shrine and secret hall. Thence hath Thy voice gone forth o'er sea and land, And all that voice may hear — but none can under- stand, Save the obedient. From both love and hate, Affections vile, low cares, and envy's blight. And controversial leanings and debate. Save me ! from earthy film my mental sight Purge Thou, make my whole body full of light ! So may my eyes from all things Truth convey, SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT 13 My ears in all Thy lessons read aright, My dull heart understand, and I obey, Following where'er Thy Church hath mark'd the ancient way. Isaac Williams T THURSDAY HE time is short; Therefore with all thy might. Labour for God and Right. Pause not for heats and shadows of the day, Fail not for difficulties of the way : Be true, be pure, be strong ! Eternity is long. The time is short ; \ Sin, misery, and despair Darken the earth and air ; Therefore do thou with Heaven intercede. And for thy brethren, ere they perish, plead : Pray for the prayerless throng ! Eternity is long. The time is short ; Therefore, my brother, love ! Love always ! God above . Is one with thee in this ; O take His crown of thorns, and thine own self for- sake ! Love, spite of pain and wrong ! Eternity is long. Shirley Wynne 14 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG FRIDAY '*\'\THAT is Life, Father?" VV "A Battle, my child. Where the strongest lance may fail. Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled. And the stoutest heart may quail. Where the foes are gathered on every hand And rest not day or night, And the feeble little ones must stand In the thickest of the fight." "What is Death, Father?" " The Rest, my child. When the strife and the toil are o'er ; The Angel of God, who, calm and mild. Says we need fight no more ; Who, driving away the demon band. Bids the din of the battle cease ; Takes banner and spear from our failing hand. And proclaims an eternal Peace." " Let me die. Father ! I tremble, and fear To yield in that terrible strife ! " *' The crown must be won for Heaven, dear, In the battle-field of life ; My child, though thy foes are strong and tried, He loveth the weak and small ; The Angels of Heaven are on thy side. And God is over all ! " Adelaide Anne Procter SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT 15 SATURDAY TO weary hearts, to mourning homes God's meekest Angel gently comes ; No power has he to banish pain, Or give us back our lost again. And yet in tenderest love our dear And heavenly Father sends him here. There's quiet in that Angel's glance, There's rest in his still countenance ! He mocks no grief with idle cheer, Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear ; But ills and woes he may not cure, He kindly trains us to endure. Angel of Patience ! sent to calm Our feverish brows with cooling palm ; To lay the storms of hope and fear, And reconcile life's smile and tear ; The throbs of wandering pride to still. And make our own our Father's will ! O thou who mournest on the way, With longings for the close of day ; He walks with thee, that Angel kind. And gently whispers " Be resigned " ; Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell. The dear Lord ordereth all things well ! John Greenleaf VVhittier i6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THE THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT HARK ! through the lonely waste, By foot of man unpaced, Prepare the way — a warning voice resounds ; Level the opposing hill, The hollow valley fill. Make straight the crooked, smooth the rugged grounds : Prepare a passage, form it plain and broad, And through the desert make a highway for our God. Thine, Baptist, was the cry, In ages long gone by, Heard in clear accents by the Prophet's ear ; As if 'twere thine to wait. And with imperial state Herald some Eastern monarch's proud career ; Who thus might march his host in full array. And speed through trackless wilds his unresisted way. But other task hadst thou Than lofty hills to bow, Make straight the crooked, the rough places plain : Thine was the harder part To smooth the human heart. The wilderness where sin had fixed his reign ; To make deceit his mazy wiles forego, Bring down high vaulting pride, and lay ambition low. Such, Baptist, was thy care. That no objection there Might check the progress of the King of kings ; THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT 17 But that a clear highway, Might welcome the array, Of Heavenly graces which His Presence brings ; And where Repentance had prepared the road, There Faith might enter in, and Love to man and God. Richard Manx WEEK OF THE THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT MONDAY SPIRIT of Christ ! Thy grace be given To those who lead Thine host, that they With might may wield the sword of Heaven, Thus strengthened on their weary way. Oft, as at morn or soothing eve, Over the Fount of Truth they lean. Their fading garland freshly weave Or fan them with Thine airs serene : — Spirit of Light and Truth ! to Thee We trust them in that musing hour, That they, with open heart and free, May teach Thy Word in all its power. When foemen watch their tents by night And mists hang thick o'er moor and fell, Spirit of Counsel and of Might, Their pastoral warfare guide Thou well. i8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And O ! when worn and tired they sigh With that more fearful war within, When passion's storms are loud and high And, brooding o'er remembered sin, The heart dies down, O mightiest, then Come ever true, come ever near ; And wake their slumbering love again, Spirit of God's most holy Fear. John Keble TUESDAY THE world is sick, and yet not unto death ; There is for it a day of health in store ; From lips of love there comes the healing breath — The breath of Him Who all its sickness bore. And bids it rise to strength and beauty evermore. Evil still reigns ; and deep within we feel The fever and the palsy and the pain Of life's perpetual heart-aches, that reveal The rooted poison, which, from heart and brain, We labour to extract, but labour all in vain ! Our skill avails not ; ages come and go, Yet bring with them no respite and no cure ; The hidden wound, the sigh of pent-up woe, The sting we smother but must still endure. The worthless anodynes which no relief procure,- J THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT 19 All these cry out for something more divine, Which the worst woes of earth may not withstand — Medicine that cannot fail, the oil and wine, The balm and myrrh, growth of no earthly land, And the all-skilful touch of the great Healer's hand. Man needs a prophet : Heavenly Prophet, speak. And teach him what he is too proud to hear. Man needs a priest : True Priest, Thy silence break, And speak the words of pardon in his ear. Man needs a king : O King of kings, at length in love appear. HORATIUS BONAR WEDNESDAY JUDGE not ; the workings of his brain And of his heart thou canst not see ; What looks to thy dim eyes a stain. In God's pure light may only be A scar, brought from some well- won field, Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. The look, the air, that frets thy sight, May be a token, that below The soul has closed in deadly fight, With some infernal fiery foe, Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, And cast thee shuddering on thy face ! 20 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG The fall thou darest to despise — May be the Angel's slackened hand Has suffered it, that he may rise And take a firmer, surer stand ; Or, trusting less to earthly things, May henceforth learn to use his wings. And judge none lost ; but wait, and see. With hopeful pity, not disdain ; The depth of the abyss may be The measure of the height of pain And love and glory that may raise The soul to God in after days ! Adelaide Anne Procter THURSDAY THE days of old were days of might In forms of greatness moulded. And flowers of Heaven grew on the earth Within the Church unfolded : For grace fell fast as summer dew, And Saints to giant stature grew. But one by one the gifts are gone That in the Church resided. And gone the Spirit's living light That on her walls abided. When by our shrines He came to dwell In power and presence visible. A blight hath past upon the Church, Her summer hath departed. The chill of age is on her sons, THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT 21 The cold, and fearful-hearted ; And sad, amid neglect and scorn, Our Mother sits and weeps forlorn. Narrow and narrower still each year The holy circle groweth. And what the end of all shall be Nor man nor Angel knoweth : And so we wait and watch in fear ; — It may be that the Lord is near ! Frederick William Faber FRIDAY WHAT, what is tried in the fires of God ? And what are the fires that try ? — All, all is tried in the fires of God, And many the fires that try. And what is burnt in the fires of God ? — All but the fine, fine gold ; The treasures we offer for praise and pride Or for pride and self withhold ; And we, as far as our souls are wrapt In the raiment that waxeth old. And when will the fires of God be lit ? — They are burning every day ; They are trying us all, within and without, The gold and the potter's clay. But what is lost in the fires of God ? — Nothing that is not dross ; No tiniest grain of the golden sands, Or wood of the true, true Cross ; 22 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG No smallest seed of the lowliest deed Of faith and hope and love, The precious things that abide earth's fires, And for ever abide, above. Yea, nought is lost in the fires of God That is not waste or dross — That we would not choose, could we see, to lose, And say, this was gain not loss. Elizabeth Rundle Charles SATURDAY BECAUSE the world might not pretend It knew not of Thy coming Day, Thou didst, O Christ, before Thee send A Crier to prepare Thy way : Thy Kingdom was the bliss he brought. Repentance was the way he taught. And that his voice might not alone Inform us what we should believe, His life declared what must be done, If Thee we purpose to receive : His life our pattern therefore make. That we the course he took may take. Let us not gad to pleasure's court. With fruitless toys to feed the mind ; Nor to that wilderness resort. Where reeds are shaken with the wind : But tread the path he trod before. That both a prophet was and more. \ FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT 23 Thus from the Crier let us learn, For Thee, sweet Jesus, to prepare, And others of their sins to warn, However for the same we fare : So Thou to us, and we to Thee, Shall when Thou comest welcome be. George Wither THE FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT AH, what time wilt Thou come ? when shall that cry. The Bridegroom's comings fill the sky ? Shall it in the evening run When our words and works are done ? Or will Thy all-surprising light Break at mid-night ? Or shall these early fragrant hours Unlock Thy bowers. And with their blush of light descry Thy locks crowned with eternity ? Indeed it is the only time That with Thy glory doth best chime ; All now are stirring, ev'ry field Full hymns doth yield ; The whole creation shakes ofi" night. And for Thy shadow looks the light ; Stars now vanish without number, Sleepy planets set and slumber. The pursy clouds disband and scatter, All expect some sudden matter. Not one beam triumphs, but from far That morning star. 24 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Oh at what time soever Thou Unknown to us the heavens wilt bow, And with Thy Angels in the van Descend to judge poor careless man, Grant I may not like puddle lie In a corrupt security ; Where if a traveller water crave He finds it dead, and in a grave. But as this restless vocal spring All day and night doth run and sing, And though here born, yet is acquainted Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted ; So let me all my busy age In Thy free services engage. Henry Vaughan WEEK OF THE FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT MONDAY LORD ! come away ! Why dost Thou stay ? Thy road is ready; and Thy paths made straight With longing expectation wait The consecration of Thy beauteous feet ! Ride on triumphantly ! Behold we lay Our lusts and proud wills in Thy way ! Hosanna ! Welcome to our hearts ! Lord, here Thou hast a temple too ; and full as dear As that of Zion, and as full of sin : Nothing but thieves and robbers dwell therein : FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT 25 Enter, and chase them forth, and cleanse the floor ! Crucify them, that they may never more Profane that holy place Where Thou hast chose to set Thy face ! And then, if our stiff tongues shall be Mute in the praises of Thy Deity, The stones out of the temple-wall Shall cry aloud, and call Hosanna ! and Thy glorious footsteps greet ! Jeremy Taylor TUESDAY HOW many a Grecian youth of old, Preparing for the Isthmian plain, And driven by thirst of fame, was bold For discipline that he might gain An athlete's vigour well-controlled. And win the olive crown through pain ! But, when in time of wrinkled age His earlier force had ebbed away, And, closing now his pilgrimage, He viewed the wreath's forlorn decay, Then he at last grew wise to gauge The fleeting worth of glory's day. Therefore shall we give precious years And sacred energies of soul To win the world's resounding cheers And triumph at its vaunted goal ? Nay, such a guerdon calms no fears When Doomsday's awful thunders roll ! 26 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG But rather may the second sight Of Faith disclose the prize unseen, And urge us, led by its delight To tame the sins, that intervene, And fight with joy a nobler fight For crowns of never-fading green ! G. T. S. Farquhar WEDNESDAY CHRIST is coming ! let creation Bid her groans and travail cease ; Let the glorious proclamation Hope restore, and faith increase — Maranatha ! Come, Thou blessed Prince of Peace ! Earth can now but tell the story Of Thy bitter Cross and pain ; She shall yet behold Thy glory When Thou comest back to reign — Maranatha ! Let each heart repeat the strain ! Though once cradled in a manger, Oft no pillow but the sod ; Here an alien and a stranger, Mocked of men, disowned of God — All creation Yet shall own Thy kingly rod. Long Thine exiles have been pining Far from rest, and home, and Thee ; FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT 27 But, in heavenly vesture shining, Soon they shall Thy glory see — Maranatha ! Haste the joyous jubilee ! With that " blessed hope " before us, Let no harp remain unstrung ; Let the mighty Advent chorus Onward roll from tongue to tongue — Maranatha ! Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come ! John Ross Macduff THURSDAY THE Lord shall come in dead of night, When all is stillness round ; How happy they, whose lamps are bright, Who hail the trumpet's sound ! How blind and dead the world appears ! How deep her slumbers are ! Still dreaming that the day she fears Is distant and afar ! Who spends his day in holy toil, His talent used aright, That he may haste, with heavenly spoil, To meet his Lord that night ? Are ye arousing from their sleep, The saints who dare to rest. And calling every one to keep A watch more true and blest ? 28 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Wake up, ray heart and soul, anew, Let sleep no moment claim ; But hourly watch, as if ye knew This night the Master came. The Lord shall come in dead of night, When all is stillness round ; How happy they whose lamps are bright, Who hail the trumpet's sound ! Jane Borthwick FRIDAY WATCHMAN, what of the night? Clears not the darkened sky ? Come there no signs of light ? Is not the morning nigh ? " Darkness is all around ; Nowhere may light be found, Save from the watcher's fire ; Thou must again inquire." Watchman, what of the night ? Long I have lain awake. Yearning for fair and bright ; Finding no dawn to break. " Darkness begins to fly, Though but to watcher's eye : Still must the night-lamp burn ; Yet thou may'st soon return." Watchman, what of the night ? Peaceful is now my state ; Long as my God deems right, Quiet my soul will wait. FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT 29 " Up ! from the eastern hills, Rays are like gushing rills ; Up, from thy darkness spring ; Up, and thine anthem sing." Lord Kinloch SATURDAY YET if his majesty our sovereign lord Should of his own accord Friendly himself invite, And say " I'll be your guest to-morrow night," How should we stir ourselves, call and command All hands to work ! " Let no man idle stand. Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall. See they be fitted all ; Let there be room to eat, And order taken that there want no meat. See every sconce and candlestick made bright That without tapers they may give a light. Look to the presence : are the carpets spread. The dais o'er the head, The cushions in the chairs, And all the candles lighted on the stairs ? Perfume the chambers, and in any case Let each man give attendance in his place." Thus, if the king were coming would we do. And 'twere good reason too ; For 'tis a duteous thing To show all honour to an earthly king. And after all our travail and our cost. So he be pleased, to think no labour lost. But at the coming of the King of Heaven All's set at six and seven : 30 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG We wallow in our sin, Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn. We entertain Him always like a stranger, And as at first still lodge Him in the manger. CHRISTMAS EVE ALL hail, thou night, than day more bright, Through whose mysterious shade, In wondrous birth, arose on earth, From bosom of pure Maid, The Sun new-born, a Star of morn. Filling the world with light ! He Who alone, from Heaven's high Throne, Rules all, and doth restore To God's embrace man's fallen race. Lies on a cottage floor. Like Him that we, save poverty, Have nought to call our own. While o'er their sheep close watch they keep, Those shepherds first receive The heavenly call, that doth to all Great joy and gladness give, — The call from Heaven, to watchmen given That wake and never sleep. W. J. Blew CHRISTMAS DAY COME, ye lofty ! come, ye lowly ! Let your songs of gladness ring ! In a stable lies the Holy, In a manger rests the King : CHRISTMAS DAY 31 See, in Mary's arms reposing, Christ by highest Heaven adored : Come ! your circle round Him closing. Pious hearts that love the Lord. Come, ye poor ! no pomp of station Robes the Child your hearts adore: He, the Lord of all salvation, Shares your want, is weak and poor : Oxen round about behold them. Rafters naked, cold, and bare : See ! the shepherds ! God has told them That the Prince of Life lies there. Come, ye children, blithe and merry ! This one Child your model make ; Christmas holly, leaf, and berry, All be prized for His dear sake : Come, ye gentle hearts and tender ! Come, ye spirits keen and bold ! All in all your homage render, Weak and mighty, young and old. High above a star is shining. And the Wise Men haste from far : Come, glad hearts, and spirits pining ! For you all has risen the Star. Let us bring our poor oblations, Thanks and love and faith and praise ; Come, ye people ! come, ye nations ! All in all draw nigh to gaze. Hark ! the Heaven of heavens is ringing : Christ the Lord to man is born : Are not all our hearts, too, singing, Welcome, welcome, Christmas morn ? 32 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Still the Child, all power possessing, Smiles as through the ages past ; And the song of Christmas-blessing Sweetly sinks to rest at last. Archer Gurney ST STEPHEN'S DAY SILENCE ! though the flames arise and quiver : Silence ! though the crowd howls on for ever. Silence ! Through this fiery purgatory God is leading up a soul to glory. See, the white lips with no moans are trembling. Hate of foes or plaint of friends' dissembling ; If sighs come — his patient prayers outlive them, " Lord, these know not what they do. Forgive them ! " Thirstier still the roaring flames are glowing ; Fainter in his ear the laughter growing ; Brief will last the fierce and fiery trial ; Angel welcomes drown the earth denial. Now the amorous death-fires, gleaming ruddy. Clasp him close. Down drops the quivering body, While through harmless flames ecstatic flying Shoots the beauteous soul. This, this is dying. Lo, the opening sky with splendour rifted ; Lo, the palm-branch for his hands uplifted ; Lo, the immortal chariot, cloud-descending, And its legion'd Angels close attending. ST JOHN THE EVANGELIST'S DAY 33 Let his poor dust mingle with the embers, While the crowds sweep on and none remembers : Saints unnumber'd through the Infinite Glory, Praising God, recount the Martyr's story. D. M. MuLOCH Craik ST JOHN THE EVANGELIST'S DAY THE blue Egean's countless waves in Sabbath sunlight smiled. And murmuring washed the rocky shore of that lone island wild ; Where unto him "whom Jesus loved," such views sublime were given, That e'en the land of exile shone " the very gate of Heaven ! " He saw the radiant form of Him, upon Whose sorrowing breast. At the last supper's solemn feast his weary head found rest ; One " like unto the Son of Man," all glorious to behold, Arrayed in robes of dazzling light, and girt with purest gold. He heard the mighty new-made song, to Angel- hosts unknown, Go up like incense unto Him that sat upon the Throne ; And the pure strains by Seraphs sung in that celestial sphere. In sweetest cadence rose and fell upon his listening ear. c 34 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Within the flashing walls of Heaven, with jewelled splendour bright, He saw the countless multitudes arrayed in saintly white ; He marked them with their waving palms, in worship bending low Before the feet of Him Who smil'd beneath the emerald bow. The pearly gates, the crystal sea, the universal hymn, The sun-bright forms, the brilliant eyes, which tears may never dim, The healing trees, the fadeless flowers, the harp- ings of the blest. In splendid vision to his soul revealed the promised rest. Long since that aged saint hath reached the fair celestial shore, And gained the martyr's crown, for he the martyr's suffering bore ; Long since his happy feet have stood within his Father's home. Yet still the mighty voice he heard, with ceaseless cry, saith, "Come !" And life's bright fountain springeth yet, as free, and fresh, and fair, As when in Patmos' dreary Isle it cheered the exile there ! And hark ! the Spirit and the Bride repeat in mercy still. That he who is athirst may drink — yea, whosoever Willi THE INNOCENTS' DAY 35 O blessed voices ! be it ours your loving call to hear And so obey that when, at last, from yonder radiant sphere The Heavenly Bridegroom shall descend to claim His own again, We may lift up our heads and say, '' Lord, even so, Amen!" Elizabeth Surr THE INNOCENTS' DAY RAH EL weeping for her children, Flowers in early spring laid low ; None may comfort, none may cheer her. Faint and pallid, full of woe. Yet the slain are girt with triumph ; They shall swell the victors' song ; Theirs the crown with scarce a struggle. First-fruits of the martyr throng ! Bethlehem's streets are dark with mourning. All is woe and wild despair ; But within the heavenly city John beheld a vision fair : Little ones with palms rejoicing In their happy, high estate, Following with eager footsteps Christ, the Lamb Immaculate. There, in that eternal country, Men of peace have peace for aye ; There the sword is sheathed for ever ; Foes are banished far away. 36 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Here, Lord, mortify within us Vices which Thine eye offend : Keep us, children, pure and holy, Constant, faithful, to the end. William Chatterton Dix WITHIN THE OCTAVE OF CHRISTMAS DAY WHEN Jordan hushed his waters still, And silence slept on Zion's hill ; When Salem's shepherds through the night Watched o'er their flocks by starry light, — Hark ! from the midnight hills around, A voice, of more than mortal sound, In distant hallelujahs stole. Wild murmuring o'er the raptured soul. Then swift to every startled eye. New streams of glory gild the sky ; Heaven bursts her azure gates, to pour Her spirits to the midnight hour. On wheels of light, on wings of flame, The glorious hosts to Zion came ; High Heaven with songs of triumph rung. While thus they smote their harps and sung : O Zion ! lift thy raptured eye : The long-expected hour is nigh ; The joys of Nature rise again ; The Prince of Salem comes to reign. THE OCTAVE OF CHRISTMAS DAY 37 See Mercy, from her golden urn, Pours a rich stream to them that mourn ; Behold, she binds, with tender care. The bleeding bosom of Despair. He comes to cheer the trembling heart. Bid Satan and his host depart ; Again the Day-star gilds the gloom, Again the bowers of Eden bloom. Thomas Campbell CARRY me, Babe, to Bethlehem now. For I would look on Thee, my God! Thou art alone my goal, — and Thou, Thou to that goal the only road. From my deep slumbers bid me wake, Call me, — no evil shall betide me ; Give me Thy heavenly hand to guide me. And I shall not Heaven's way mistake. So shall I straight to Bethlehem go, Where I shall look on Thee, my God ! Thou art alone my goal, — and Thou, Thou to that goal the only road. Though I'm oppressed with want and woe, Though I am clad in garments torn, Though I'm a wanderer lost and lorn, Guide me, my God ! where'er I go ! Bring me, I pray, to Bethlehem now. Where I may look on Thee, my God ! Thou art alone my goal, — and Thou, Thou to that goal my only road. Sir John Bowring 38 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG AWAY with sorrow's sigh, Our prayers are heard on high ; And through Heaven's crystal door, On this our earthly floor, Comes meek-eyed Peace to walk with poor mortality. In dead of night profound, There breaks a seraph sound Of never-ending morn ; The Lord of glory born Within a holy grot on this our sullen ground. O sight of strange surprise That fills our gazing eyes ! A manger coldly strew'd. And swaddling-bands so rude, A leaning mother poor, and child that helpless lies. Art Thou, O wondrous sight, Of lights the very Light, Who holdest in Thy hand The sky and sea and land, — Who than the glorious heavens art more exceeding bright ? 'Tis so : Faith darts before. And, through the cloud drawn o'er. She sees the God of all. Where Angels prostrate fall. Adoring, tremble still, and trembling still adore. Within us, Babe Divine, Be born, and make us Thine ; THE OCTAVE OF CHRISTMAS DAY 39 Within our souls reveal Thy love and power to heal ; Be born, and make our hearts Thy cradle and Thy shrine. Isaac Williams IT came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From Angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold : " Peace on the earth, good-will to men From Heaven's all-gracious King ! " The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the Angels sing. Still through the cloven skies they come. With peaceful wings unfurled ; And still their heavenly music floats O'er all the weary world : Above its sad and lowly plains They bend on heavenly wing, And ever o'er its Babel-sounds The blessed Angels sing. Yet with the woes of sin and strife The world has suffered long ; Beneath the Angel-strain have rolled Two thousand years of wrong ; And men, at war with men, hear not The love-song which they bring : Oh ! hush the noise, ye men of strife, And hear the Angels sing. And ye, beneath life's crushing load Whose forms are bending low ; 40 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Who toil along the climbing way With painful steps and slow, — Look now ! for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing : Oh ! rest beside the weary road, And hear the Angels sing ! For lo ! the days are hastening on, By prophet bards foretold, When with the ever-circling years Comes round the age of gold; When Peace shall over all the earth Its ancient splendours fling, And the whole world give back the song Which now the Angels sing. Edmund Hamilton Sears SLEEP, Holy Babe, Upon Thy mother's breast ; Great Lord of earth and sea and sky, How sweet it is to see Thee lie In such a place of rest ! Sleep, Holy Babe : Thine Angels watch around, All bending low, with folded wings, Before the Incarnate King of kings. In reverent awe profound. Sleep, Holy Babe, While I with Mary gaze In joy upon that face awhile, Upon the loving Infant smile. Which there divinely plays. THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST 41 Sleep, Holy Babe ; Ah ! take Thy brief repose : Too quickly will Thy slumbers break, And Thou to lengthened pains awake, That death alone shall close. Then must those hands Which now so fair I see. Those little pearly feet of Thine, So soft, so delicately fine. Be pierced and rent for me. Then must that brow Its thorny crown receive ; That cheek, more lovely than the rose. Be drenched with blood, and marred with blows, That I thereby may live. Edward Caswall THE CIRCUMCISION OF CHRIST YE flaming Powers, and winged warriors bright, That erst with music and triumphant song, First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear, So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along Through the soft silence of the listening night. Now mourn ; and if, sad share with us to bear, Your fiery essence can distil no tear. Burn in your sighs, and borrow Seas wept from our deep sorrow ; He Who with all Heaven's heraldry whilere Entered the world, now bleeds to give us ease. Alas, how soon our sin 42 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Sore doth begin His infancy to seize ! Oh, more exceeding love, or law more just ? Just law indeed, but more exceeding love ! For we by rightful doom remediless Were lost in death, till He that dwelt above High throned in secret bliss, for us frail dust Emptied His glory, even to nakedness ; And that great cov'nant which we still transgress Entirely satisfied. And the full wrath beside Of vengeful justice bore for our excess, And seals obedience first with wounding smart This day ; but oh, ere long Huge pangs and strong Will pierce more near His heart ! John Milton HOURS, and days, and months, and years, Come and go, arise and fall, Gains and losses, smiles and tears Freely scattered through them all ; O my Saviour ! let them be (Pregnant with Thy life divine). Spent in better serving Thee, And becoming wholly Thine. O'er the threshold of the year. Sprinkled with Thy precious blood, Let me draw to Thee more near. Made by Thee more wise and good ; O my Saviour, when this soul Proudly would its way pursue. Let Thy sorrow's soft control Gently chasten and subdue. THE EPIPHANY 43 For the blessed years gone by, And the joys which winged their flight, For the blessed hopes on high. Making all the future bright ; For the stay and strength Thou art, Ever wast, and still shalt be, O my Saviour, let this heart Ring its joy-bells out to Thee. Let the memory of the past Shed its glow on years to come. Yield its wisdom, and at last Light my wand'ring footsteps home ; O my Saviour ! with Thy blood Sprinkle all my future days. Make them holy, keep them good. Fill them with Thine endless praise. John S. B. Monsell THE EPIPHANY FROM princely walls, in Eastern pomp arrayed. They seek the distant Bethlehem's lowly shade ; Faith leads the way, and gathers light, and now Leans upon hope, which strengthens as they go. What gladness crowns their steps, as now to view, The heavenly messenger appears anew ; And o'er the roof the star descending mild, Showed in the mother's arms the Holy Child ! But yet no ivory here, no glowing gold, No purple royalties the Babe enfold ; 44 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG His palace-hall, a stable's solitude ! His regal throne, a manger dark and rude I Others let kingly pomp and power adorn, His is a better kingship ; on this morn, He, on His poor straw pallet meanly laid, Hath hearts of men with viewless sceptre swayed. Lo ! at His humble cradle, on bent knee, They in the Child adore the Deity ! And to that Child, us of that Gentile seed, And to that humble cradle, Faith shall lead. Love is the gold, meet offering for a king ; Myrrh to the Son of Man shall abstinence bring ; And prayer shall be the ascending frankincense, Which owns our God in veil'd omnipotence. Glory to God the Father, fount of Light ; To Him, Who shone upon the Gentile's night ; And unto Him, well-spring of Charity, All equal in mysterious Unity. Isaac Williams THE wise men to Thy cradle-throne, O Infant Saviour, brought, of old. The incense meet for God alone. Sharp myrrh, and shining gold. Shine on us too, sweet Eastern Star, Thine own baptized Gentile band. Till we have found our Lord from far, An offering in our hand ! THE EPIPHANY 45 Till we have brought the fine gold rare, Of zeal that giveth all for love ; Till we have prayed the glowing prayer, Like incense borne above ; Till bitter tears our eyes have wet, Because our wilful hearts would err ; Worship and love and sorrow met, Gold, frankincense, and myrrh. All meet for Thee, our own adored, Our suffering Saviour, God, and King ; Accept the gold and incense, Lord : Accept the myrrh, we bring. Cecil Frances Alexander SOUGHT for Wisdom in the morning time, When the sun cleared the hills ; and strove to dimb Where I could further see ; but all in vain The efforts made : 'twas but a wearying strain At truth ; nor had of knowledge save the pain. There rose a star i' th' east, before 'twas night. And spoke of God ; but only spoke of might. And height, and distance ; in a gathering mist, I lost the star ; I could not but persist To seek, but how to find it nothing wist. I journeyed long and darkly ; but at last The star appeared ; and now its beams were cast On a poor stable, where, in swaddling bands, An Infant lay in virgin mother's hands ; Fixed there it stood; and fixed for me still stands. I 46 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG I found where Wisdom dwelt ; and, in my joy, Brought forth my gifts ; gold, though it held alloy, Which dimmed its worth ; incense from forth a breast Warm with new love ; myrrh, through all life possessed. Fragrant to make the couch of earth's last rest. Lord Kinloch THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY WHAT earth appeared to Angel eyes That Sabbath morn in Paradise, When man before his Father stood, And God beheld that all was good — When Nature, guiltless yet of stain, Returned her Maker's smile again, And over all created things Lingered the Spirit's brooding Wings— So fair, so fresh, so free from taint, Beyond all mortal skill to paint. So calm in growing strength serene. The Holy Childhood must have been. A Garden fed with Heavenly Dew, Where all things lovely bloomed and grew, Where knowledge both of good and ill, But left the heart more holy still. FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 47 But vainly would we seek to raise The veil that shrouds Christ's early days, Each wondrous Act, each Word sublime That beautified that glorious Prime. A few brief lines of Sacred Writ Contain the whole we know of it ; And where the eye of faith may see The lowly Home of Galilee, Where daily in His Mother's sight He grew in Wisdom, and in Might ; The path of meek obedience trod, In favour both with man and God. Anna H. Drury WEEK OF THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY MONDAY HE grew in Wisdom ! who can weigh The meaning which those Words convey ; Or trace the deep mysterious line Between the Human and Divine ? We only know the daily growth Was that of Mind and Body both. Until the Perfect Childhood passed Into the Perfect Man at last. Yet one recorded scene alone A Glory o'er those years hath thrown, ReveaUng to His Mother's Soul A Realm beyond her Love's control. 48 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Teaching both her, who meekly heard And treasured every sacred Word, And all His Church from age to age, Who read them in the Gospel page, That far above all earthly claim Was that great Work for which He came, And far beyond all earthly tie. The Sonship of His Deity. And if to those who love Him most His Presence for a while be lost, And on Life's crowded road they find That they have left their Lord behind, Let them each erring step retrace. And seek Him through His Means of Grace Who, in His Father's House of Prayer, Still doth His Work of Mercy there. Anna H. Drury TUESDAY NIGHT flies before the orient morning," So speaks the dial's accents clear : So better speaks the prophet's warning To ears that hear. " Night flies before the sun ascending " ; The sun goes down, the shadow spreads ; O come the day which, never ending. No night succeeds ! And, see ! a purer day-spring beaming. Unwonted light ; nor moon nor sun ; But Light itself, with glory streaming, God on His Throne. FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 49 And thence the river flows of gladness, And there the tree of comfort grows, Which whoso tastes, all sense of sadness, All care, foregoes. O tree profuse of life and healing ; O stream of pleasure, ever new ; O day of light, God's light revealing, Essential, true : — For ye, for righteous men and lowly, God's saints, that promised seat prepare ; Nor impious aught, nor aught unholy Finds entrance there : Prompt ye my spirit, lest the slumber Of reckless sloth its pow'rs enchain ; Or worldly lusts its course encumber, Or thoughts profane. Richard Manx WEDNESDAY FOR message of the Written Word, In every clime proclaimed and heard, And wondrous energies of thought. By which its inner tones are caught, Inspirer of the Holy Page, Thy Church gives thanks from age to age ! But O ! from vanity, that sw^ells The fooUsh mind, wherein there dwells No thirst for Wisdom, save of earth, Untouched by aught of heavenly birth. Thou, Who of knowledge hast the key Hold us in listening ever free ! 50 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Rather with longing of desire, Wherewith to Thee we shall aspire, And meek humility of heart, That knows to take the scholar's part, O Student at the Doctors' feet, Endow Thy learners, we entreat ! And so with utterance of Thy will, Which Thou shalt help us to fulfil ; And glories of Thyself unveiled. By us with answering fervour hailed, O Judge, preparing for Thy Throne, Make us, before too late. Thine own ! G. T. S. Farquhar THURSDAY NOW take my heart and all that is in me, My Lord beloved, take it from me to Thee I would have Thine This soul and flesh of mine ; Would order thought and word and deed As Thy most holy will shall lead. Thou feedest me with heavenly bread and wine, Thou pourest through me streams of life divine ; Oh noble Face, So sweet, so full of grace, I ponder as Thy Cross I see. How best to give myself to Thee. Behold, through all the eternal ages, still My heart shall choose and love Thy holy will ; Wouldst Thou my death, I die to I'hee in faith ; FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 51 Wouldst Thou that I should longer live, To Thee the choice I wholly give. But Thou must also deign to be my own, To dwell in me, to make my heart Thy throne. My God indeed, My Help in time of need. My Head, from Whom no power can sever. The Bridegroom of my soul for ever ! Lyra Germanica FRIDAY SAVIOUR, sprinkle many nations. Fruitful let Thy sorrows be ! By Thy pains and consolations. Draw the Gentiles unto Thee. Of Thy Cross, the wondrous story, Be it to the nations told ; Let them see Thee in Thy glory, And Thy mercy manifold. Far and wide, though all unknowing. Pants for Thee each mortal breast ; Human tears for Thee are flowing, Human hearts in Thee would rest. Thirsting, as for dews of even. As the new-mown grass for rain. Thee they seek, as God of Heaven, Thee, as Man, for sinners slain. Saviour ! lo, the isles are waiting, Stretch'd the hand, and strain'd the sight. For Thy Spirit, new-creating, Love's pure flame, and wisdom's light ; 52 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Give the word, and of the preacher Speed the foot, and touch the tongue, Till on earth, by every creature, Glory to the Lamb be sung. Arthur Cleveland Coxe SATURDAY I ASK a perfect creed ! Oh, that to me were given, The teaching that leads none astray, The scholarship of Heaven ! Sure wisdom and pure light, With lowly, loving fear ; The steadfast, ever-looking eye, The ever-listening ear. Calm faith that grasps the word Of Him Who cannot lie ; That hears alone the voice divine, Though crowds are standing by. The one, whole truth I seek. In this sad age of strife ; The truth of Him Who is the Truth, And in whose truth is life. Truth which contains true rest ; Which is the grave of doubt ; Which ends uncertainty and gloom, And casts the falsehood out. O True One, give me truth ! And let it quench in me The thirst of this long-craving heart, And set my spirit free. SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 53 O Truth of God, destroy The cloud, the chain, the war ; Dawn to this stormy midnight be, My bright and morning star ! HORATIUS BONAR THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY COME to our joyous marriage feast, The bride has decked her hair, The board is full, the wine is red ; Come forth our mirth to share. Thus merrily through Cana's town Had the glad summons poured, But had not told what honoured Guest Should grace that festal board ; Even He, The God, for us made Man, His lowly mother near. Who sat and smiled upon the rite. And blessed the bridal cheer. Why do the servants pause in doubt ? The voice of mirth is stayed ; " My Son, they have no wine to drink," Softly the mother said. Oh Loving Lord, and Good to all, He marked the lowly need. Yet gently chid the eager voice That urged His gracious deed. 54 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG "Fill to the brim the water pots." And they obey His sign ; They draw, they bear ; the clear pure wave Is turned to rosy wine. No more when Cana's brides are wed Christ comes the feast to share ; But Christian hands may spread the board, And He will still be there, To hallow still our festive hours, If chastened be our mirth. Such as we had not feared if He Had looked on when on earth. O Thou to Whom all might and power In this wide earth belong, Changing her natural elements. And making weak things strong ; Change Thou Thy children's sinful hearts, Bless Thou their weak design ; For man may fill the water pot, God makes the water wine. Cecil Frances Alexander r WEEK OF THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY ' MONDAY T RRESQLUTE, I stand perplext, JL What pathway shall I follow next ? Show me the way that I must take ; Show m'e, O Lord, for Jesus' sake. / / SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 55 He is the upward way for all, Upon whose steep ascents there fall Sweet lustres from the gates above, The ever-open gates of love. I know Him : but when thus I stay, And musing loiter time away, A shadow dims that sacred light Which shines to guide from height to height. Unless some earthly way I take, I cannot heavenward progress make ; With settled aim and conscience clear, What shall I do ? how journey here ? My soul the untried seas would dare, Or sands of every way-mark bare, Should but Thy voice distinctly say, " Go forward, soul ; there lies thy way." Say, " This thou must do " : such behest Can make the darkest path the best : If but I know my way through time. My soul those sunny steeps can cUmb. Thomas Toke Lynch TUESDAY JESU, the heart's own sweetness and true light, Thou art the secret Fountain that overflows The weary soul, surpassing all delight. In Whom each anxious longing finds repose. Stay with us. Lord, and with Thy kindly ray Enlighten our dark spirits, at whose birth Dark shades shall flee the opening eye of day, And sweetness shall revive the drooping earth. 56 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG When Thou the heart dost visit all things seem Made new ; Truth shines in her unclouded form, Emerging from the world as from a dream ; And Love, her face beholding, waxeth warm. Good Jesus, while time's scroll I still unfold, Do Thou to me Thy love make manifest. That I, mid clouds that wrap me, may behold Thine everlasting glory, and find rest. He whom Thine oil makes glad as with new wine, He knows that knowledge which is from above ; Full blest is he ; that fulness is divine. And there is nothing else that he can love. Thou art the Fount of pity ; as it flows All drink of Thine abundance infinite : Thou art the only lamp Thy country knows ; Scatter the clouds, and show us Thy true light. Isaac Williams WEDNESDAY AS hart pants high for gushing rills, So pants my soul, O God, to Thee : Deep eager thirst my bosom fills With God, the living God, to be. When shall I dare again draw near ? When in ih' Almighty's sight appear ? Tears are my bread both night and day. Long weary days and nights of care. While hourly to my soul they say, "Where now thy God? thy Champion, where Thus count I mournful thoughts apart, Thus on myself I pour my heart. SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 57 For I would pass th' o'ershading veil, The curtain of the Lord's abode, Their way with soothing welcomes hail Who seek the portal of my God, With voice of joy and thankful song, With tumult of a festal throng. My soul, why bow'd and drooping go ? Why restless o'er me moan and cry ? Wait on the Lord : even yet I know My songs shall own His guardian eye. — My God — around me cower and shrink My fearful thoughts — behold I sink. John Keble THURSDAY THEREFORE to Thee I musing turn From where I rove on Jordan's shore, And from mine own low hill discern The bright'ning ridge of Hermon hoar. Deep calls on wak'ning deep, at sound Of Thy dark wat'ry pillars ; all Thy wild sea-waves are gath'ring round, Thy breakers o'er me burst and fall. Yet God in daily station set His watchful love ; His melody Comes nightly near ; it haunts me yet, God of my life, my prayer to Thee. I to the Lord will say. My Rock, Why hast Thou cast me out of mind ? Why go I mourning, for the flock Of scorners to bear down and bind ? 58 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG They wound, they bruise me to the bone, With spite and scorn around me close — " Where is thy God ? for ever gone ? " So cry all day my thronging foes. Yet wherefore droop, my heart, and why So restless o'er me moan and fret ? Trust God : — th' Enlighl'ner of mine eye. Mine own true God, I praise Him yet. John Keble FRIDAY JUDGE me, and plead my cause, O God, Against th' unpitying kind ; Redeem me from the heart of fraud. The faithless, lawless mind. The God of my strong hold art Thou, Why hast Thou cast me off? Why walk I still with mourning brow, While foemen crush and scoff? O send from Heaven Thy truth and light, And they shall lead me — they Shall bring me to Thy holy height, The tents of Thine array. So to God's Altar my due feet Th' unerring path may find : My God, my Joy when visions sweet Thrill keenest o'er my mind ! So with my lyre Thy praise shall blend, O God, mine own true God ! — Ah why, my soul, so lowly bend. So hopeless 'neath the rod ? SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 59 Why restless o'er me moan and fret ? His time do thou abide : Light of mine eyes, I praise Him yet, Mine only God and Guide. John Keble SATURDAY LIFE ! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part ; And when, or how, or where we met I own to me's a secret yet. But this I know, when thou art fled, Where'er they lay these limbs, this head, No clod so valueless shall be As all that then remains of me. O whither, whither dost thou fly. Where bend unseen thy trackless course ? And in this strange divorce. Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I ? To the vast ocean of empyreal flame From whence thy essence came Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed From matter's base encumbering weed ? Or dost thou, hid from sight. Wait, like some spell-bound knight, Through blank oblivious years th' appointed hour To break thy trance and reassume thy power ? Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be ? O say what art thou when no more thou'rt thee ? Life ! we've been long together. Through pleasant and through cloudy weather ; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear ; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear ; — 6o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time ; Say not Good-night, — but in some brighter clime Bid me Good-morning ! Anna Letitia Barbauld THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY THE flower that in the lowly vale, Beside the old gray stone. Hides underneath her dark green leaves, And blooms there all alone ; Her scented breath is just as sweet. Her silken leaf as blue, As though within the garden ground Admired and prized she grew. The lowly heart, the humble mind. That shrink from human praise, That wear away in unknown deeds The measure of their days. That know themselves unworthy all. Their hearts how prone to ill. Unmeet that Christ therein should dwell ; He knows and loves them still. As when the lordly Roman prayed, " I am not worthy, Lord," He smiled upon his trembling faith. And heard his humble word. THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 6i He said that little children were Types of humility ; How humble, then, and meek of heart, His children ought to be. No swelling pride, no thirst of praise. Their little hearts should move ; But humble prayers in meekness poured, And deeds of lowly love : Meek as the flower that grows unmarked Where man has never trod, Where only Angels watch her bloom Beneath the eye of God. Cecil Frances Alexander WEEK OF THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY MONDAY THE sufferer had been heard to say, *' I am the unhappiest in the land " ; But comforted went on his way, When Jesus took him by the hand. The poor man had been oft passed by By many people rich and grand ; But found at last prosperity. When Jesus took him by the hand. The sinner in unpitied blame Was perishing, an outcast banned ; 62 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG But rose, and left behind his shame, When Jesus took him by the hand. And many of whom all men said, " They've fallen never more to stand," Have risen, though they seemed as dead, When Jesus took them by the hand. O ye, who in the journey's length Must often tread the weary sand, Your fainting limbs must gather strength If Jesus takes you by the hand. " Come unto Me," the Saviour cries. Nor speaks in accents falsely bland : " Hard is the way," He says, " but rise " : And then He takes us by the hand. Thomas Toke Lynch TUESDAY FIRE is not quench'd with fire, and wrath Adds fuel to the angry flame ; And whosoe'er would tread the path Of peace, must hasty passion tame. Art thou offended ? look within, And see how ye deserve rebuke ; And add not to another's sin. By warm reply and spiteful look. But, in the very brunt of haste. By humble meekness ward the blow, Let blessings be for curses placed, To gain a friend, to lose a foe. THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 63 Let loving meekness, beaming bright, O'er every word and action sit ; And let all angry, foul despite, Be words, as 'twere, on water writ. So shall your store of worth increase, Your brother's passion clear away, — So shall your souls be throned in peace, Both here and in the eternal day ! Few are the hours, and long the path. That leads through passing earth to Heaven, Then let us turn away from wrath, And all for peace and love be given. WEDNESDAY OH, give thanks to Him that made Morning light and evening shade ; Source and Giver of all good. Nightly sleep and daily food ; Quickener of our wearied powers. Guard of our unconscious hours. Oh, give thanks to Nature's King, Who made every breathing thing : His our warm and sentient frame. His, the mind's immortal flame : Oh, how close the ties that bind Spirits to the Eternal Mind ! Oh, give thanks with heart and lip, For we are His workmanship ; And all creatures are His care : 64 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Not a bird that cleaves the air Falls unnoticed ; but who can Speak the Father's love to man ? Oh, give thanks to Him Who came In a mortal, suffering frame, — Temple of the Deity, — Came, for rebel man to die ; In the path Himself hath trod, Leading back His saints to God. JOSIAH CONDER THURSDAY AND feel I, Death ! no joy from thought of thee? Death, the great counsellor, who man inspires With every nobler thought and fairer deed ! Death, the deliverer, who rescues man, Death, the rewarder, who the rescued crowns ! Death, that absolves my birth, a curse without it ! Rich Death, that realizes all my cares, Toils, virtues, hopes ; without it a chimera ! Death, of all pain the period, not of joy ; Joy's source and subject still subsist unhurt. One in my soul and one in her great Sire, Though the four winds were warring for my dust. Yes, and from winds and waves and central night. Though prisoned there, my dust I too reclaim, To dust when drop proud Nature's proudest spheres. And live entire. Death is the crown of life ; Were Death denied, poor man would live in vain ; Were Death denied, to Hve would not be life ; Were Death denied, e'en fools would wish to die. THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 65 Death wounds to cure : we fall : we rise : we reign : Spring from our fetters ; fasten in the skies. When blooming Eden withers in our sight : Death gives us more than was in Eden lost. This king of terrors is the prince of peace. When shall I die to vanity, pain, death ? When shall I die ? When shall I live for ever ? Edward Young FRIDAY TIME is a prince whose resistless sway Everything earthly must needs obey ; The din of war, and the tyrant's frown. And the shepherd's crook, and the conqueror's crown. Palaces, pyramids, temples, towers — With the falling leaves, and the fading flowers, And the sunset's flush and the rainbow's ray — At the touch of Time all are passing away. And Death, with a passionless, cloudless eye, And a cro\vn of frost, standeth ever by ; He breathes on the brow of the old and the young. He stays the heart and he stills the tongue ; From the fetter'd soul he unbinds the chain — And the wave of passion, the pulse of pain, And hope's fitful gleam, and woe's hurried breath, Are all lapp'd in the glorious calm of Death ! But Love, on his sun-bright wings sublime, Floats above the weltering foam of Time ; And the power of his paradisal breath Flings a flush of life o'er the frost of Death. 66 CHURCHMAN^S TREASURY OF SONG Time shall pass like a dew-drop at dawn of day, And Death like a rainbow shall fade away ; While Love by the Word of God shall be The Sun of the Heaven of Eternity ! John William Fletcher SATURDAY FRET not, poor soul : while doubt and fear Disturb thy breast, The pitying Angels, who can see How vain thy wild regret must be, Say, Trust and Rest. Plan not, nor scheme, but calmly wait ; His choice is best ; While blind and erring is thy sight, His wisdom sees and judges right ; So Trust and Rest. Strive not, nor struggle : thy poor might Can never wrest The meanest thing to serve thy will : All power is His alone : Be still. And Trust and Rest. Desire not : self-love is strong Within thy breast ; And yet He loves thee better still, So let Him do His loving will. And Trust and Rest. What dost thou fear ? His wisdom reigns Supreme, confessed; FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 67 His power is infinite ; His love Thy deepest, fondest dreams above — So Trust and Rest. Adelaide Anne Procter THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY NOT afar from surf and wave Thou didst speak the word and save, But while tossing on the sea Didst command tranquillity. Not upon us from the skies Didst Thou look with happy eyes, But while sorrowing with us here Thou didst shed the pitying tear. Not with trumpet from a rock Didst Thou guide the battle's shock, But in front of us didst go. And receive the heaviest blow. Not alone the just man's friend, Worthy lives didst Thou commend ; But to those who sinned before Saidst Thou, " Go, and sin no more." Thine the black and bitter bread. Thine the busy, weary head, Thine the ready, aching feet. Thine the burden and the heat. 68 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Worth the myriads of us, Didst Thou live and labour thus, Saviour, and shall we refuse Everything that Thou didst choose ? Thomas Toke Lynch WEEK OF THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY MONDAY OTHOU ! the Unseen, the All-seeing ! Thou Whose ways Mantled with darkness mock all finite gaze, Before Whose eyes the creatures of Thy hand, Seraph and man, alike in weakness stand. And countless ages, trampling into clay Earth's empires on their march, are but a day ; Father of worlds unknown, unnumbered ! Thou With Whom all time is one eternal fiow, Who know'st no past nor future — Thou Whose breath Goes forth and bears to myriads life or death. Look on us, guide us ! wanderers of a sea Wild and obscure, what are we, reft of Thee ? A thousand rocks, deep hid, elude our sight, A star may set — and we are lost in night : A breeze may waft us to the whirlpool's brink, A treacherous song allure us — and we sink ! Oh ! by His love Who, veiling Godhead's light. To moments circumscribed the Infinite, And Heaven and earth disdained not to ally By that dread union — Man with Deity ; FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 69 Immortal tears o'er mortal woes Who shed, And, ere He raised them, wept above the dead ; Save, or we perish ! Let Thy word control The earthquakes of that universe — the soul ; Pervade the depths of passion — speak once more The mighty mandate, guard of every shore, " Here shall thy waves be stayed," in grief, in pain. The fearful poise of reason's sphere maintain, Thou, by Whom suns are balanced ! — Thus secure In Thee shall Faith and Fortitude endure : Conscious of Thee, unfaltering shall the just Look upward still, in high and holy trust. And, by affliction guided to Thy shrine. The first, last thoughts of suffering hearts be Thine. Felicia Hemans I TUESDAY THINK if thou couldst know, O soul that will complain, What lies conceal'd below Our burden and our pain ; How just our anguish brings Nearer those longed-for things We seek for now in vain, — I think thou wouldst rejoice, and not complain. I think if thou couldst see. With thy dim mortal sight. How meanings dark to thee Are shadows hiding light ; Truth's efforts cross'd and vex'd. Life purpose all perplex'd, — If thou couldst see them right, I think that they would seem all clear and wise and bright. 70 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And yet thou canst not know, And yet thou canst not see ; Wisdom and sight are slow In poor humanity. If thou couldst trusty poor soul, In Him Who rules the whole, Thou wouldst find peace and rest ; Wisdom and right are well, but trust is best. Adelaide Anne Procter WEDNESDAY OF what an easy quick access, My blessed Lord, art Thou ! how suddenly May our requests Thine ear invade ! To show that state dislikes not easiness. If I but lift mine eyes, my suit is made ; Thou canst no more not hear than Thou canst die. Of what supreme almighty power Is Thy great arm, which spans the east and west, And tacks the centre to the sphere ! By it do all things live their measured hour : We cannot ask the thing which is not there. Blaming the shallowness of our request. Of what unmeasurable love Art Thou possessed, Who, when Thou could'st not die, Wert fain to take our flesh and curse, And for our sakes in person sin reprove ! That, by destroying that which tied Thy purse, Thou might'st make way for liberality. FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 71 Since then these three wait on Thy throne, Ease, Power, and Love ; I value prayer so, That were I to leave all but one. Wealth, fame, endowments, virtues, all should go : I, and dear prayer, would together dwell. And quickly gain, for each inch lost, an ell. George Herbert THURSDAY I SHOULD not care how hard my fortunes were. Might still my hopes be such, as now they are, Of help divine ; nor fear how poor I be. If thoughts yet present still may bide in me ; For they have left assurance of such aid, That I am of no danger now afraid. Yea, now I see, methinks, what weak and vain Supporters I have sought to help sustain My fainting heart ; when some injurious hand Would undermine the station where I stand. Methinks I see how scurvy and how base It is, to scrape for favours and for grace To men of earthly minds, and unto those Who may, perhaps, before to-morrow, lose Their wealth, or their abused authority, And stand as much in want of help as I ! Methinks, in this new rapture I do see The hand of God from Heaven supporting me. Without those rotten aids for which I whined When I was of my other, vulgar mind ; And if in some one part of me it lay, I now could cut that limb of me away. Still might 1 keep this mind, there were enough Within myself (beside that cumbrous stuff 72 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG We seek without) which, husbanded aright, Would make me rich for all the world's despite ; And I have hopes, that had she quite bereft me Of those few rags and toys, which yet are left me, I should on God alone so much depend That I should need nor wealth, nor other friend. George Wither FRIDAY SAY, from what unknown source, mysterious Nile, In climes remote, thy nurturing stream aye flows ? Amid the burning waste, what emerald isle O'er thy blest birth delicious freshness throws ? Or, — nursed in mountain cave, Distils thy limpid wave. From regions wreathed with cloud, blanched with eternal snows? Silent art thou : still, fair stream, like a thread Of silvery light athwart the desert drear. Through fields of smiling plenty hast thou sped A weary length of wilderness to cheer. Well-pleased, upon his way. Such solace to survey. The wanderer pitched his tent, and built him cities here. To other gods doth Pharaoh lift his eyes, And magic arts his reasoning powers beguile ; For, sun, and moon, and stars he deifies, And monsters venomous, and reptiles vile ; FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 73 And when he sees thy wave The teeming landscape lave, He bends in impious awe, and worships thee, O Nile! Then didst thou witness the avenging rod, Portentous wave, athwart thy troubled bed. When, in defiance of an angry God, An impious tyrant showed his haughty head. Thy conscious wave no more Heaven's tranquil aspect wore. But, mantling o'er thy face, indignant blushes spread. William Henry Charlton SATURDAY BE thou content : be still before His face, at Whose right hand doth reign Fulness of joy for evermore, Without Whom all thy toil is vain : He is thy living spring, thy sun, whose rays Make glad with life and light thy dreary days : Be thou content. In Him is comfort, light, and grace. And changeless love beyond our thought ; The sorest pang, the worst disgrace. If He is there shall harm thee not. He can lift off thy cross, and loose thy bands, And calm thy fears ; nay, death is in His hands : Be thou content. Or art thou friendless and alone. Hast none in whom thou canst confide ? God careth for thee, lonely one : Comfort and help He will provide, 74 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG He sees thy sorrows, and thy hidden grief, He knoweth when to send thee quick relief : Be thou content. Thy heart's unspoken pain He knows, Thy secret sighs He hears full well ; What to none else thou dar'st disclose, To Him thou may'st with boldness tell. He is not far away, but ever nigh, And answereth willingly the poor man's cry : Be thou content. THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY THE waving fields of yellow corn Grow ripe beneath the Autumn moon We know the reaper's ready hand Will cut the golden harvest soon. And there are many bright green weeds With spreading flowers of gaudy hue That grow together with the grain ; The reaper's hand shall cut them too. Thus, even in Christ's Own Church, we see The bad are mingled with the good, And men forsake their early vows And do not live as Christians should ; Yet the same sun is bright for all, Earth's common gifts for all are poured ; And so we deem that God forgets The promise of His awful Word. FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 75 But there shall come a harvest time, When God's Own bands of Angels bright Shall bind the golden sheaves for Heaven, And fling the weeds to endless night. Then not, O Lord, bad fruitless weeds, Then not to fire eternal cast, But bearing rich the fruits of life Be all Thy children found at last ! Cecil Frances Alexander WEEK OF THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY MONDAY THE loppbd tree in time may grow again ; Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower ; The sorriest wight may find release of pain, The driest soil suck in some moist'ning shower : Times go by turns, and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. The sea of fortune doth not ever flow, She draws her favours to the lowest ebb ; Her tides have equal times to come and go. Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web : No joy so great, but runneth to an end ; No hap so hard, but may in fine amend. Not always full of leaf, nor ever spring, No endless night, nor yet eternal day ; 76 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG The saddest birds a season find to sing, The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. Robert Southwell H TUESDAY E leads us on By paths we did not know, Upward He leads us, though our steps be slow ; Though oft we faint and falter on the way, Though storms and darkness oft obscure the day, Yet, when the clouds are gone, We know He leads us on. He leads us on Through all the unquiet years ; Past all our dreamland hopes, and doubts, and fears He guides our steps. Through all the tangled maze Of losses, sorrows, and o'erclouded days We know His will is done ; And still He leads us on. And He, at last, After the weary strife, After the restless fever we call life, After the dreariness, the aching pain, The wayward struggles which have proved in vain, After our toils are past — Will give us rest at last. Jane Borthwick FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 77 WEDNESDAY HOW often on a morning bright, Lord, Whom we cannot see, Because Thou dwellest in the light, We feel we are with Thee ! The sky, it is so beautiful, It keenly brings to mind Our many wishes dutiful. Thy many bounties kind. And pleasure seeks to make us wise, Intenser for the pain With which these memories arise Of wishes that were vain. Of wishes that have hastened toward Thy work, yet would not stay ; Like him who ran to seek the Lord, Yet sorrowing went away. To be invited we were glad, Yet glad to be excused ; Occasion's hour a welcome had, And yet it passed unused. But God in light has come again, And comforts though He grieves ; For happiness is born of pain To him who but believes. Through tangled thoughts Thy mercy dea Shines with a richer grace ; As skies are seen more sweetly clear Through boughs that interlace. Thomas Toke Lynch 78 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THURSDAY ETERNAL Truth, almighty, infinite. Only exiled from man's fleshly heart. Where ignorance and disobedience fight In hell and sin which shall have greatest part, When Thy sweet mercy opens forth the light Of grace, which giveth eyes unto the blind, And with the law even plowest up our sprite To faith, wherein flesh may salvation find, Thou bid'st us pray, and we do pray to Thee, But as to Power, and God, without us placed, Thinking a wish may wear out vanity. Or habits be by miracles defaced. One thought to God we give, the rest to sin ; Quickly unbent is all desire of good ; True words pass out, but have no being within ; We pray to Christ, yet help to shed His blood ; For while we say believe^ and feel it not. Promise amends, and yet despair in it. Hear Sodom judged, and go not out with Lot, Make law and gospel riddles of the wit, We with the Jews even Christ still crucify. As not yet come to our impiety. FuLKE Greville, Lord Brooke FRIDAY WHEN God at first made man. Having a glass of blessings standing by; Let us (said He) pour on him all we can : Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a span. FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 79 So strength first made a way ; Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure: When almost all was out, God made a stay. Perceiving that alone of all His treasure Rest in the bottom lay. For if I should (said He) Bestow this jewel also on My creature, He would adore My gifts instead of Me, And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature. So both should losers be. Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness : Let him be rich and w^eary, that at least If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to My breast. George Herbert SATURDAY I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase which calls The burial ground God's acre ! It is just; It consecrates each grave within its walls, And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust. God's acre ! Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown The seed that they have garnered in their hearts. Their bread of life, alas ! no more their own. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, In the sure faith that we shall rise again At the great harvest, when the Archangel's blast Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. 8o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, In the fair gardens of that second birth ; And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And sink the furrow for the seed we sow ; This is the field and acre of our God : This is the place where human harvests grow ! H. W. Longfellow THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY WE see the leaves fall withered from the trees, And, year by year, the sweet flowers fade away. They wither in the sharp Autumnal breeze ; — Has man no higher, holier hope than they ? Frail as the gentle flower we see him die, The bright eye closes, and the failing breath Heaves not the lip with its accustomed sigh ; — Hath he no hope, no comfort in his death ? O yes, the fair leaves falling where we tread Shall clothe the waving forest trees no more ; But man shall rise immortal, from the dead, Passing through death as through an open door — SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 8i An open door, through which faint glimpses come Of the bright joys that blessed spirits find ; For Holy Scripture says, our Heavenly Home Is fairer far than all we leave behind. If then the Christianas hope so glorious be, Should not the Christian purify his heart To fit him for that Angel company Wherewith he hopes hereafter to have part ? And more than Angels holy, pure, and high, There's One Who left for us those realms of bliss, Who won our places in that glorious sky, And said our hearts must be made pure like His. And in that Heaven His children hold of Him, Himself shall to His faithful Saints be near. Then let not our high hope grow faint and dim But let us follow in His footsteps here. Cecil Frances Alexander WEEK OF THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY MONDAY WHEN up to nightly skies we gaze. Where stars pursue their endless ways. We think we see from earth's low clod The wide and shining Home of God. 82 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG But could we rise to moon or sun, Or path where planets duly run, Still Heaven would spread above us far, And earth remote would seem a star. This earth with all its dust and tears Is His no less than yonder spheres ; And raindrops weak, and grains of sand, Are stamped by His immediate hand. The rock, the wave, the little flower, — All fed by streams of living power That spring from one Almighty Will, — Whate'er His thought conceives fulfil. We view those halls of painted air. And own Thy presence makes them fair ; But nearer still to Thee, O Lord, Is he whose thoughts with Thine accord. John Sterling TUESDAY IF as a flower doth spread and die. Thou wouldst extend me to some good, Before I were by frost's extremity Nipt in the bud ; The sweetness and the praise were Thine ; But the extension and the room Which in Thy garland I should fill were mine At Thy great doom. For as Thou dost impart Thy grace. The greater shall our glory be. SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 83 The measure of our joys is in this place, The stuff with Thee. Let me not languish then, and spend A life as barren to Thy praise. As is the dust, to which that life doth tend But with delays. All things are busy ; only I Neither bring honey with the bees. Nor flowers to make that, nor the husbandry To water these. I am no link of Thy great chain, But all my company is a weed. Lord, place me in Thy concert ; give one strain To my poor reed. George Herbert WEDNESDAY OPEN thyself, and then look in ; Consider what thou mightst have been. And what thou art now made by sin. Asham'd o' the state to which thou'rt brought. Detest, and grieve for each past fault ; Sigh, weep, and blush for each foul thought. Fear, and despair not ; but still love ; Look humbly up to God above, And Him thou'lt soon to pity move. Resolve on that which prudence shows ; Perform what thou dost well propose; And keep i' the way thou once hast chose. 84 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Vice, and what looks like vicious, shun ; Let use make good acts easily done : Have zeal, as when thou first begun. Hope strongly, yet be humble still : Thy good is God's ; what's thine, is ill : Do thus, and thee affect He will. Pray, when with others ; when alone. To scorn, or praise, be as a stone : Forget thyself, and all — but One. Remove what stands 'twixt God and thee : Use not thy fancy Him to see : One with His will make thy will be. Patrick Carey THURSDAY SWIFT o'er the desert plains the wild wind sweeps ; Swift o'er the sea that heaves beneath its power ; And steady flight o'er fairest scenes it keeps, Tho' perfume breathes from every sunlit bower ; Earth knows no charm its onward course to stay ; It takes no rest, it passeth on alway. Lord, are we likened to this fleeting wind ? To quit this earthly life we do not grieve ; But must the yearning spirit leave behind The dear and true whom it is death to leave ? Sure, our strong hearts' deep love can never fail As part and break the clouds before the gale. SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY 85 Only the mortal frame can fade and die ; All that is worthy of a spirit's love Shall cleave to us throughout eternity, Shall dwell with us in far bright worlds above : Here if pains, partings, sorrows, cares molest, Swift flight is ours — before us lies our rest. Here are we severed far ; Thou seest, Lord, How each in lonely course is onward driven. Thy righteousness. Thy love, Thy strength afford, So shalt Thou gather us to meet in Heaven : And us, Thy wandering winds, Thou then shalt own, Hush'd into still pure air, around Thy Throne. F. V. FOSBERY FRIDAY NOT as He was, a houseless stranger. With no home to shield His head, Not as seen in Bethlehem's manger, Where the horned oxen fed. Not as in the garden groaning, Plunged in deep mysterious woe, All the guilt of man bemoaning. While the precious blood-sweats flow. Not as seen on Calvary's mountain. Where He offered up His soul. Opening wide that sacred fountain Which alone can make us whole. Not as He was, a pale and breathless Captive in the shades beneath. But as He is, immortal, deathless. Conqueror o'er the powers of death ! 86 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Yes, we shall see Him in our nature, Seated on His lofty Throne, Loved, adored by every creature, Own'd as God, and God alone ! There countless hosts of shining spirits Strike their harps, and loudly sing To the praise of Jesus' merits. To the glory of their King ! When we pass o'er death's dark river, We shall see Him as He is, Resting in His love and favour, Owning all the glory His. There to cast our crowns before Him, O ! what bliss the thought affords ! There for ever to adore Him, — King of kings, and Lord of lords ! Mary Pvper SATURDAY THE God of Nature and of Grace In all His works appears ; On earth His goodness we can trace, His grandeur in the spheres. Behold this fair and fertile globe, By Him in wisdom planned ; 'Twas He Who girded like a robe The ocean round the land. Lift to the firmament your eye, Thither God's path pursue ; His glory, boundless as the sky, O'erwhelms the wondering view. SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY 87 The forests in His strength rejoice ; Hark ! how on th' evening breeze, As once of old, the Lord God's voice Is heard among the trees. Here on the hills He feeds His herds. His flocks on yonder plains ; His praise is warbled by the birds ; Would we could catch their strains ! In every stream His bounty flows, Diffusing joy and wealth ; In every breeze His spirit blows The breath of life and health. Let wisdom then God's wisdom trace : — For such our God will love, Who make their hearts a dwelling place For wisdom from above. James Montgomery SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY WHAT men call Nature is a Thought Divine, The Infinite in forms of finite grace ; Where all perfections seen in God combine To make this earth a consecrated place. Th' unwritten Bible of the woods and fields By Love perused, and ponder'd o'er by prayer, A very Gospel to the Poet yields. Who walks creation, knowing Christ is there. 88 CHURCHiMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Nothing is mean, by Power celestial raade, And nought is worthless, by His wisdom plann'd. Who fashion'd all, that Faith may find display'd The holy impress of God's master-hand. Oh, could we hail the element divine, That circles round whatever lives or moves, A mystic radiance would o'er all things shine, And teach the coldest how the Godhead loves ! One vast cathedral, with its roof of sky. The earth becomes to reverential souls, When, deepen'd by such felt divinity, Our heart-breathed hymn of ceaseless worship rolls. But like a cloud doth sensual dimness hide The heaven-born glories that around us gleam, While min'st'ring Angels to and fro may glide, And yet not wake us from our worldly dream. Lord ! may Thy Spirit to our spirit lend A princely heart of innocence and prayer, Whose unction shall the sacred feeling send. That proves at every pulse our God is there. Robert Montgomery MONDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA F^ROM out all Nature is one common voice. Unchanging and unchanged, for ever heard, Singing, " In God alone let all rejoice," Like some sweet harp by one strong impulse stirr'd. TUESDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 89 So sang the sinless world, when new-bom light Threw holy shadows on a new-born earth : So echoed back the first star-spangled night, Chanting sweet anthems of its heavenly birth. Earth, sea, and sky proclaim the holy truth, The universe, a temple open wide — Where Nature, priestess sacred, from her youth For ever sings the song beatified. The sun and moon, unfading lights, still shine. With all the lesser glories of the sky ; The changing seasons, acolyths di\nne, Attend upon the great festivity. From many an altar, undisturbed and still — Sweet shrines so calm, through many a troublous age Unfound by man — the incense-flowers nil The air with scent through their short pilgrimage. All telling the same truth — their simple creed, The type of that which saints and mart)Ts teach By many a noble act and sacred deed And sufferings more eloquent than speech. T. Marsland Hopkins TUESDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA THE turf shall be my fragrant shrine, My temple. Lord '. that arch of Thine, My censer's breath the mountain airs, And silent thoughts my only prayers. My choir shall be the moonlight waves, When murmuring homeward to their caves, 90 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Or when the stillness of the sea, E'en more than music, breathes of Thee ! I'll seek by day some glade unknown, All light and silence like Thy Throne, And the pale stars shall be, at night. The only eyes that watch my rite. Thy heaven, on which 'tis bliss to look, Shall be my pure and shining book. Where I shall read, in words of flame, The glories of Thy wondrous Name. I'll read Thy anger in the rack That clouds awhile the day-beam's track : Thy mercy in the azure hue Of sunny brightness, breaking through ! There's nothing bright above, below. From flowers that bloom to stars that glow, But in its light my soul can see Some feature of Thy Deity ! There's nothing dark below, above. But in its gloom I trace Thy love ; And meekly wait that moment when Thy touch shall turn all bright again. Thomas Moore WEDNESDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA SINCE o'er Thy footstool here below Such radiant gems are strewn, Oh, what magnificence must glow. My God, about Thy Throne ! THURSDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 91 So brilliant here those drops of light, — There the full ocean rolls, how bright ! If night's blue curtain of the sky With thousand stars inwrought, Hung like a royal canopy With glittering diamonds fraught, Be, Lord, Thy temple's outer veil, What splendour at the shrine must dwell ! The dazzling sun at noontide hour, Forth from his flaming vase, Flinging o'er earth the golden shower, Till vale and mountain blaze, But shows, O Lord ! one beam of Thine : What, then, the day where Thou dost shine ! Ah ! how shall these dim eyes endure That noon of living rays. Or how my spirit so impure Upon Thy glory gaze ? Anoint, O Lord ! anoint my sight. And robe me for that world of light. W. A. Muhlenberg THURSDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA THE stately heavens, which glory doth array. Are mirrors of God's admirable might ; There, whence forth spreads the night forth springs the day ! He fix'd the fountains of this temporal light, 92 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Where stately stars install'd, some stand, some stray, All sparks of His great power (though small, yet bright), By what none utter can, no, not conceive. All of His greatness, shadows may perceive. What glorious lights through crysUl lanterns glance, (As always burning with their Maker's love ;) Spheres keep one music, they one measure dance, Like influence below, like course above ; And all by order led, not drawn by chance, With majesty, as still in triumph move. And, liberal of their store, seem shouting thus, " Look up all souls, and gaze on God through us." God visibly invisible Who reigns. Soul of all souls. Whose light each light directs. All first did freely make, and still maintains. The greatest rules, the meanest not neglects; Foreknows the end of all that He ordains, His will each course, each course breeds fit effects ; Who did make all, all thus could only lead, None could make all, but Who was never made. William Alexander, Earl of Stirling FRIDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA YE quenchless stars ! so eloquently bright, Untroubled sentries of the shadowy night. While half the world is lapp'd in downy dreams, And round the lattice creep your midnight beams, How sweet to gaze upon your placid eyes, In lambent beauty looking from the skies ! SATURDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA 93 And when, oblivious of the world, we stray At dead of night along some noiseless way, How the heart mingles with the moonlit hour, As if the starry heavens suffused a power ! Full in her dreamy hght, the moon presides, Shrined in a halo, mellowing as she rides ; And far around, the forest and the stream Bathe in the beauty of her emerald beam ; The lull'd winds too, are sleeping in their caves, No stormy murmurs roll upon the waves ; Nature is hush'd, as if her works adored, Still'd by the presence of her living I-ord ! And now, while through the ocean-mantling haze A dizzy chain of yellow lustre plays. And moonhght loveliness hath veil'd the land, Go, stranger, muse thou by the wave- worn strand : Centuries have glided o'er the balanced earth. Myriads have bless'd, and myriads curs'd their birth. Still, yon sky-beacons keep a dimless glare, Unsullied as the God Who throned them there ! Though swelling earthquakes heave the astounded world, And king and kingdom from their pride are hurled, Sublimely calm, they run their bright career, Unheedful of the storms and changes here. We want no hymn to hear, or pomp to see, For all around is deep Divinity ! Robert Montgomery SATURDAY AFTER SEPTUAGESIMA MY soul is like a bird, my flesh the cage, Wherein she wears her weary pilgrimage Of hours, as few as evil, daily fed With sacred wine and sacramental bread ; 94 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG The keys that lock her in and let her out, Are birth and death ; 'twixt both she hops about From perch to perch, from sense to reason ; then From higher reason down to sense again : From sense she climbs to faith ; where for a season She sits and sings ; then down again to reason : From reason back to faith, and straight from thence She rudely flutters to the perch of sense : From sense to hope ; then hops from hope to doubt. From doubt to dull despair ; there seeks about For desp'rate freedom, and at ev'ry grate She wildly thrusts, and begs the untimely date Of th' unexpired thraldom, to release The afflicted captive, that can find no peace. Thus am I coop'd ; within this fleshly cage I wear my youth, and waste my weary age ; Spending that breath, which was ordain'd to chant Heav'n's praises forth, in sighs and sad complaint. Francis Quarles SEXAGESIMA SUNDAY ERST in Eden's happy garden Grew the golden Tree of Life, None who eat it pined or perish'd, Knew of sin, or care, or strife; For the Word of God had made it To the pure Eternal Food. Daily bread for Life's renewal To the faithful and the good. Hard by grew the Tree of Knowledge, Duty's test man's trust to try. MONDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 95 And give zest to mere enjoyment By some proof of fealty : Life to life — of one the savour, Death to death — the other's bane, Love's obedience — with its pleasure, Disobedience — with its pain. Eating of the Tree of Knowledge Death on Life insidious stole, Through the body the infection Pass'd like poison to the soul : Yet ^twas not the fruit's corruption Stay'd Life's pulse or stopt its breath, 'Twas the soul's dark Disobedience Made that Sacrament of Death. Eating of Life's Tree Eternal Makes the dying sinner whole, Through the body Life's renewal Comes with healing to the soul : Yet the body's mere fruition Stays not Death, nor stops its strife ; 'Tis the soul's devout Obedience Takes that Sacrament of Life. John S. B. Monsell MONDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA O BLESSING, wearing semblance of a curse, We fear thee, thou stern sentence — yet to be Linked to immortal bodies were far worse Than thus to be set free. 96 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG For, mingling with the Hfe-blood, thro' each vein The venom of the serpent's bite has run, And only thus might be expelled again, Thus only health be won. Shall we not then a gracious sentence own. Now since the leprosy has fretted through The entire house, that Thou wilt take it down, And build it all anew ? Build it this time (since Thou wilt build again) An holy house where righteousness may dwell ; And we, though in the unbuilding there be pain. We still affirm— 'Tis well. Richard Chenevix Trench TUESDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA THE Tree of Life in Eden stood With mystic Fruits of Heavenly Food, Which endless life afford, — That Life, by man's transgression lost : — Cast out is man by Angel-host : Until by Man restored. In vain the lambs poured forth their blood ; In vain the smoking altars stood ; All unatoned was sin : Must greater be the sacrifice Before the gate of Paradise Can let the fallen in ? WEDNESDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 97 The Lord of Life His Life must give That man an endless Life may live, And death's dark doom reverse. The Cross is made the mystic Tree, The Blood that flowed on Calvary Hath washed away the curse. Now Eden's gate is ope'd once more ; The guardian Angel's watch is o'er, And sheathed the flaming sword : The Tree of Life now blooms afresh, Its precious Fruit the very Flesh Of the Incarnate Word. Edwin L. Blenkinsopp WEDNESDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA SENT from the ark, the dove, with timid flight. Strove through the storms, yet found not where to light ; Pursued by winds o'er restless ocean's roar. Back to the flood-tossed crew no leaf she bore : So through the past man's tempest-driven mind, Sent fancy forth some resting-place to find ; O'er bush, tree, hill, she winged her trackless w^ay, Nor foothold found her weary flight to stay ; Back o'er the sea on terror-haunted air, She flew, to tell the tidings of despair ; Again she flies for fairer forms to seek. And lo ! the olive borne upon her beak ! Hear her glad news, — she rested on the tomb, Saw the dawn break, and flit the ancient gloom ! Through night she swept, and heard the gentle fall Of Angel footsteps in its silent hall ; 98 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Upborne from earth, in strong and joyous flight, Fearless she sought the empyrean height, Gazed on the source whence pours the living ray, On earth's time-shadows, God's eternal day. John Brooks Fellon THURSDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA THREE worlds there are : — the first of Sense- That sensuous earth which round us lies ; The next of Faith's Intelligence : The third of Glory in the skies. The first is palpable, but base : The second heavenly, but obscure ; The third is star-like in the face — But ah ! remote that world as pure ! Yet, glancing through our misty clime. Some sparkles from that loftier sphere Make way to earth ; then most what time The annual spring flowers appear. Amid the coarser needs of earth All shapes of brightness, what are they But wanderers, exiled from their birth, Or pledges of a happier day ? Yea, what is Beauty, judged aright, But some surpassing, transient gleam ; Some smile from Heaven, in waves of light. Rippling o'er life's distempered dream ? FRIDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA 99 Or broken memories of that bliss Which rushed through first-born Nature's blood When He Who ever was, and is, Looked down, and saw that all was good ? Sir Aubrey De Vere FRIDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA NOUGHT see we here as yet in full perfection. Nought reaching yet unto its true ideal ; Lost to our careless sight is that connexion. Which knitted once the perfect to the real. Each form of loveliness, each fair creation, Hath yet a type more true and brighter far, And we must trace in all the dim relation, And what they might be, learn from what they are. Thus every character, whate'er its sweetness. Is but the fruit all blighted and unripe, Still ever striving towards its own completeness, Still ever yearning towards its highest type. And only as we know and love them duly. As buds and blossoms of a fairer growth, Shall we learn how to weigh and prize them truly. And trace the true unto the highest truth. Though lost and fallen is our perfect being Its beauty 'mid its ruins we may see, And strive we still, the fair completeness seeing, To reach once more the highest we can be. loo CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And strive we, following in our love and duty Him Who doth noblest, truest, purest shine, Who raised our human to its highest beauty. By blending with it His own bright divine. L. R. SATURDAY AFTER SEXAGESIMA I HEARD the voice of harpers, harping sweetly On harps of gold : I saw a crystal River — calmly, widely Its waters rolled. I caught the flash of turrets, wrapt in splendour Of sunless light. Like to a star most lustrous, shedding glory Out of the night. I dreamed of Lands Elysian, emerald Islands In shining seas. Soft perfumes wafted by sweet-whispering breezes From fadeless trees. I saw the ranks of Angels, silver-pinioned And golden-crowned. Swift radiant Forms, that like a sunbeam passing Touched the bright ground. I saw the ancient worthies. Heroes saintly, Resting in calm. Clad in white robes, out of great tribulation Bearing the palm. QUINQUAGESIMA SUNDAY loi I saw a King in beauty, cloud-encircled, Shrouded in light, The likeness of a Throne, a Sea of glory Dazzling all sight. A voice as of great waters — myriads falling Low on the sod : A silence : harps struck louder : Seraphs Singing " Glory to God ! " Charles Lawrence Ford QUINQUAGESIMA SUNDAY GOD doth not leave His own : The night of weeping for a time may last. Then, tears all past, His going forth shall as the morning shine, The sunrise of His favour shall be thine : God doth not leave His own. God doth not leave His own ; Though few and evil all their days appear, Though grief and fear Come in the train of earth and hell's dark crowd, The trusting heart says even in the cloud, God doth not leave His own. God doth not leave His own ; This sorrow in their life He doth permit, Yea, chooseth it, To speed His children on their heavenward way. He guides the winds. — Faith, hope, and love all say God doth not leave His own. 102 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG FATHER of nations! what high thoughts endued And armed thy soul with matchless fortitude, Walking with God, in tranquil wisdom strong, Mid turbulence, and violence, and wrong ? Sole star, descried in that tempestuous night, Sole thing of life in that o'erwhelming blight ! It was the stronger Man, Eve's promised Son, Bound Death's strong arm within thee, and put on The armour : it was Christ in thee enshrined, Stretching imploring hands to lost mankind. In thee His feet found "rest" amid the gloom, Noah, great name of Comfort ! ^ I/ights illume The darkness where He comes with thee to stay ; And on th' horizon's verge, a heavenly ray Surrounds thee, while the black, baptismal flood Seems but to lift thee, in thy soHtude, Nearer th' ethereal hall, to walk among The stars of Heaven ; — such hopes to Faith belong. In that frail bark, Christ, our Emmanuel, Is passing o'er that more than ocean's swell, Where seas and skies the gathering darkness fills. Bearing His own to the celestial Hills. Isaac Williams MONDAY AFTER QUINQUAGESIMA STILL young and fine ! but what is still in view We shght as old and soiled, though fresh and new. How bright wert thou, when Shem's admiring eye Thy burnished flaming arch did first descry ! ^ Noah, i.e.^ " rest or comfort." See margin, Gen. v. 29. TUESDAY AFTER QUINQUAGESIMA 103 When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, The youthful world's grey fathers in one knot, Did with intentive looks watch every hour For thy new light, and trembled at each shower ! When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair. Storms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air, Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers. Bright pledge of peace and sunshine ! the sure tie Of thy Lord's hand, the object of His eye ! When I behold thee, though my light be dim. Distant, and low, I can in thine see Him, Who looks upon thee from His glorious Throne, And minds the covenant 'twixt all and One. Henry Vaughan TUESDAY AFTER QUINQUAGESIMA GOOD and great God ! Can I not think of Thee, But it must straight my melancholy be ? Is it interpreted in me disease. That, laden with my sins, I seek for ease ? O be Thou witness, that the reins dost know And hearts of all, if I be sad for show ; And judge me after, if I dare pretend To aught but grace or aim at other end. As Thou art all, so be Thou all to me. First, midst, and last, converted One and Three ! My faith, my hope, my love : and, in this state. My judge, my witness, and my advocate ! Where have I been this while exiled from Thee, And whither rapt, now Thou but stoop'st to me ? 104 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Dwell, dwell here still ! O, being everywhere, How can I doubt to find Thee ever here ? I know my state, both full of shame and scorn, Conceived in sin and unto labour born, Standing with fear, and must with horror fall. And destined unto judgment, after all. I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh to inflict another wound ; — Yet dare I not complain or wish for death, With holy Paul, lest it be thought the breath Of discontent : or that these prayers be For weariness of life, not love of Thee. Ben Jonson THE SEASON OF LENT WELCOME, dear feast of Lent : who loves not thee, He loves not Temperance, or Authority, But is composed of passion. The Scriptures bid us fast : the Church says, now : Give to thy Mother what thou wouldst allow To every Corporation. The humble soul composed of love and fear, Begins at home and lays the burden there When doctrines disagree : He says, in things which use hath justly got, I am a scandal to the Church, and not The Church is so to me. True Christians should be glad of an occasion To use their temperance, seeking no evasion THE SEASON OF LENT 105 When good is seasonable ; Unless Authority, which should increase The obligation in us, make it less And Power itself disable. Besides the cleanness of sweet Abstinence, Quick thoughts and motions at a small expense, A face not fearing light : Whereas in fulness there are sluttish fumes, Sour exhalations and dishonest rheums Revenging the delight. Then those same pendant profits, which the Spring And Easter intimate, enlarge the thing And goodness of the deed. Neither ought other men's abuse of Lent Spoil the good use ; lest by the argument We forfeit all our Creed. 'Tis true we cannot reach Christ's fortieth day ; Yet to go part of that religious way Is better than to rest : We cannot reach our Saviour's purity ; Yet we are bid, " Be holy e'en as He." In both let's do our best. Who goeth in the way which Christ hath gone, Is much more sure to meet with Him, than one That travelleth by-ways. Perhaps my God, though He be far before. May turn, and take me by the hand, and more, May strengthen my decays. Yet, Lord, instruct us to improve our fast By starving sin, and taking such repast io6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG As may our faults control : That every man may revel at his door, Not in his parlour ; banqueting the poor, And among those his soul. George Herbert ASH WEDNESDAY O WORSHIPPER, who at the break of morn Movest sedately through the quiet street, Seeking thy Lord's Communion, think no scorn, E'en at the cast-out ashes thou dost meet Lying at every door ! They are not void Of fruitful parable. Only last night Both rich and poor, aged and young, enjoyed No boon more eagerly. Radiantly bright They burned and shone in many a hearth and spread A treasured influence of warmth and life. But see to-day they lie before thee dead And cheerless : yea, unspeakably at strife With loveliness and joy, till thou dost shrink And turn thine eyes. Yet, ere thou reach thy goal, Look on them once again and, pausing, think : — " Here is pourtrayed a mystery of the soul ! E'en thus the passions burn with tempting glow, Attracting all : yet, as these homely fires Lie quenched and dismal, I can surely know Much more the alluring flame of wrong desire Shall pine away and, dying, leave behind Repulsive ashes in the jaded heart ! " So guide thy thoughts and fix within thy mind To conquer Sin ; then speed to take thy part THURSDAY AFTER ASH WEDNESDAY 107 Before the Altar. He, Who safely brought Those children from the furnace, draweth near To rescue thee in word and deed and thought From the dread ardours thou hast learnt to fear ! G. T. S. Farquhar THURSDAY AFTER ASH WEDNESDAY MAN is a busy thing, and he Will deal in all sorts of affairs. Weighty and trivial ; each may be, The subject of his greatest cares ; But this shall my employment be. Still to be busied. Lord, with Thee. Some are all spirit, and will fly At nothing lower than a throne ; The proudest spires of dignity They, in their hopes, have made their own : But this shall my employment be, To seek my honour all from Thee. Some that are sprung from coarser clay Adore a paint-disguised face. And daily their devotion pay To spotted beasts, or else as base : But this shall my employment be. Daily to serve and wait on Thee. Some so enhance the price of gold, They judge their souls to be but dross ; And are so saving that they hold The air, the breath, a mighty loss : But this shall my employment be, I will love nothing like to Thee. io8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Some are so loyal to the book Till they can criticise, and tell How many steps old Time has took Since our great father Adam fell : But this shall my employment be, Better to know myself and Thee. FRIDAY AFTER ASH WEDNESDAY NOW are the days of humblest prayer, When consciences to God lie bare, And mercy most delights to spare. Oh ! hearken when we cry, Chastise us with Thy fear ; Yet, Father ! in the multitude Of Thy compassions hear ! Now is the season, wisely long, Of sadder thought and graver song, When ailing souls grow well and strong. Oh ! hearken when we cry, Chastise us with Thy fear ; Yet, Father ! in the multitude Of Thy compassions hear ! The feast of penance ! oh, so bright With true conversion's heavenly light. Like sunrise after stormy night ! Oh ! hearken when we cry. Chastise us with Thy fear ; Yet, Father ! in the multitude Of Thy compassions hear ! SATURDAY AFTER ASH WEDNESDAY 109 We who have loved the world must learn Upon that world our backs to turn j And with the love of God to burn. Oh ! hearken when we cry, Chastise us with Thy fear ; Yet, Father ! in the multitude Of Thy compassions, hear ! Frederick William Farer SATURDAY AFTER ASH WEDNESDAY IT is not heavy, agonizing woe. Bearing me down with hopeless, crushing load, Not reputation lost, nor friends betrayed — That such is not my cross I thank my God. It is not sickness with her withering hand, Keeping me low upon a couch of pain. Longing each morning for the weary night, — At night for weary day to come again. Mine is a daily cross of petty cares, Of daily duties pressing on my heart, Of little troubles hard to reconcile. Of inward struggles — overcome in part. My feet are weary in their daily round. My heart is weary of its daily care, My sinful nature often doth rebel ; I pray for grace my daily cross to bear. It is not heavy, Lord, yet oft I pine ; It is not heavy, but 'tis everywhere, By day and night each hour my cross I bear ; I dare not lay it down — Thou keep'st it there. no CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG I dare not lay it down, I only ask That, taking up my daily cross, I may Follow my Master humbly, step by step Through clouds and darkness unto perfect day. THE FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT HOW long and deep the shadows of our Lent, Flung o'er its penitential forty days. With here and there a ray of sunshine sent From Sunday's gladness and its burst of praise ! Our sins and sorrows, like some surging tide, Wave after wave, beat o'er our struggling life, The deeds of darkness that we fain would hide — The broken vow, the fainting in the strife. Helpless and sad, O Christ, we come to Thee ! Thou for our sake wast to the desert led, Unharmed didst cross temptation's stormy sea, That we, Thy children, might be comforted. In all points tempted, e'en as we are now, O Man Divine ! like to Thy brethren made. The thorny crown girdled Thy sacred Brow, That weary hearts might look to Thee for aid. Thy Cross, upreared on Calvary's altar high. The nail-print, and the Side so rudely riven, The mid-day darkness and the piercing cry, Tell the glad story of our sin forgiven. Thus to our hearts the long, long gloom of Lent, Leading us on to Easter's brightest glow, Becomes a living type and sacrament Of all God's discipline of love below. FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT iii The bitter first, and then the endless sweet, The hard, rough way, and then the golden floor. The fiery furnace, then nor sun nor heat. The Cross, and then the Crown for evermore. Robert Hall Baynes WEEK OF THE FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT MONDAY GET thee hence, Satan ! " at His withering look Hell's tottering kingdom to its centre shook ; While from the myriad Angel hosts on high Burst forth loud shouts of praise and victory. 'Gainst man the fiend had tried his worst in vain And hope for ruined man shone forth again. Dismayed, undone, the baffled tempter fled, In lowest hell to hide his bruised head ; Crippled his power, his reign of darkness o'er, The kingdoms of this world his own no more. Yet not unscathed the Conqueror in the strife, Who there had won for unborn millions life ; Crushed was the foe beneath His conquering tread. But bruised the Victor's heel by that foul head. As Man, not God, He fought in that dark hour, And braved alone the tempter's utmost power; The Woman's Seed, the Virgin's mighty Son, As Man had fought, as Man the victory won ; Wielding that sword alone which man can wield, Quenching the fiery darts with man's own shield. And still as Man, with fasting faint and worn. His inmost soul by that fierce conflict torn ; 112 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Alone He stands upon the mountain now, Cold drops of anguish on His suffering brow, Sadly foreshadowing that tremendous night, When drops of blood should start in deadlier fight. Alone ? no, not alone, for swift draw near Bright Angel forms, to strengthen and to cheer ; To minister to all His wants and woes, And soothe His weary form in calm repose. Sophie F. F. Vettch TUESDAY WHEN first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul leave To do the like ; our bodies but forerun The spirit's duty : true hearts spread and heave Unto their God as flowers do to the sun ; Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep Him company all day, and in Him sleep. Yet never sleep the sun up ; prayer should Dawn with the day : these are set awful hours 'Twixt Heav'n and us ; the manna was not good After sun-rising ; far day sullies flowers : Rise to prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glut. And Heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut. Walk with thy fellow creatures : note the hush And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring Or leaf but hath his morning hymn ; each bush And oak doth know I Am. — Canst thou not sing ? O leave thy cares and follies ! go this way And thou art sure to prosper all the day. Henry Vaughan FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT 113 WEDNESDAY BOAST of thine honours, wealth, and power, Thy triumphs vast, and victory's dower, — Prate of thy gains, thy sensual ease, Thy mirth, and thy festivities, — Fill thy heart big with subtle pride, By rustling dignity supplied ; — Yet hear the words of Wisdom plead, " Amen, thou hast received thy meed." But, as for me, I will not seek For aught but this — a conscience meek. This is the season God hath given. To rise from earth, to work for Heaven. This is the time, by mortal strife. To win an entrance into life, — Here we must labour, toil, and weep, Here we must nurse contrition deep. Here must we labour, war, and fight, — This is no time for triumph bright. Here we are in the battle-field. Here watch lest we should fail and yield. It is no time to speak of gains, While struggling with our iron chains. When death is come, and battle done. Then may we rest, — and then alone ! THURSDAY OT ashes on the head, But ashes on the heart, O Lord To check the bursting flame of sinful pride. The vivid embers of fierce worldly thought. N 114 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG By worldly passion fed, — This is the fast Thy holy Word Proclaims, — the better proof that we have died To sin, and our wild fires to due subjection brought. Not tearfulness of eye, Nor sign of sorrow on the cheek, Blighted and furrowed all with briny woe : — But Thou dost rather choose the hidden tear, The broken contrite sigh Of troubled spirits Thou dost seek For grief that may the deep heart overflow ; So best to Thy keen eye doth the heart's truth appear. Not sackcloth, but instead The better sign of penitence, The stole of purity, the pilgrim weeds Hung thick around the faint and erring soul, Contrition's sting for bed Of thorns — the keen awaken'd sense Of vows long since forgot, of heartless deeds Doing or done — of hopes that own not faith's control. The pamper'd flesh subdued. The open'd fount of charity. The veil that " from our own flesh hides" us close Remov'd, and kindly beams of comfort dealt At large for others' good — This " the fast to sanctify " : — Not unacceptable to Him Who knows How long, how low in faith the breaking heart has knelt. H. K. C. FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT 115 FRIDAY MY God, to keep my heart, That it from Thee may never start, I know is Thy dread will, But how shall I that task fulfil ? The traitor with my rebel lusts will mix, And 'tis beyond my power the mercury to fix. My heart inclines to bliss. Yet studies the straight way to miss: My thoughts are loose and vain When I most strive them to restrain ; They fly at random all the world about, And render my best prayers careless and indevout. Opinions false onewhile My fond credulity beguile ; In a mistaken way With pertinaciousness I stray ; I no destructive consequences heed. Am harder to reclaim the farther I proceed. Sin the internal cells Invades, where my remembrance dwells ; Past foul ideas there In lively colours pictured are ; When to recall truths heavenly I design'd, Things sensual overspread the surface of my mind. My God, Thou only art Able to know, keep, rule, the heart ; Oh, make my heart Thy care, Which I myself to keep despair ! No rebels then will garrison my breast ; Beneath Almighty wings my heart will live at rest. Thomas Ken ii6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG SATURDAY THERE is a time to fast, Which Christ hath sanctified, Shadowed of ages past For them who to the world have died. Let there be holy guard O'er word, and food, and sleep, That in her widowed ward The soul her strictest watch may keep. That so she best within Her rebel lusts may quell. Lest the dark foe, unseen, Steal in and seize the citadel. Let us bow down and weep, Ere yet it be too late, His path with tears to steep Before the Judge be at the gate. Tremendous Judge, e'en now Our crimes like mountains rise. But yet a Father Thou, And mightier are Thy clemencies. Frail as the potter's clay. Yet by Thy work are we : Oh, leave us not a prey For whom Christ paid the penalty. Heal us from all our sin. Restore us to our place, With contrite hearts to win Thine all abounding, pitying grace. Isaac Williams SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT 117 THE SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT " T T AVE mercy on me, Lord ! " -LJ. She followed Him, and cried ; and when there came No answer, follow'd, crying still the same, — " Have mercy on me, Lord ! " " Send her away," they said — They who should be dispensers of His grace, Would have Him turn from her who sought His face : " Send her away," they said. He spoke their thought aloud — " It is not meet to take the children's bread And cast it to the dogs " — as if He said, ** How poor ye are and proud." " Yea, Lord, and yet the dogs Eat of the crumbs that from the children fall," She pleaded — " And there is enough for all — For children and for dogs.'' And He to her replied, " Even as thou wilt, so be it unto thee. Thy heart the measure of the grace shall be, From My rich store supplied." She had the thing she would. Lord, if I dip my cup into the sea, It rises full. Such cup each soul may be, Such ocean is Thy good. ii8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG WEEK OF THE SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT MONDAY THE pilot's skill how can we know Till tempests blow ? How is that soldier's valour seen Which ne'er hath been In fight ? they scarce true soldiers are That have no wound to show, or scar. Those soldiers which the general Calls out of all His army to attempt some great And brave exploit, Are those sure whom he means to grace With honour, and some higher place. Except we fight, there is no crown And no renown ; Unless we sweat in the vineyard, There's no reward : Unless we climb Mount Calvary, Mount Olivet we shall not see. Alexander Rosse. TUESDAY H OW long, great God, how long must I Immured in this dark prison lie ; Where at the grates and avenues of sense. My soul must watch to have intelligence ; SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT 119 Where but faint gleams of Thee salute my sight, Like doubtful moonshine in a cloudy night ; When shall I leave this magic sphere, And be all mind, all eye, all ear ? How cold this clime ! And yet my sense Perceives e'en here Thy influence. E'en here Thy strong magnetic charms I feel. And pant and tremble like the amorous steel. To lower good, and beauties less divine, Sometimes my erroneous needle does incline ; But yet, so strong the sympathy, It turns and points again to Thee. I long to see this excellence Which at such distance strikes my sense. My impatient soul struggles to disengage Her wings from the confinement of her cage. Would'st Thou, great Love, this prisoner once set free, How would she hasten to be link'd to Thee ! She'd for no Angel's conduct stay. But fly, and love on all the way. John Norris WEDNESDAY WHAT though we bear a heavy load, And have to strive and struggle long, We have meanwhile an urging goad To soothe its weight, to lull the throng. A Harvest of approved repose. Fruitful and rich, shall be our gain, If meekly we endure our woes. And bow to sorrow, loss, or pain. 120 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Whoe'er would win the crown, must dare The weary day of trial and strife ; Aye ! unto death thou must prepare, If thou wouldst enter into hfe ! Yet fear not, coward-like, nor shrink, Unnerved too soon, before th' attack. Press boldly on, and meanwhile think, " Who goes not forward, falleth back." Thou hast a path before thee set, Fear not to tread, no harm may come To him, who spite of toil, and sweat, And peril, hastens to his home. — There^ all thy suffering repaid. Thou shalt repose with tranquil breast ; And count all strife, and struggle weigh'd As nought, against that goodly rest ! THURSDAY THE sunset falls on Isaac's tent — And all the glowing Syrian sky Is flooded with a mingled dye Of gold, and faintest crimson blent. But never more at evening's close Her loved son's voice Rebekah hears ; That was a true chord to her ears More sweet than any music knows. And he that shared her fond deceit That could not wait the appointed time. He feels, by night, the frosty rime, By day, the summer's noon-tide heat. SECOND SUNDAY IN LENT 121 An exile in another land ; And never more his head to rest Upon a mother's patient breast, And never feel her soothing hand. Learn of his sorrow, Christian youth. When tempted sore, when right shall seem To come by wrong ; nor ever deem That Heaven has need of thine untruth. Like fountains lost, and traced in vain, That blend at last with ocean's blue — Like birds that wander winter through, But find their summer's nests again, — God's ways, though dark, nor understood, Shall work His righteous will at last ! Keep virtue's path, though clouds o'ercast : Nor sin for any seeming good. Cecil Frances Alexander FRIDAY HEARE me, O God ! A broken heart Is my best part : Use still Thy rod, That I may prove Therein Thy love. If Thou hadst not Beene sterne to me But left me free, I had forgot Myselfe and Thee. 122 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG For sin's so sweet, As minds ill bent Rarely repent, Untill they meet Their punishment. Who more can crave Than Thou hast done ? That gav'st a Sonne, To free a slave : First made of nought ; Withall since bought. Sinne, Death, and Hell His glorious Name Quite overcame. Yet I rebell And slight the same. But I'll come in Before my losse Me further tosse, As sure to win Under His Crosse ! Ben Jonson SATURDAY MERCY, my Judge, mercy, I cry With blushing cheek and bleeding eye, The conscious colours of my sin Are red without and pale within. O let Thine own soft bowels pay Thyself : and so discharge that day. If sin can sigh, love can forgive, O say the word, my soul shall live. THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT 123 Those mercies which Thy Mary found, Or who Thy Cross confessed and crowned, Hope tells my heart the same loves be Still alive, and still for me. Though both my pray'rs and tears combine, Both worthless are : for they are mine. But Thou Thy bounteous self still be ; And show Thou art, by saving me. O when Thy last frown shall proclaim The flocks of goats to folds of flame, And all Thy lost sheep found shall be, Let "Come ye blessed " then call me. When the dread " Ite " shall divide Those limbs of death from Thy left side, Let those life-giving lips command That I inherit Thy right hand. O hear a suppliant heart, all crush'd And crumbled into contrite dust. My hope, my fear ! my judge, my friend ! Take charge of me and of my end. Richard Crashaw THE THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT HOW shall I follow Him I serve? How shall I copy Him I love ? Nor from those blessed footsteps swerve Which lead me to His seat above ? 124 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Privations, sorrows, bitter scorn, The life of toil, the mean abode, The faithless kiss, the crown of thorn. Are these the consecrated road ? 'Twas thus He suffered, though a Son Foreknowing, choosing, feeling all, Until the perfect work was done. And drunk the bitter cup of gall. Lord ! should my path through suffering lie Forbid it I should e'er repine. Still let me turn to Calvary, Nor heed my griefs, remembering Thine. Oh, let me think how Thou didst leave Untasted every pure delight. To fast, to faint, to watch, to grieve. The toilsome day, the homeless night : — To faint, to grieve, to die for me ! Thou camest not Thyself to please ; And, dear as earthly comforts be. Shall I not love Thee more than these ? Yes ! I would count them all but loss, To gain the notice of Thine eye : Flesh shrinks and trembles at the cross^ But Thou canst give the victory. JOSIAH CONDER THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT 125 WEEK OF THE THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT MONDAY INTO some wave, which heedless night-winds rock, The moon comes down with all her starry flock, Her glorious imagery around her brings. And forms a temple of celestial things. Thus, sweet-souled Joseph, as thy life ran on. Each scene disclosed anew the Eternal Son, Till all thou didst, on thy meek purpose bent. Became in thee divinely eloquent, Presenting thee, in all that hurried by, The mirror of some holier myster)'. Tried by the adulterous world, temptation-proof, But "numbered with transgressors." Now aloof Thou sitt'st on high, — around the heathen press. And from thine hand are filled with plenteous- ness. But who are these ? lift up thine eyes, — behold Thy brethren, they who set at nought, and sold ! Bid all depart — ye little company. Come ye around, behold Me, " It is I," Feel Me, fear not ! the prisoner's chain unbind : But who is he that lingers yet behind ? " Out of due time ! " — let ye the stranger in, 'Tis Mine own Paul, Mine own loved Benjamin. Isaac Williams 126 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG TUESDAY THOUGH clouds be dark and tempests brood around, Though fairest hopes betray and dreams deceive, The mercy of our God is ever sure ; Time cannot bound it, nor can earth confine, Nor death destroy, nor the cold grave entomb ; But 'twill survive the severance of all ties. When time and time's dominion are no more. Flowers wither, nature's greenness fades ; whate'er Of life or loveliness on earth I view Is passing swift away. Passing away ! And I am passing too ; a little while, And the big swelling waves of grief will lie In this breast hushed for ever ; o'er my head Long plumes of grass will flutter in the breeze, While I shall rest, hope's pris'ner, in the grave. But joy amid this universal change ! One thing ne'er changes 'midst the ebb and surge Of time's wild-rocking billows ; like a light It burns, and lamps a dying universe As with the radiance of immortal day. And whispers to my spirit, as I go Down into the dull charnel, of the joy And endless rapture of the bliss to be. It is the loving kindness of my God — glorious pledge, seal'd with the Saviour's blood ! With His dear promise to assure my soul, 1 will take heart upon my pilgrim way, Inscribing on the battle-flag of life. As the heraldic motto of my trust, '' Thy mercy is for ever and for ever, O God, on all that fear Thy Name ! " W. TiDD Matson THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT 127 WEDNESDAY AS travellers, when the twilight's come, And in the sky the stars appear, The past day's accidents do summe, With "Thus wee saw there and thus here,' Then, Jacob-like, lodge in a place — A place, and no more, is set down — Where, till the day restore the race. They rest and dream homes of their own, So for this night I linger here. And, full of tossings to and fro. Expect still when Thou wilt appear That I may get me up and go. I long and groan and grieve for Thee, For Thee my words, my tears do gush ; Oh ! that I were but where I see ! Is all the note within my bush. As birds robbed of their native wood. Although their diet may be fine, Yet neither sing nor like their food. But with the thought of home do pine ; So do I mourn and hang my head. And, though Thou dost me fulness give, Yet look I for far better bread, Because by this man cannot live. O feed me then ! and since I may Have yet more days, more nights to count, So strengthen me. Lord, all the way, That I may travel to Thy Mount. Henry Vaughan 128 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THURSDAY FEAR not, for He hath sworn : Faithful and true His Name The glorious hours are onward borne ; 'Tis lit, th' immortal flame ; It glows around thee : kneel, and strive, and win Daily one living ray — 'twill brighter glow within. Yet fear : the time is brief; The Holy One is near ; And, like a spent and withered leaf In autumn twilight drear. Faster each hour, on Time's unslackening gale, The dreaming world drives on to where all visions fail. Surely the time is short : Endless the task and art To brighten for the ethereal court A soil'd, earth-drudging heart. But He, the dread Proclaimer of that hour, Is pledged to thee in love, as to thy foes in power. His shoulders bear the key : He opens — who can close ? Closes — and who dare open ? — He Thy soul's misgiving knows ; If He come quick, the mightier sure will prove His spirit in each heart that timely strives to love. Then haste Thee, Lord ! come down, Take Thy great power, and reign, But frame Thee first a perfect crown Of spirits freed from stain : — THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT 129 Souls mortal once, now matched for evermore With the immortal gems that form'd Thy wreath before. John Keble FRIDAY IS this a fast, to keep The larder lean ? And clean From fat of veals and sheep ? Is it to quit the dish Of flesh, vet still To fill The platter high with fish ? Is it to fast an hour, Or ragg'd to go. Or show A downcast look and sour ? No : 'tis a fast to dole Thy sheaf of wheat, And meat, Unto the hungry soul. It is to fast from strife. From old debate And hate ; To circumcise thy life. To show a heart grief-rent ; To starve thy sin, Not bin ; And thf,t's to keep thy Lent. Robert Her kick I30 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG SATURDAY THERE is a River, deep and broad, Its course no mortal knows ; It fills with joy the Church of God, And widens as it flows. Clearer than crystal is the stream, And bright with endless day ; The waves with every blessing teem. And life and health convey. Where'er they flow, contentions cease, And love and meekness reign : The Lord Himself commands the peace, And foes conspire in vain. Along the shores, Angelic bands Watch every moving wave ; With holy joy their breast expands, When men the waters crave. To them distressed souls repair, The Lord invites them nigh ; They leave their cares and sorrows there, They drink, and never die. Flow on, sweet Stream, more largely flow, The earth with glory fill ; Flow on, till all the Saviour know, And all obey His will. William Hurn FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT 131 THE FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT AS one who, toiling up some lofty peak, Pauses to turn his glance where, far below The narrow, winding path his weary feet Have trod so long with painful steps and slow, First leaves the flowery mead and upward winds ; And heaves, perchance, a sigh from vanished ease; Then upward gazes, where the mountain's brow Seems to touch heaven and solve its mysteries, And, weariness forgot, strives onward still — So we in solemn Lenten-tide look back and on ; And if the path of self-denial seems steep. And trials, briars that we tread upon, Yet when we forward look, all pain is nought, For o'er the mountain's brow a beauteous ray Breaks on our dazzled sight ; we onward press To greet the radiance of Easter Day. WEEK OF THE FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT MONDAY MY soul once had its plenteous years, And grew in peace with plenty filled, Like the good kine and ripened ears, Which Pharaoh in his dream beheld. From day to day, with grace refreshed. With means and ordinances fed, 132 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG How happy for a while I lived ! And little feared the want of bread. But famine came, and left no sign Of all the plenty I had seen ; Like the shrunk ears and half-starved kine, I then was withered, faint, and lean. To Joseph the Egyptians went ; To Jesus I made known my case, He, when my little store was spent, Opened the treasures of His grace. For He the time of dearth foresaw, And made provision long before ; That famished souls, like mine, might draw Supplies from His unbounded store. Now, on His bounty I depend, And live from fear of death secure ; Maintained by such a mighty Friend, I cannot want, or e'er be poor. Come, souls, and hear His gracious call. His mercy door stands open wide, He has enough to feed you all. And none who come will be denied. John Newton TUESDAY IF hasty hand or bitter tongue Have ever done you causeless wrong By evil deed or word. Have no bad thought your heart within, For malice is a deadly sin And hateful to the Lord. FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT 133 Be yours such thought as Joseph felt, When all his haughty brethren knelt, As visioned dreams foretold, And found, in that Egyptian Lord, The Brother whom their hearts abhorred, The slave whom they had sold ; Then not a tear, but such as pour When hearts with love and joy run o'er. Then not an angry word he gave. But said, " My brothers, weep no more ; 'Twas God Who sent me on before Your dearer lives to save." A twofold power Forgiveness hath, She softens hearts, she tempers wrath, And she is ever strong To call a blessing down from Heaven ; Christ said, " If ye would be forgiven. Forgive your brother's wrong." Cecil Frances Alexander WEDNESDAY HERE must the Christian onward press. Through toil and sweat, through foul and fair ; In days of gladness or distress Of looking back he must beware. His life of grace must still advance, His onward gaze fix'd on the goal. With penance, ever new, enhance The love and virtue of his soul. 134 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG There is a strong and running tide Sweeps past his boat ; and he who stays To rest upon his oars, shall glide Unnoticed back from Heaven's grace. Still while the haven is ungain'd, Still must be stemm'd the troublous stream, — Each nerve be strung, each muscle strain'd, If he would gain his precious aim. He who stands still, falls back ; how few, Alas ! drink in the fearful truth ! How many lose, in earth's dull show, The glowing fervour of their youth ! Then let us on with bold address, Unlured by joys, unmoved by woes, Until our weary feet shall press The haven of our last repose ! THURSDAY UP to the hills I lift mine eyes, The eternal hills beyond the skies ; Thence all her help my soul derives. There my Almighty Refuge lives. He lives, the everlasting God, That built the world, that spread the flood ; The heavens with all their hosts He made, And the dark regions of the dead. He guides our feet. He guards our way ; His morning smiles bless all the day ; He spreads the evening veil, and keeps The silent hours while Israel sleeps. FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT 135 Israel, a name divinely blest, May rise secure, securely rest ; Thy holy Guardian's wakeful eyes Admit no slumber nor surprise. No sun shall smite thy head by day, Nor the pale moon with sickly ray Shall blast thy couch ; no baleful star Dart his malignant fire so far. Should earth and hell with malice burn. Still thou shalt go, and still return. Safe in the Lord ; His heavenly care Defends thy life from every snare. On thee foul spirits have no power ; And, in thy last departing hour. Angels, that trace the airy road. Shall bear thee homeward to thy God. Isaac Watts FRIDAY FLING out the banner ! let it float Skyward and seaward, high and wide ; The sun shall light its shining folds. The Cross on which the Saviour died. Fling out the banner ! Angels bend In anxious silence o'er the sign ; And vainly seek to comprehend The wonder of the Love Divine. FHng out the banner ! heathen lands Shall see from far the glorious sight, 136 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And nations, crowding to be born, Baptize their spirits in its light. Fling out the banner ! sin-sick souls That sink and perish in the strife. Shall touch in faith its radiant hem, And spring immortal into life. Fling out the banner ! let it float Skyward and seaward, high and wide : Our glory, only in the Cross ; Our only hope, the Crucified ! Fling out the banner ! wide and high, Seaward and skyward let it shine : Nor skill, nor might, nor merit ours ; We conquer only in that Sign. George Washington Doane SATURDAY T ESUS, still lead on, J Till our rest be won : And although the way be cheerless. We will follow, calm and fearless : Guide us by Thy hand To our Fatherland. If the way be drear, If the foe be near, Let not faithless fears o'ertake us, Let not faith and hope forsake us ; For, through many a foe, To our Home we go. FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT 137 When we seek relief From a long-felt grief, When temptations come alluring, Make us patient and enduring : Show us that bright shore Where we weep no more. Jesus, still lead on, Till our rest be won. Heavenly Leader, still direct us. Still support, console, protect us. Till we safely stand In our Fatherland. Jane Borthwick THE FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT I BORE with thee long weary days and nights, Through many pangs of heart, through many tears ; I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights, For three and thirty years. Who else had dared for thee what I have dared ? I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above ; I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared : Give thou Me love for love. For thee I thirsted in the daily drought. For thee I trembled in the nightly frost ; Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth ; Why wilt thou still be lost ? 138 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced, Men only marked upon My shoulders borne The branding Cross : and shouted hungry-voiced, Or wagged their heads in scorn. Thee did nails grave upon My hands : thy name Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes : I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame I, God, Priest, Sacrifice. A thief upon My right hand and My left ; Six hours alone, athirst, in misery : At length in death one smote My heart, and cleft A hiding-place for thee. Nailed to the racking Cross, than bed of down More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep : So did I win a kingdom, — share My crown ; A harvest, — come and reap. Christina G. Rossetti WEEK OF THE FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT MONDAY THOU, Lord of all, on earth hast dwelt, Rejected and unknown ; What bitter grief Thy heart hath felt. Endured by Thee alone ! But oh ! how full of truth and grace Through all Thou dost appear ! FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT 139 And thus with wonder we retrace Thy path of sorrow here. Thou on the Cross didst suffer, too, j More than man's eye could see ; For then the wrath that was our due, Was poured, O Lord, on Thee ! But Thou art risen ; and now we know That Thou, in Heaven above. For all God's children here below. Dost feel a brother's love. Oh, may we ever look to Thee For needed grace and strength. Till we Thy face in glory see. And reign with Thee at length ! Till then may we, who bear Thy name. Thy blest example take, And count the world's reproach and shame As glory, for Thy sake. Since Thou the cup of wrath didst drain, None now for us is there ; The drops of sorrow that remain. Shall we refuse to share ? Samuel Prideaux Tregelles TUESDAY JESUS, these eyes have never seen That radiant Form of Thine ; The veil of sense hangs dark between Thy blessed Face and mine. 140 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG I see Thee not, I hear Thee not, , Yet art Thou oft with me ; I And earth hath ne'er so dear a spot As where I meet with Thee. Like some bright dream that comes unsought, When slumbers o'er me roll. Thine image ever fills my thought. And charms my ravished soul. Yet though I have not seen, and still Must rest in faith alone, I love Thee, dearest Lord, — and will, Unseen, but not unknown. When death these mortal eyes shall seal. And still this throbbing heart, The rending veil shall Thee reveal. All glorious as Thou art. Ray Palmer WEDNESDAY JESUS ! my loving Lord, I know. How much my welfare stands, In loss or cross for Thee, below. Therefore I'm in Thy hands ; Do aught that seemeth good to Thee, But hide not Thou Thyself from me. 'Tis not the wilderness I dread. Its peril or its pain ; No pathway Thou didst ever tread, But, with its grief, hath gain : I can bear all, so it may be, Thou wilt not hide Thyself from me. FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT 141 And well I know Thou dost not love That gentle face to hide ; Save when 'tis needful, Thou shouldst prove, Or mercy, Thou shouldst chide : I know the pain it gives to Thee, When Thou must hide Thyself from me. By Thine own sorrow on the Cross, That agonizing cry ; Thy sense of that one moment's loss. When darkness veiled the sky. And hid Thy Father's face from Thee : — Hide not Thy face, O Christ, from me. John S. B. Monsell THURSDAY HOLY of Holies," awful name- Where, in a still retreat. The Presence of the Godhead dwelt. Upon the mercy-seat : Veiled from the eye in darkness dim. Enthroned between the cherubim. Once in the year, within the veil, In mystic robes arrayed, The High Priest entered, and with blood An expiation made ; But blood of victims could not cleanse And purge the guilt of man's offence. O Great Redeemer ! God and Man, Victim and Priest in one ; Thou, entering Heaven with Thine own Blood, Didst once for all atone ; 142 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Thou hast removed the awful cloud, Which once the oracle did shroud. Now a bright Rainbow o'er the Throne Sheds lustre from above, Where showers of Judgment mildly shine, Gilded by beams of Love ; Thy Blood, O Lamb of God, is there, Pleading for us with ceaseless Prayer. Cleansed by that Blood, we now approach Boldly the Throne of Grace : O may we, following the Lamb, Come to that Holy Place ; Lord, Who for us didst deign to bleed, Be Thou our help in time of need ! Christopher Wordsworth FRIDAY CHRIST, Who our weak flesh didst wear In Thy Life so sinless fair And didst consecrate our frame As a temple to God's Name, Life's best springs are found in Thee, Let the Christ be formed in me. Thou, Who didst on Calvary show God's strong love, and man's worst woe, And in death didst manifest Sacrifice for ever blest. Make me share the Cross with Thee, And fulfil Thy life in me. Thou, Who rising from the grave, Righteous, pure, and strong to save, FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT 143 Taughtest men new life to find, In deeds holy, true, and kind, Raise me up from sin to Thee, And fulfil Thy life in me. Thou, Who at Thy travail's end, To Thy Father didst ascend, And in leaving earth didst prove, God the centre of all love, In a love that yearns to Thee, Lord, fulfil Thy life in me. Christ incarnate, crucified. King of all things far and wide, Who hast Life for evermore, Fill me from Thy boundless store, Till in Heaven Thy face I see. And fulfil my life in Thee. William Boyd Carpenter SATURDAY SORROW weeps !— And drowns its bitterness in tears ; My child of sorrow, Weep out the fulness of thy passionate grief, And drown in tears The bitterness of lonely years. God gives the rain and sunshine mild, And both are best, my child ! Joy weeps ! — And overflows its banks with tears ; My child of joy. Weep out the gladness of thy pent-up heart, 144 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And let thy glistening eyes Run over in their ecstasies ; Life needeth joy ; but from on high Descends what cannot die ! Love weeps ! — And feeds its silent life with tears ; My child of love, Pour out the riches of thy yearning heart, And, like the air of even. Give and take back the dew of heaven ; And let that longing heart of thine Feed upon love divine ! HORATIUS BONAR PALM SUNDAY SEE what unbounded zeal and love Inflamed the Saviour's breast. When steadfast towards Jerusalem His urgent way He prest. Good-will to man, and zeal for God His every thought engross : He longs to be baptized with blood, He thirsts to reach the Cross. With all His sufferings full in view, And wqes to us unknown. Forth to the work His spirit flew, 'Twas love that urged Him on : By His obedience unto death See Paradise restored : And fallen man brought face to face With his forg'iving Lord. MONDAY IN HOLY WEEK 145 Prepare us, Lord, to view Thy Cross, Who all our griefs hast borne ; To look on Thee, Whom we have pierced, To look on Thee, and mourn : While thus we mourn, may we rejoice. And as Thy Cross we see. May each exclaim in faith and hope, " The Saviour died for me ! " MONDAY IN HOLY WEEK WHO is this, with garments gory. Triumphing from Bozrah's way. This, that weareth robes of glory. Bright, with more than Vict'ry's ray ; Who is this unw^earied Comer From the journey's sultry length, Travelling through Idume's summer. In the greatness of His strength ! Wherefore red in Thine apparel. Like the conquerors of earth, And arrayed like those who carol O'er the reeking vineyard's mirth. Who art Thou, the valleys seeking. Where our peaceful harvests wave ! I — in righteous anger speaking, I — the mighty One to save. I — that of the raging heathen Trod the wine-press all alone. Now in victor garlands wreathen, Coming to redeem Mine own. 146 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG I am He with sprinkled raiment, Glorious from My vengeance hour, Ransoming with priceless payment, And delivering with power. Hail, all hail, Thou Lord of Glory ! Thee our Father — Thee we own ! Abra'm heard not of our story, Israel ne'er our name hath known ; But, Redeemer, Thou hast sought us. Thou hast heard Thy children's wail. Thou with Thy dear Blood hast bought us, Hail, Thou mighty Victor, hail ! Arthur Cleveland Coxe TUESDAY IN HOLY WEEK IN the wound of Thy Right Hand Each earthly toil I view : By Thee my efforts stand, Thine arm doth bring me through. Hail, Holy Blood, life-spring of every nerve ; Strengthen my heart to worship, will, and serve. In Thy Left Hand's purple stream Each deed of love I lave. Till of them all I deem As steeped in that bright wave. Hail, Holy Wounds ; my worthless actions fill ; Upon their lifelessness Thy dews distil. In Thy Right Foot's holy scar My spirit-vision sees Dimly and from afar Thy human sympathies. WEDNESDAY IN HOLY WEEK 147 Lord ! may Thy sacred footprints, day by day, Mark for our feet the true and perfect way. In Thy Left Foot's crimson track Thy fainting steps I trace, When Thou didst fetch me back, A wanderer, from the waste. Hail, Sacred Feet that did the winepress tread Of Heaven's fierce wrath, and heaUng virtue shed. In Thy loving Heart's red wound Thy Church her cares may steep ; Within its depths inhumed May wait and watch and weep. O bleeding Lamb, our Saviour and our Guide, Our All Thou art, and there is none beside. WEDNESDAY IN HOLY WEEK JESUS, we rest in Thee ; In Thee ourselves we hide ; Laden with guilt and misery, Where could we rest beside ? 'Tis on Thy meek and lowly Breast Our weary souls alone can rest ! Thou Holy One of God ! The Father rests in Thee ; And in the savour of that Blood, Once shed on Calvary, The curse is gone ; through Thee we're blest j God rests in Thee ; in Thee we rest. 148 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG The slaves of sin and fear — Thy truth our bondage broke ; Our happy spirits love to wear Thy light and easy yoke. The love which fills our grateful breast Makes duty joy, and labour rest. Soon the bright glorious Day, The Rest of God shall come ; Sorrow and sin shall pass away, And we shall reach our Home ; Then, of the promised land possessed, Our souls shall know eternal rest. J. G. Deck MAUNDY THURSDAY O BLESSED Jesus ! when I see Thee bending, Girt as a servant, at Thy servants' feet. Love, lowliness, and might, in zeal all blending. To wash their dust away, and make them meet To share Thy Feast ; I know not to adore. Whether Thy humbleness or glory more. Conscious Thou art of that dread hour impending, When Thou must hang in anguish on the Tree ; Yet, as from the beginning, to the ending Of Thy sad life, Thine own are dear to Thee, — And Thou wilt prove to them, ere Thou dost part. The untold love which fills Thy faithful heart. Meek Jesus ! to my soul. Thy spirit lending. Teach me to live, like Thee, in lowly love ; With humblest service all Thy saints befriending, Until I serve before Thy Throne above — GOOD FRIDAY 149 Yes ! serving e'en my foes, for Thou didst seek Tlie feet of Judas in Thy service meek. Daily my pilgrim feet, as homeward wending My weary way, are sadly stained with sin ; Daily do Thou, Thy precious grace expending, Wash me all clean without, and clean within. And make me fit to have a part with Thee And Thine, at last, in Heaven's festivity. O blessed name of Servant ! comprehending Man's highest honour in his humblest name ; For Thou, God's Christ, that office recommending, The throne of mighty power didst truly claim ; He who would rise like Thee, like Thee must owe His glory only to his stooping low. George W. Bethune GOOD FRIDAY WHEN scorn, and hate, and bitter envious pride Hurled all their darts against the Crucified, Found they no fault but this in Him so tried ? " He saved others ! " Those hands, thousands their heaUng touches knew; On withered limbs they fell like heavenly dew ; The dead have felt them and have lived anew : " He saved others ! " The blood is dropping slowly from them now ; Thou canst not raise them to Thy thorn-crown'd brow. Nor on them Thy parched lips and forehead bow : " He saved others ! " 150 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG That Voice from out their graves the dead hath stirred ; Crushed, outcast hearts, grew joyful as they heard ; For every woe it had a healing word : " He saved others ! " For all Thou hadst deep tones of sympathy — Hast Thou no word for this Thine agony ? Thou pitiedst all ; doth no man pity Thee ? " He saved others ! " So many fettered hearts Thy touch hath freed, Physician ! and Thy wound unstanched must bleed ; Hast Thou no balm for this Thy sorest need ? " He saved others ! " Lord ! and one sign from Thee could rend the sky. One word from Thee, and low those mockers lie ; Thou mak'st no movement, utterest no cry. And savest us. Elizabeth Rundle Charles JESUS ! gentle Sufferer, say, How shall we this dreadful day Near Thee draw, and to Thee pray ? We, whose proneness to forget Thy dear love, on Olivet Bathed Thy brow with bloody sweat ; We, whose sins, with awful power, Like a cloud did o'er Thee lower, In that God-excluding hour ; EASTER EVE 151 We, who still, in thought and deed, Often hold the bitter reed To Thee, in Thy time of need, — Canst Thou pardon us, and pray. As for those who on this day Took Thy precious life away ? Yes ! Thy Blood is all my plea ; It was shed, and shed for me, Therefore to Thy Cross I flee. At Thy feet, in dust and shame, I dare breathe Thy holy Name, And a great salvation claim. Save me, Jesus : stoop and take Pity on my soul, and make This day bright, for Thy dear sake. John S. B. Monsell EASTER EVE I SAW two women weeping by the tomb Of One new buried, in a fair green place Bowered with shrubs ; — the eve retained no trace Of aught that day performed, — but the faint gloom Of dying day was spread upon the sky ; — The moon was broad and bright above the wood ; — The distance sounded of a multitude. Music and shout and mingled revelry. At length came gleaming through the thicket shade Helmet and casque — and a steel-armed band 152 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Watched round the sepulchre in solemn stand ; The night-word passed, from man to man conveyed And I could see those women rise and go Under the dark trees moving sad and slow. Henry Alford EASTER DAY AWAKE, glad soul ! awake ! awake ! Thy Lord hath risen long, Go to His grave, and with thee take Both tuneful heart and song ; Where life is waking all around, Where love's sweet voices sing. The first bright Blossom may be found Of an Eternal Spring. O Love ! which lightens all distress, Love, death cannot destroy : O Grave ! whose very emptiness To Faith is full of joy; Let but that Love our hearts supply From Heaven's exhaustless Spring, Then, Grave, where is thy victory ? And, Death, where is thy sting? The shade and gloom of life are fled This Resurrection-day ; Henceforth in Christ are no more dead, The grave hath no more prey : In Christ we live, in Christ we sleep. In Christ we wake and rise ; And the sad tears death makes us weep, He wipes from all our eyes. EASTER DAY 153 And every bird and every tree And every opening flower , Proclaim His glorious victory, ', His resurrection-power : The folds are glad, the fields rejoice. With vernal verdure spread ; The little hills lift up their voice, And shout that Death is dead. Then wake, glad heart ! awake ! awake ! And seek thy risen Tord, Joy in His Resurrection take. And comfort in His Word ; And let thy life, through all its ways, One long thanksgiving be. Its theme of joy, its song of praise, "Christ died, and rose for me." John S. B. Monsell HE is risen. He is risen, Tell it with a joyful voice, He has burst His three days' prison, Let the whole wide earth rejoice ; Death is conquered, man is free, Christ has won the victory. Tell it to the sinners, weeping Over deeds in darkness done, Weary fast and vigil keeping, Brightly breaks their Easter sun : Blood can wash all sins away, Christ has conquered hell to-day. Come, ye sad and fearful hearted, With glad smile and radiant brow ; 154 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Lent's long shadows have departed, All His woes are over now, And the Passion that He bore ; Sin and pain can vex no more. Come, with high and holy hymning Chant our Lord's triumphant lay ; Not one darksome cloud is dimming Yonder glorious morning ray Breaking o'er the purple East ; Brighter far our Easter feast. He is risen, He is risen. He has ope'd the eternal gate ; We are free from sin's dark prison. Risen to a holier state. And a brighter Easter beam On our longing eyes shall stream. Cecil Frances Alexander MONDAY IN EASTER WEEK AWAKE, thou wintry earth. Fling off thy sadness ; Fair vernal flowers laugh forth Your ancient gladness : Christ is risen. Wave, woods, your blossoms all. Grim Death is dead ; Ye weeping funeral trees. Lift up your head. Christ is risen. TUESDAY IN EASTER WEEK 155 Come, see, the graves are green ; It is light ; let us go Where our loved ones rest In hope below. Christ is risen. All is fresh and new, Full of spring and light j Wintry heart, why wearest the hue Of sleep and night ? Christ is risen. Leave thy cares beneath. Leave thy worldly love ; Begin the better life With God above. Christ is risen. Thomas Blackburne TUESDAY IN EASTER WEEK WHY for thy Lord dost thou thus weep and mourn Like one half broken-hearted and forlorn ? No need for Him that thou shouldst mourn and weep, No need with tears an empty shroud to steep. He Whom thou seekest in the murky tomb Hath sprung bright and victorious from the gloom ; He lives, He greatly lives for evermore ; See open wide the rock's sepulchral door ! iS6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Why bring'st thou myrrh and spices, offerings meet For paUid corpses in their winding sheet ? His Body blooms with immortaHty, Meet to return to His paternal sky. Thy tears proclaim the greatness of thy love, Nor doth thy Lord thy streaming tears reprove ; Hear'st thou? and know'st thou not that voice adored ? 'Tis thine own name ! He speaks— thy God and Lord. Now go first witness and first messenger : Throughout the city thy glad tidings bear, And tell the twelve that Christ Himself is nigh, And, wheresoe'er thou speakest, standing by. Isaac Williams WEDNESDAY IN EASTER WEEK TO Him, Who for our sins was slain, To Him, for all His dying pain, Sing we Hallelujah ! To Him, the Lamb our sacrifice, Who gave His soul our ransom-price. Sing we Hallelujah ! To Him, Who died that we might die To sin, and live with Him on high. Sing we Hallelujah ! To Him, Who rose that we might rise And reign with Him beyond the skies. Sing we Hallelujah ! THURSDAY IN EASTER WEEK 157 To Him, Who now for us doth plead, And helpeth us in all our need, • Sing we Hallelujah ! To Him, Who doth prepare on high Our home in immortality. Sing we Hallelujah ! To Him be glory evermore ; Ye heavenly hosts, your Lord adore ; Sing we Hallelujah ! To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, One God most great, our joy and boast. Sing we Hallelujah ! Arthur Tozer Russell THURSDAY IN EASTER WEEK ON the Cross we saw Him dying, Saw Him mid the spices lying. Saw the nail-prints, and the spear-wound, as we laid Him in the tomb ; And we wept in anguish weary Through the Sabbath dim and dreary. And our souls were heavy-laden with the horror and the gloom. Oh the rush of joy returning ! Oh our hearts within us burning Very early in the morning, at the rosy dawn of day ! Is it true. Oh starry Angel Herald of the great Evangel ? Mary, Peter, Holy Women — did ye see Him as ye say ? 158 CHURCFIMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Yea, we saw Him with us walking, Heard Him in the twilight talking, Saw Him by the grassy margent of the misty silver sea : Saw Him — we, the loved Eleven, Gathered in the solemn Even, Saw Him — the five hundred brethren — on the hill of GaHlee. Christ is risen ! He is risen ! He hath left the rocky prison, And the white-robed Angels glimmer mid the cerements of His grave ; He hath smitten with His thunder Every gate of brass asunder. He hath burst the iron fetters — irresistible to save ! Oh the gladness and the glory Of the blessed Easter story ! Oh the quick electric thrilling of the Pentecostal flame ! Death of death, of life the Giver, Reign, oh Victor King, for ever ! Lowly we Thy sons adore Thee ! Glory, Glory to Thy Name ! Frederick William Farrar FRIDAY IN EASTER WEEK IT happen'd on a solemn eventide, Soon after He that was our Surety died. Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined. The scene of all those sorrows left behind. Sought their own village, busied as they went In musings worthy of the great event : SATURDAY IN EASTER WEEK 159 They spake of Him they loved, of Him Whose Hfe, Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife. Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, A deep memorial graven on their hearts. The recollection, like a vein of ore. The farther traced, enrich'd them still the more ; They thought Him, and they justly thought Him, One Sent to do more than He appear'd to have done ; To exalt a people, and to place them high Above all else, and wonder'd He should die. Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, A Stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend, And ask'd them, with a kind engaging air. What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. Inform'd, He gather'd up the broken thread. And, truth and wisdom gracing all He said, Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well The tender theme on which they chose to dwell, That, reaching home, the night, they said, is near. We must not now be parted, sojourn here. — The new acquaintance soon became a guest. And made so welcome at their simple feast, He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word, And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord ! Did not our hearts feel all He deign'd to say. Did they not burn within us by the way ? William Cowper SATURDAY IN EASTER WEEK NOW theirs was converse such as it behoves Man to maintain, and such as God approves : Their views indeed were indistinct and dim. But yet successful, being aim'd at Him. i6o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Christ and His character their only scope, Their object, and their subject, and their hope. They felt what it became them much to feel, And, wanting Him to loose the sacred seal, Found Him as prompt, as their desire was true, To spread the new-born glories in their view. Well — what are ages and the lapse of time Match'd against truths as lasting as sublime ? Can length of years on God Himself exact, Or make that fiction which was once a fact ? No — marble and recording brass decay. And, like the graver's memory, pass away ; The works of man inherit, as is just, Their author's frailty, and return to dust ; Their truth divine for ever stands secure, Its head is guarded as its base is sure ; Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years The pillar of the eternal plan appears, The raving storm and dashing wave defies, Built by that Architect Who built the skies. Hearts may be found that harbour at this hour That love of Christ in all its quickening power ; And lips unstain'd by folly or by strife, Whose wisdom, drawn from the deep well of life, Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows A Jordan for the ablution of our woes. William Cowper THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER V^HEN Royal Truth, released from mortal throes, ^ ' Burst His brief slumber, and triumphant rose, 111 had the Holiest sued A patron multitude, FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER i6i Or courted Tetrarch's eye, or claimed to rule By the world's winning grace, or proofs from learned school. But robing Him in viewless air. He told His secret to a few of meanest mould ; They in their turn imparted The gift to men pure-hearted. While the brute many heard His mysteries high. As some strange fearful tongue, and crouched they knew not why. Still is the might of Truth, as it has been : Lodged in the few, obeyed, and yet unseen. Reared on lone heights, and rare. His Saints their watch-flame bear, And the mad world sees the wide-circling blaze, Vain-searching whence it streams, and how to quench its rays. John Henry Newman WEEK OF THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER MONDAY WHY art Thou not, O Saviour, here. As midst the Apostles' band Thou wast ? They need Thee not in loftier sphere. With all their cares and sorrows past ; But here we wish Thee every day, To come, and, " Peace be with you," say. L i62 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Why is this whirl in heart and brain, When but Thy word the whole could calm ? Why all this weakness felt, and pain, When Thou couldst yield both strength and balm? "If Thou hadst but been here," we cry, " Cause had not come to faint or sigh." O Saviour, feeble flesh cries out For something which with sense agrees ; Still it renews the Apostle's doubt. Because it handles not, nor sees ; Forgetting what a boon receives He who, though seeing not, believes. E'en when Thy death hath paid our debt, Saviour, to us, as those of old. Thou prov'st a Master absent yet. Though from the tomb the stone be rolled : Near us Thou art, yet mak'st appear Only at times Thy Presence clear. Lord Kinloch TUESDAY LORD, with what courage and delight I do each thing. When Thy least breath sustains my wing ! I shine and move Like those above, And, with much gladness Quitting sadness. Make me fair days of every night. Affliction thus mere pleasure is : And hap what will, FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 163 If Thou be in't, 'tis welcome still. But since Thy rays In sunny days Thou thus dost lend, And freely spend, Ah ! what shall I return for this ? O that I were all soul ! that Thou Wouldst make each part Of this poor sinful frame pure heart ! Then would I drown My single one ; And to Thy praise A concert raise Of Alleluias here below. Henry Vaughan WEDNESDAY SPRING is but another birth, From the grave of earlier springs, Which to renovated earth Other resurrection brings. God hath moulded all that God's Power could mould, from mortal dust ; Flowers and fruits, from clouds and clods. Life from ruin and from rust. 'Twas a wondrous hand that laid In the seed the unborn tree ; Bud and blossom in the blade, Future ripened fruit to be. 1 64 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Still more wondrous was the might That, from night's obscurest shrine, Brought forth intellectual light. Souls with thoughts and hopes divine. Yes ? 'twas a transcendent power Which, for earth's contracted whole, Gave to Heaven a worthy dower, Gave an ever-living soul. Less than earth to Heaven, and less Than to ages moments seem. Is the world we now possess, To the world of which we dream. Earthly love is faint and small, ^ When compared with the embrace Of a love encircling all. Through all time and o'er all space. Sir John Bowring THURSDAY LIGHT of the better morning, Shine down on me ! Sun of the brighter Heaven, Bid darkness flee ! Thy warmth impart To this dull heart : Pour in Thy light. And let this night Be turned to day By Thy mild ray ! Lord Jesus, come. Thou Day-star, shine. FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 165 Enlighten now This soul of mine 1 Streaks of the better dawning Break on my sight, Fringing with silver edges These clouds of night. Gems on morn's brow, Glow, brightly glow, Foretelling soon The ascending noon, Wakening this earth To second birth, When He shall come To earth again, Who comes to judge. Who comes to reign. HORATIUS BONAR FRIDAY MY God, I thank Thee, Who hast made The Earth so bright ; So full of splendour and of joy, Beauty and light ; So many glorious things are here Noble and right ! I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made Joy to abound ; So many gentle thoughts and deeds Circling us round, That in the darkest spot of Earth Some love is found. I thank Thee more that all our joy Is touched with pain ; 66 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG That shadows fall on brightest hours ; That thorns remain ; So that Earth's bliss may be our guide, And not our chain. For Thou Who knowest, Lord, how soon Our weak heart clings, Hast given us joys, tender and true, Yet all with wings. So that we see, gleaming on high. Diviner things ! I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept The best in store ; We have enough, yet not too much To long for more : A yearning for a deeper peace. Not known before. I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls. Though amply blest. Can never find, although they seek, A perfect rest, — Nor ever shall, until they lean On Jesus' breast ! Adelaide Anne Procter SATURDAY OT as a fallen stone, Abiding where it hath been flung, Did Christ remain the dead among, But sprang from Hades' deep invisible zone. As the corn springs from where it has been thrown ! N SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 167 Not, as at Nain of yore The young man rose to die again, Did He resume the haunts of men, But closed behind Him Death's reluctant door And triumphed on to live for evermore ! Not, as we spend our days, Subject to sorrows, pains, and fears, Does He persist a Man of tears ; Henceforth He feels no touch of our decays, But inexpressive joy in all His ways ! Not for Himself alone He fought, and won that glorious life : For us He conquered in the strife. That we might make His victory our own, And rise with Him before the Father's Throne ! Thus hath the Saviour brought Our immortality to light ! O may He tarry in our sight, }^ That, clinging fast to Him with every thought. We may partake the triumph He has wrought ! ' G. T. S. Farquhar THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came, Her father's God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame. 1 68 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG By day, along the astonished lands The cloudy pillar glided slow ; By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands Returned the fiery column's glow. There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answered keen ; And Zion's daughters poured their lays, With priest's and warrior's voice between. No portents now our foes amaze, Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; Our fathers would not know Thy ways, And Thou hast left them to their own. But, present still, though now unseen, When brightly shines the prosperous day. Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen. To temper the deceitful ray, And oh, when stoops on Judah's path In shade and storm the frequent night, Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, A burning and a shining light. Our harps we left by Babel's streams. The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ; No censer round our altar beams. And mute are timbrel, trump, and horn. But Thou hast said. The blood of goat. The flesh of rams, I will not prize ; A contrite heart, a humble thought. Are Mine accepted sacrifice. Sir Walter Scott SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 169 WEEK OF THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER MONDAY OLORD, our Lord, in all the earth How bright Thy Name, how high ! Thou Who hast pour'd Thy glory forth Beyond th' eternal sky. By lips that hang upon the breast Thou hast ordain'd Thee might For war, to lay the foe to rest, And still th' avenger's spite. When gazing on the Heavens, I see The work of Thine own hand, The moon and stars, array'd by Thee In order as they stand ; What is frail man, for Thee to bear In memory and in mind ? Or wherefore visit with Thy care The child of base mankind ? Thou sett'st him where is Httle space 'Twixt him and Powers divine. With glory crovvn'st him, and with grace, O'er every work of Thine. His is the sway : the Word from Thee Put all beneath his feet. Both flock and herd, yea wild beast free, And fowls of Heaven so fleet, I70 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And fishes of the sea, whate'er GHdes deep in ocean ways. — Oj Lord, our Lord, how dread and fair In all the earth Thy praise ! John Keble TUESDAY KNOW well, my soul, God's hand controls Whate'er thou fearest ; Round Him in calmest music rolls Whate'er thou hearest. What to thee is shadow, to Him is day, And the end He knoweth, And not on a blind and aimless way The spirit goeth. Man sees no future — a phantom show Is alone before him : Past Time is dead and the grasses grow, And flowers bloom o'er him. Nothing before, nothing behind ; The steps of Faith Fall on the seeming void, and find The rock beneath. The Present, the Present is all thou hast For thy sure possessing ; Like the patriarch's Angel, hold it fast Till it gives its blessing. Why fear the night ? why shrink from Death ? That phantom wan ? There is nothing in Heaven or earth beneath, Save God and man. SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 171 Peopling the shadows we turn from Him And from one another ; All is spectral, and vague, and dim. Save God and our brother ! John Greenleaf Whittier WEDNESDAY GOD might have made the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak tree and the cedar tree, Without a flower at all. He might have made enough, enough For every want of ours. For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have made no flowers. The clouds might give abundant rain, The nightly dews might fall, And the herb that keepeth life in man Might yet have drunk them all. Then wherefore, wherefore were they made. And dyed with rainbow light. All fashion'd with supremest grace, Upspringing day and night ? Springing in valleys green and low. And on the mountains high ; And in the silent wilderness, Where no man passes by ? Our outward life requires them not, Then, wherefore had they birth ? 172 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth : To comfort man — to whisper hope, Whene'er his faith is dim ; For Who so careth for the flower Will much more care for him ! Mary Howitt THURSDAY SOURCE of my life ! to Thee my grateful soul Renews her wonted flight, and soars above. Where, loosen'd from earth's bondage, care's control, She drinks the springs of speechless joy and love ! How full the draught ! Upborne on faith's strong wings. She mounts, nor heeds th' encumbering load of clay, Ascending far above earth's loftiest things. Catching the light of Heaven's unclouded day. Fountain of light to that all blissful sphere ! Thy beams dispel the darkness of my heart At this far distance : who shall then declare What they receive who see Thee as Thou art ! O God, our Saviour ! if below Thy light, Caught by my heart, sin's darkest shades dispel. Oh, then what ecstasy pervades their sight. Whose robes reflect the beams in which they dwell. SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 173 Shine, ever shine, more brightly constant shine, To point, to comfort, to make safe our way ; Absent, we differ, murmur, and repine. Our fallen nature's unresisted prey ! Gilbert N. Smith FRIDAY O HEAVEN ! Sweet Heaven ! the home of the blest. Where hearts once in trouble are ever at rest ; Where eyes that could see not rejoice in the light, And beggars made princes are walking in white. O Heaven ! Sweet Heaven ! the mansion of love. Where Christ in His beauty shines forth from above. The Lamb with His sceptre, to charm and control, And love is the sea that encircles the whole. O Heaven ! Sweet Heaven ! where purity reigns. Where error disturbs not, and sin never stains ; Where holiness robes in its garments so fair The great multitude that is worshipping there. O Heaven ! Sweet Heaven ! where music ne'er dies. But rich pealing anthems of glory arise ; Where saints with one feeling of rapture are stirred. And loud hallelujahs for ever are heard. O Heaven ! Sweet Heaven ! where friends neve part. But cords of true friendship bind firmly the heart ; 174 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Where farewell shall never more fall on the ear, Nor eyes that have sorrowed be dimmed with a tear. Edwin H. Nevin SATURDAY NOTHING resting in its own completeness Can have worth or beauty : but alone Because it leads and tends to farther sweetness, Fuller, higher, deeper than its own. Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning. Gracious though it be, of her blue hours ; But is hidden in her tender leaning To the summer's richer wealth of flowers. Dawn is fair because the mists fade slowly Into day, which floods the world with light ; Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy, Just because it ends in starry night. Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow From strife, that in a far-ofi" future lies ; And Angel glances (veiled now by life's sorrow) Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes. Life is only bright when it proceedeth Towards a truer, deeper life above ; Human love is sweetest when it leadeth To a more divine and perfect love. Learn the mystery of progression duly, Do not call each glorious change, decay ; But know we only hold our treasures truly When it seems as if they passed away ; THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 175 Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness ; In that want their beauty lies : they roll Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness, Bearing onwards man's reluctant soul. Adelaide Anne Procter THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER THROUGH many a far and foreign land, With weary feet, and garment rent, And sandal laced, and staff in hand, The home-bound pilgrim went ; He passed by many a garden fair, He looked on many a lordly dome, But ever whispered, passing there, " I seek my Father's home." He lingered not where thousand charms Wooed him from bank and sunny bower ; He turned not back when night's alarms Did all around him lour ; Yet gratefully he plucked some flowers That blossomed brightly at his feet, He knew, to cheer his travel hours, That God had made them meet ; And when sharp thorns before him lay, And rugged was the narrow road, He did not seek another way, But bravely onward strode. 176 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Children, all Christians here on earth, Where'er their weary footsteps roam, Whate'er their place, or state, or birth. Are pilgrims going home. The world shall tempt with vain delight. Shall try them with contempt and scorn, They must not think her flowers too bright, Nor tremble at her thorn. If doing right seem hard and stern. They must not shrink and turn away, But take their Master's Cross, and learn To bear it, day by day. Thus praising God for all things sweet And bright, that He on earth has given, With watchful prayer their pilgrim feet Must hasten on to Heaven. Cecil Frances Alexander WEEK OF THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER MONDAY ALL flesh is grass, and all its glory fades Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind ; Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream ; The man we celebrate must find a tomb. And we that worship him, ignoble graves. — Nothing is proof against the general curse THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 177 Of vanity, that seizes all below. The only amaranthine flower on earth Is virtue ; the only lasting treasure, truth. But what is truth ? Twas Pilate's question put To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply. And wherefore ? will not God impart His light To them that ask it? — Freely — 'tis His joy, His glory, and His nature to impart. But to the proud, uncandid, insincere, Or neghgent inquirer, not a spark. What's that which brings contempt upon a book. And him who writes it, though the style be neat, The method clear, and argument exact ? That makes a minister in holy things The joy of many, and the dread of more, His name a theme for praise and for reproach ? That while it gives us worth in God's account, Depreciates and undoes us in our own ? What pearl is it that rich men cannot buy. That learning is too proud to gather up. But which the poor, and the despised of all Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ? Tell me, and I will tell thee, what is truth. William Cowper TUESDAY OH for the peace which flowetfa as a river. Making Hfe's desert places bloom and smile ! Oh for the faith to grasp Heaven's bright "for ever," Amid the shadows of earth's "little while." " A little while," for patient vigil-keeping, To face the stern, to wrestle with the strong ; ** A little while," to sow the seed with weeping, Then bind the sheaves, and sing the harvest-song. M 178 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG *' A little while," to wear the weeds of sadness, To pace with weary step through miry ways ; Then to pour forth the fragrant oil of gladness. And clasp the girdle round the robe of praise. " A little while," midst shadow and illusion, To strive, by faith, love's mysteries to spell ; Then read each dark enigma's bright solution, Then hail sight's verdict, "He doth all things well." " A little while," the earthen pitcher taking To wayside brooks, from far-off fountains fed ; Then the cool lip its thirst for ever slaking Beside the fulness of the Fountain Head. "A Httle while," to keep the oil from failing, " A little while," faith's flickering lamp to trim ; And then, the Bridegroom's coming footsteps hailing. To haste to meet Him with the bridal hymn. And He, Who is Himself the Gift and Giver, The future glory and the present smile. With the bright promise of the glad " for ever " Will light the shadows of the "little while." Jane Crewdson WEDNESDAY OH, weak are my best thoughts and poor Is all that I can say. Whether I lift my voice in praise Or kneel me down to pray : THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 179 Wherefore I thank Thee, gracious Lord, Whose love provides for me A higher and more perfect way Of drawing nigh to Thee — The way of sacrifice — ordained When earth was in its prime ; Used by the hoary Patriarchs All through the olden time ; To Israel's children in the Law Of trembling Sinai given ; To us in later days confirmed By Christ Himself from Heaven. O sweet ecstatic thought ! 'tis mine To offer as of yore A Sacrifice, and one in power Excelling all before ; For me upon an Altar fair Is pleaded, day by day, The Body and the Blood of Him Whom Heaven and earth obey : And as the scarcely buoyant plank, Knit in the vessel's side. With ease careers across the waves O'er leagues of ocean wide, So too, though weak my prayer, O Lord, Though poor my praises be, Yet, knit with this high Sacrifice, They win their way to Thee. Edward Caswall THURSDAY THE more we live, more brief appear Our life's succeeding stages : A day to childhood seems a year. And years like passing ages. i8o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG The gladsome current of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But as the care-worn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker. Ye Stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker ? When joys have lost their bloom and breath, And life itself is vapid, Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, Feel we its tide more rapid ? It may be strange — yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone And left our bosoms bleeding ? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness ; And those of youth, a seeming length Proportion'd to their sweetness. Thomas Campbeli. FRIDAY DO not cheat thy Heart and tell her, " Grief will pass away ; Hope for fairer times in future And forget to-day." — Tell her, if you will, that sorrow Need not come in vain ; Tell her that the lesson taught her Far outweighs the pain. THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EASTER i8i Cheat her not with the old comfort, " Soon she will forget," — Bitter truth, alas, — but matter Rather for regret ; Bid her not "Seek other pleasures, Turn to other things : " — Rather nurse the caged sorrow Till the captive sings. Rather bid her go forth bravely, And the stranger greet ; Not as foe, with spear and buckler. But as dear friends meet ; Bind her with a strong clasp, hold her By her dusky wings — Listening for the murmured blessing Sorrow always brings. Adelaide Anne Procter SATURDAY LOOK up ; the rainy heavens withdraw. Light flows anew at ebb of day ; Look, and believe the gracious law, That love shall have the final sway. The grass is of a perfect green. Dappled with shades this pleasant hour ; The garden walk is crisp and clean ; Wind shakes the tears from bough and flower. Its finest life is in the air. Its finest lustre in the light ; And see ! the drifting clouds of care Are touched with glory in their flight. i82 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG In such an hour is understood The sacred mystery of woe ; We feel a life divinely good Within us rise, around us flow : A spirit tranquil as of one Who finds in happy languor rest, Sore wearied with his work well done, But through well-doing richly blest : A spirit as of one who broods Of sorrows ceased but unforgot ; Whose heart, like heaven, the rainiest moods Leave softer, and without a blot. Come, holy peace, when evening's flame Burns in the west intensely still. Come, kindling salutary shame For half- won good, half- vanquished ill. Thomas Toke Lynch THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER HE loved His own unto the end," And asked their love ; He said, " I call you each My friend, And not My servant ; and I send One from above. Who shall reveal such grace and truth to you As in My sojourn here ye never knew." " But why depart? " they cry, " why will To leave us here ? Thou sayest that Thou dost love us still : (( FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 183 Can it be love if thus Thou fill Our cup of fear ? O Master, Master, should'st Thou now depart All sorrow needs must overwhelm our heart ! " Yet it is love : He said, " I go ; For could I stay, Your earth-bound thoughts would never know Love's fullest mysteries, which flow From Me alway ; My human heart might linger with you yet, But now affections must on Heaven be set. You could not know Me more, unless My Spirit came And taught the ways of righteousness. How sin and judgment to confess. How learn to blame All clinging to inferior things of earth, Blind to the glory of your heavenly birth. "My peace I leave with you, but not As this world gives ; My Spirit comes to you, yet what He teaches shows no earthly lot ; He ever lives. The world must learn. I hear the Father's call Away from earth ! — Awhile I leave you all. " Arise ! let us go hence." He rose, And, as He spake, Calmly He moved, as one who knows The coming onset of his foes. The night winds shake With distant sounds, as through the olive grove " Let us depart," is echoed from above. William Josiah Irons i84 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG WEEK OF THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER MONDAY THE world's a floor, whose swelling heaps retain The mingled wages of the ploughman's toil ; The world's a heap, whose yet unwinnow'd grain Is lodged with chaff and buried in her soil ; All things are mix'd, the useful with the vain ; The good with bad, the noble with the vile ; The world's an ark, wherein things pure and gross Present their lossful gain, and gainful loss Where ev'ry pound of gold contains a pound of dross. The worldly wisdom of the foolish man Is like a sieve, that does alone retain The grosser substance of the worthless bran : But thou, my soul, let thy brave thoughts disdain So coarse a purchase : O be thou a fan To purge the chaff, and keep the winnow'd grain; Make clean thy thoughts, and dress thy mix'd desires : Thou art Heav'n's tasker ; and thy God requires The purest of thy flow'r, as well as of thy fires. Let grace conduct thee to the paths of peace. And wisdom bless the soul's unblemish'd ways ; No matter, then, how short or long's the lease. Whose date determines thy self-number'd days : No need to care for wealth's or fame's increase, FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 185 Nor Mars his palm, nor high Apollo's bays. Lord, if Thy gracious bounty please to fill The floor of my desires, and teach me skill To dress and choose the corn, take those the chaif that will. Francis Quarles TUESDAY MERCY and Truth my song would be ; To Thee, O Lord, I pour my lay; Mine be the wise true heart, to see The sure and perfect way. When wilt Thou come where I abide ? Lo ! in my house with perfect heart I walk ; nor have I wistful ey'd The worthless, evil part. I hate their work, who swerve to ill ; No spot of theirs on me be thrown ! Avaunt, I say, thou froward will, No sinner I will own. Who on his neighbour's name aside Breathes slander, him I silence quite ; The haughty eye, the heart of pride, I bear not in my sight. Mine eyes the loyal of my land Have mark'd, with me to dwell in love ; Who walks entire on either hand, My servant he shall prove. 1 86 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG No fraud shall lurk beneath my roof, No false one find a home with me, The lying tongue must keep aloof. Nor rest where I may see. No miscreant in the land, but I Will root him out ere morning prime, Till from Thy city, Lord Most High, I tear the brood of crime. John Keble WEDNESDAY O HALLOWED memories of the past. Ye legends old and fair, Still be your light upon us cast, Your music on the air, In vain shall men deny, Or bid your mission cease. While stars yet prophesy Of love, and hope, and peace. For hearts the beautiful that feel, Whose pulse of love beats strong. The opening heavens new light reveal, Glory to God, their song. While bursts confession forth. That, since the world began. No miracle on earth E'er match'd the heart of man. And while from out our dying dust Light more than life doth stream. We bless the faith that bids us trust The Heaven that we dream. FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 187 In death there is no fear, There's radiance through the gloom, While love and hope are here, The Angels of the tomb. Then, hallowed memories of the past, Or legends old and fair, Still be your light upon us cast. Your music on the air, In vain shall man deny, Or bid your mission cease ; The stars yet prophesy Of love, and hope, and peace. Sarah F. Adams THURSDAY TIRED " !— Well, what of that ? Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease, Fluttering the rose-leaves scattered by the breeze ? Come, rouse thee ! work while it is called to-day ; Coward, arise ! go forth upon thy way ! " Lonely " !— And what of that ? Some must be lonely ! 'tis not given to all To feel a heart responsive rise and fall. To blend another's life into our own ; — Work may be done in loneliness. Work on ! " Dark " !— Well, what of that ? Didst fondly dream the sun would never set ? Dost fear to lose thy way ? Take courage yet ! Learn thou to walk by faith, and not by sight, — Thy steps will guided be, and guided right. 1 88 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG " Hard " !— Well, what of that ? Didst fancy life a summer holiday, With lessons none to learn, and naught but play ? Go, get thee to thy task ! Conquer or die ! It must be learned. Learn it then, patiently. " No help " !— Nay, 'tis not so ! Though human help be far, thy God is nigh ; Who feeds the ravens, hears His children's cry. He's near thee wheresoe'er thy footsteps roam. And He will guide thee, light thee, help thee home. FRIDAY ALL round the rolling world, both night and day, A ceaseless voice ascends from those who pray: " Thy will be done on earth, as now in Heaven ; Unto our souls a perfect choice be given." All round the rolling world, both night and day, A ceaseless answer comes to those who pray ; By shattered hopes, crossed plans, and fruitless pains, Thy heavenly Master thine allegiance trains. Guessing some portion of His great design. Thou seek'st to forward it by ways of thine ; He Who the whole disposes as is meet, Sees a necessity for thy defeat. Yet to the faithful there is no such thing As disappointment ; failures only bring A gentle pang, as peacefully they say, "His purpose stands, though mine has passed away." FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER 189 All is fulfilling, all is working still, To teach thee flexibility of will ; To great achievements let thy wishes soar, Yet meek submission pleases Christ still more. When Love's long discipline is overpast, Thy will too shall be done with His at last. When all is perfected, and thou dost stand. Robed, crowned, and glorified at His right hand. C. M. Noel SATURDAY WHEN is Communion nearest? When blended anthems dearest? Is it where far away dim aisles prolong The cadence of the choral song ? Whose notes like waves in ocean. When all are heard, yet none, With ever upward surging motion Approach the Eternal Throne? Notes that would of madness tell, So keen they pierce, so high they swell ; But for Heaven's harmonious spell ; Keen to the listening ear, as to the sight The purest wintry star's intolerable light. Yet mild as evening gleams just melting into night. Or rather where soft soaring One silent heart adoring Loves o'er the stillness of the sick man's room To breathe intensest prayer's perfume. Whether calm rest be sealing The pained and wearied eyes. Or in high blended feeling Watcher and sufferer rise. I90 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Sweet the sleep, the waking dear, When the holy Church is near With mother's arms to hush and cheer. Seems it not then as though each prayer and psalm, Came like one message more from that far world of calm, And earnest of His love, Whose Blood is healing balm ? John Keble THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER WHEN prayer delights thee least, then learn to say. Soul, now is greatest need that thou should'st pray. Crooked and warped I am, and I would fain Straighten myself by thy right line again. O come, warm sun, and ripen my late fruits ; Pierce, genial showers, down to my parched roots. My well is bitter, cast therein the tree, That sweet henceforth its brackish waves may be. Say what is prayer, when it is prayer indeed ? The mighty utterance of a mighty need. The man is praying, who doth press with might Out of his darkness into God's own light. While heat the iron in the furnace won, Withdrawn from thence, 'twas cold and hard anon ROGATION MONDAY 191 Flowers from their stalks divided, presently Droop, fail, and wither in the gazer's eye. The greenest leaf divided from its stem, To speedy withering doth itself condemn. The largest river from its fountain head Cut off, leaves soon a parched and dusty bed. All things that live from God their sustenance wait, And sun and moon are beggars at His gate. All skirts extended of thy mantle hold, When Angel-hands from Heaven are scattering gold. Richard Chenevix Trench ROGATION MONDAY MOTHER ! with us the Lord doth bide ; Yet but a little while He stays,— Then for three dim and lonely days Why keep us from His side? When thou wert in thy virgin prime, Those forty days through all the earth Thy heart did swell with festal mirth — It was thy bridal time. " Talk not, my son, of early days : My precious stones were passing fair, My life was Sacrament and prayer, My unity was praise. 192 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG " These glories now are well-nigh past : My son ! the world is waxing strong ; The day is hot ; the fight is long, And therefore do I fast. " And ye are weak, and cannot bear Full forty days of Easter mirth : And nought is left unstained of earth, But penance, fast, and prayer. " Oh ! weary is my stay below ; And thus with strong and earnest cry, As each Ascension-day glides by, I fain with Him would go. " Then watch and fast, like saints of yore ; These three new days perchance may bring The earlier Advent of our King, And we shall fast no more ! " Frederick William Faber ROGATION TUESDAY UNANSWERED yet, the prayer your lips have pleaded, In agony of heart these many years ? Does faith begin to fail ? Is hope departing. And think you all in vain those falling tears ? Say not the Father hath not heard your prayer ; You shall have your desire sometime, somewhere. Unanswered yet, though when you first presented This one petition at the Father's Throne, ASCENSION EVE 193 It seemed you could not wait the time of asking, So urgent was your heart to have it known ? Though years have passed since then, do not despair ; The Lord will answer you sometime, somewhere. Unanswered yet ? Nay, do not say ungranted ; Perhaps your part is not yet wholly done ; The work began when first your prayer was uttered, And God will finish what He has begun. If you will keep the incense burning there, His glory you will see sometime, somewhere. Unanswered yet ? Faith cannot be unanswered, Her feet are firmly planted on the rock ; Amid the wildest storms she stands undaunted. Nor quails before the loudest thunder shock. She knows Omnipotence has heard her prayer, And cries, It shall be done — sometime, somewhere. ASCENSION EVE BREEZES of spring, all earth to life awaking, — Birds swiftly soaring through the sunny sky, — The butterfly its lonely prison breaking, — The seed upspringing, which had seemed to die, — Types such as these a word of hope have spoken, Have shed a gleam of light around the tomb ; But weary hearts longed for a surer token, A clearer ray, to dissipate its gloom. 194 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And this was granted ! See the Lord ascending, On crimson clouds of evening calmly borne, With hands outstretched, and looks of love still bending On His bereaved ones, who no longer mourn. " I am the Resurrection," hear Him saying ; " I am the Life ; He who believes in Me Shall never die, — the souls My call obeying, Soon, where I am, for evermore shall be." Sing Hallelujah ! light from Heaven appearing, The mystery of life and death is plain ; Now to the grave we can descend unfearing. In sure and certain hope to rise again ! Jane Borthwick ASCENSION DAY OSHOW me not my Saviour dying, As on the Cross He bled ; Nor in the tomb, a captive lying, For He has left the dead : Then bid me not that form extended For my Redeemer own, Who, to the highest heavens ascended, In glory fills the Throne. Weep not for Him at Calvary's station ; Weep only for thy sins. View where He lay with exultation, — 'Tis there our hope begins : FRIDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 195 Yet stay not there, thy sorrows feeding, Amid the scenes He trod ; Look up, and see Him interceding At the right hand of God. Still in the shameful Cross I glory, Where His dear blood was spilt ; For there the great Propitiatory Abolished all my guilt. Yet what, 'mid conflict and temptation, Shall strength and succour give ? He lives, the Captain of Salvation ; Therefore His servants live. By death, He death's dark king defeated. And overcame the grave ; Rising, the triumph He completed; He lives. He reigns to save. Heaven's happy myriads bow before Him ; He comes, the Judge of men ; These eyes shall see Him, and adore Him : Lord Jesus, own me then. JOSIAH CONDER FRIDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY • HE is gone — we heard Him say, " Good that I should go away " : Gone is that dear form and face, But not gone His present grace ; Though Himself no more we see. Comfortless we cannot be — No ! His Spirit still is ours, Quickening, freshening all our powers. 196 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG He is gone — towards their goal, World and Church must onward roll ; Far behind we leave the past ; Forward are our glances cast : Still His words before us range Through the ages, as they change : Wheresoe'er the truth shall lead, He will give whate'er we need. He is gone — but we once more Shall behold Him as before, In the Heaven of heavens the same As on earth He went and came. In the many mansions there, Place for us He will prepare : In that world, unseen, unknown. He and we may yet be one. He is gone — but, not in vain, Wait until He comes again : He is risen, He is not here ; Far above this earthly sphere : Evermore in heart and mind. Where our peace in Him we find, To our own Eternal Friend, Thitherward let us ascend. Arthur Penrhyn Stanley SATURDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY KING of kings, and wilt Thou deign O'er this wayward heart to reign ? Henceforth take it for Thy throne, Rule here. Lord, and rule alone. SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 197 Then, like Heaven's angelic bands, Waiting for Thine high commands, All my powers shall wait on Thee, Captive, yet divinely free. At Thy Word my will shall bow, Judgment, reason, bending low ; Hope, desire, and every thought. Into glad obedience brought. Zeal shall haste on eager wing, Hourly some new gift to bring ; Wisdom, humbly casting down At Thy feet her golden crown. Tuned by Thee in sweet accord, All shall sing their gracious Lord ; Love, the Leader of the choir. Breathing round her seraph fire. Be it so : my heart's Thy throne. All my powers Thy sceptre own. And, with them on Thine own hill. Live rejoicing in Thy will. W. A. Muhlenberg THE SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY " T OOK, Master ! See yon chariot all on fire -L' And spirit horses breathing flame and dread : Ah, woe is me ! Angelic powers conspire To snatch thee in a moment from my head ! O grant me, Lord, responsive to my vow, A double portion of Thy Spirit now ! 198 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG " And must I, then, deserted and alone, Whose help was found in thee (Elisha cried). Take up thy strenuous war with Israel's Throne, That scorns Jehovah in its boastful pride ? O grant 7ne, Lord^ responsive to my vow^ A double portion of Thy Spirit Jioiv ! " So too the Eleven, when they gazed on high, Felt, like the Prophet, separation's throe : The cloud, that hid the Saviour in the sky, Chilled with its gloom their loving hearts below ! Ah I grant them, Lord, responsive to their vow, A double portion of Thy Spirit now ! Earth's princes and the people of the Jews Hurling their threats add terror to their loss, And will the flock of orphaned tremblers choose To champion in the world the painful Cross ? Oh, grant them. Lord, responsive to their vow, A double portion of Thy Spirit now I Nor less to-day the Church prolongs the theme, Scanning with patience the celestial door ; Human in every part, can she redeem The whole wide world from shore to distant shore ? Oh, grant her. Lord, responsive to her vozv, A double portion of Thy Spirit now ! And I, too, watching fondly in my sphere. Till once again the closed Heavens are rife With signs of Thy return, am oft in fear Lest I betray the purpose of my life ! Oh, grant me, Lord, responsive to my vow, A double portion of Thy Spirit ?iow ! G. T. S. Farquhar SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 199 WEEK OF THE SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY MONDAY THOU bidd'st us " visit in distress The widow and the fatherless " ; And wilt Thou leave us comfortless ? Wilt Thou depart ? Wilt Thou, O Lord, Thy Church forsake ? Must she a widow's garments take? Wilt Thou Thy children orphans make? O grief of heart ! No : Christ will visit in distress The widow and the fatherless ; Seeming to leave you comfortless, He loves you most. For He departs, that He may send Another Comforter and Friend, To tarry with you till the end ; The Holy Ghost. At Thy first birth. Thou, Lord, didst wait, And forty days from it didst date, And then Thy Zion's temple gate Did welcome Thee. Old age with joy saw Thee appear. And widowhood found comfort there ; Perhaps the doves, then offered, were A prophecy. 20O CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And now the fortieth from Thy birth, To endless h*fe, from womb of earth, Will be a day of joy and mirth In realms above. For though Thy earthly course will end, To Zion's gates Thou wilt ascend, To be our great High Priest, and send The Heavenly Dove. Why then this sorrow and dismay ? 'Tis good that He should go away, He goes, that He for you may pray. And never cease ; He goes as Man, that you may see By faith His present Deity ; That here the Comforter may be, And give you peace ! Christopher Wordsworth TUESDAY '^■pHE Lord is King ! lift up thy voice, 1 O earth, and all ye Heavens rejoice ! From world to world the joy shall ring : The Lord Omnipotent is King. The Lord is King ! who then shall dare Resist His will, distrust His care, Or murmur at His wise decrees. Or doubt His royal promises? The Lord is King ! Child of the dust, The Judge of all the earth is just : SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 201 Holy and true are all His ways ; Let every creature speak His praise. He reigns ! Ye saints, exalt your strains ; Your God is King, your Father reigns ; And He is at the Father's side, The Man of Love, the Crucified. Come, make your wants, your burdens known, He will present them at the Throne ; And Angel-bands are waiting there, His messages of love to bear. Alike pervaded by His eye, All parts of His dominion lie ; This world of ours and worlds unseen. And thin the boundary between. One Lord, one empire, all secures : He reigns, — and life and death are yours. Through earth and Heaven one song shall ring, The Lord Omnipotent is King. JOSIAH CONDER WEDNESDAY H IS eye toward the promised land, Submiss and gentle, see him stand. Bent o'er his gifted rod : Meek amid such magnificence Of certain power, his heart intense With faith, and love, and reverence, He worshipped the true God. 202 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG That God had known him face to face, Had showered upon his spirit, grace. Upon his features, light : By him, the Lord of hosts had wrought His signs and wonders, while He brought His people home ; by Moses, taught His covenant. His might. Hard by flowed Jordan ; Moses heard In meekness, and obeyed God's word, His thrilling chant rung high : And forth the camp, calm and content, His eye not dim, his strength not spent, From Moab's plain the prophet went Up Nebo's steep to die. No mortal ear drank his last breath No mortal eye beheld his death ; He died on Abarim : His grave, no mortal mourners tend : His God was with him, as his friend. Was comforting his latter end. Now, ever blesses him. THURSDAY WHAT a world with all its sorrows ! What a scene, would it but stay ; What an earth, if all its morrows Were as fair as this " to-day " ! When earth's summer-pulse is beating With the fever-fire of June, SUNDAY AFTER ASCENSION DAY 203 And the flowers fling up their greeting, Quivering to the joyous noon : When the streamlet, smihng gladly, Hurries calmly, brightly by. Not a voice around speaks sadly, Not a murmur nor a sigh. Sunbeams, with their fond caresses. Smooth each rosebud's velvet fold. Lingering in the glowing tresses Of yon rich laburnum's gold. Nature all its gay adorning Opens to the day's bright bliss. Like a child at early morning. Wakened by its mother's kiss. What a world ! when all its sorrow Shall for ever pass away ! What an earth ! when each "to-morrow" Shall be fairer than "to-day." HORATIUS BONAR FRIDAY IT is not Heaven alone, Which godliness attains ; It makes as much its own The best of worldly gains : Since out of all on earth it draws The ore which of its worth is cause. From godliness there flows A current of content : 204 CHURCHMAN'STREASURY OF SONG And ill to blessing grows, By thought of blessing meant : Each lot as sent by God it holds ; And each a bounty straight unfolds. It keeps the mind from wrong, And so of peace secure ; It keeps the body strong, Because it keeps it pure : And hath enough, on which to wait The heirship of a large estate. And thus a double bliss To godliness pertains : The world which present is. And that to come it gains : The earthly good is Heaven's begun ; The promise rolls the two in one. Lord Kinloch WHITSUN EVE COME, Holy Spirit, from above, And from the realms of light and love Thine own bright rays impart. Come, Father of the fatherless, Come, Giver of all happiness, Come, Lamp of every heart. O Thou, of comforters the best, O Thou, the soul's most welcome guest, O Thou, our sweet repose. Our resting-place from life's long care, Our shadow from the world's fierce glare. Our solace in all woes. WHITSUN DAY 205 O Light Divine, all light excelling, Fill with Thyself the inmost dwelling Of souls sincere and lowly ; Without Thy pure Divinity, Nothing in all humanity. Nothing is strong or holy. Wash out each dark and sordid stain, Water each dry and arid plain, Raise up the bruised reed, Enkindle what is cold and chill, Relax the stiff and stubborn will, Guide those that guidance need. Give to the good who find in Thee The Spirit's perfect liberty. Thy sevenfold power and love. Give virtue strength its crown to win, Give struggling souls their rest from sin. Give endless peace above. Arthur Penrhyn Stanley WHITSUN DAY 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 temples worthy Thee. O source of uncreated light, Thy Father's promis'd Paraclete ! Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire. Our hearts with heavenly love inspire, 2o6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG 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 does Heaven and earth command, Proceeding Spirit, our defence, Who dost the gift of tongues dispense, And crown'st Thy gifts 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 practise all that we believe. Give us Thyself, that we may see The Father and the Son by Thee. Immortal honour, 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. John Dryden MONDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 207 MONDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK GRACIOUS Spirit, dwell with me ; I myself would gracious be, And with words that help and heal Would Thy life in mine reveal, And with actions bold and meek Would for Christ my Saviour speak. Truthful Spirit, dwell with me ; I myself would truthful be. And with wisdom kind and clear Let Thy life in mine appear, And with actions brotherly Speak my Lord's sincerity. Silent Spirit, dwell with me ; I myself would quiet be, Quiet as the growing blade Which through earth its way has made, Silently, like morning light. Putting mists and chills to flight. Mighty Spirit, dwell with me ; I myself would mighty be. Mighty so as to prevail Where unaided man must fail, Ever by a mighty hope Pressing on and bearing up. Holy Spirit, dwell with me ; I myself would holy be ; Separate from sin, I would 2o8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Choose and cherish all things good, And whatever I can be Give to Him, Who gave me Thee ! Thomas Toke Lynch TUESDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK HOLY Spirit, Truth Divine ! Dawn upon this soul of mine ; Word of God, and Inward Light ! Wake my spirit, clear my sight. Holy Spirit, Love Divine ! Glow within this heart of mine ; Kindle every high desire ; Perish self in Thy pure fire ! Holy Spirit, Power Divine ! Fill and nerve this will of mine ; By the way I strongly live Bravely bear and nobly strive. Holy Spirit, Right Divine ! King within my conscience reign ; Be my Lord, and I shall be Firmly bound, for ever free. Holy Spirit, Peace Divine ! Still this restless heart of mine ; Speak to calm this tossing sea Stayed in Thy tranquillity. Holy Spirit, Joy Divine ! Gladden Thou this heart of mine ; WEDNESDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 209 In the desert ways I sing " Spring, O Well ! for ever spring." S. Longfellow WEDNESDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK SHALL I, for fear of feeble man, Thy Spirit's course in me restrain ? Or undismay'd in deed and word, Be a true witness to my Lord ? Awed by a mortal's frown, shall I Conceal the Word of God most high ? How then before Thee shall I dare To stand, or how Thy anger bear ? No ] let man rage ! since Thou wilt spread Thy shadowing wings around my head : Since in all pain Thy tender love Will still my sweet refreshment prove. Saviour of men ! Thy searching eye Does all my inmost thoughts descry : Doth aught on earth my wishes raise ? Or the world's favour, or its praise ? The love of Christ does me constrain. To seek the wandering souls of men : With cries, entreaties, tears to save, To snatch them from the gasping grave. My life, my blood I here present, If for Thy truth they may be spent : Fulfil Thy sov'reign counsel, Lord : Thy Will be done ! Thy Name ador'd ! 2IO CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Give me Thy strength, O God of power ! Then let winds blow, or thunders roar, Thy faithful witness will I be — 'Tis fix'd ! I can do all through Thee ! George Whitefield THURSDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK H OLY SPIRIT, come, we pray, Come from Heaven, and shed the ray Of Thy light divine. Come, Thou Father of the poor. Giver from a boundless store, Light of hearts, O shine ! Matchless Comforter in w^oe, Sweetest Guest the soul can know. Living waters blest ; When we weep, our solace sweet. Coolest shade in summer heat. In our labour rest. Holy and most blessed Light, Make our inmost spirits bright With Thy radiance mild ; For without Thy sacred powders Nothing can we own of ours, Nothing undefiled. What is arid fresh bedew. What is sordid cleanse anew^, Balm on the wounded pour. FRIDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK 21 What is rigid gently bend, On what is cold Thy fervour send, What has strayed restore. To Thine own in every place Give the sacred sevenfold grace ; Give Thy faithful this. Give to virtue its reward, Safe and peaceful end afford ; Give eternal bliss. King Robert Second of France FRIDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK T HOLD a joy, with which I feel J- A stranger intermeddleth not : Which lies too deeply hid to steal ; Which wears a form too pure to blot. Mine own it is, all claim beyond ; For none its secret treasure knows ; No joy can wholly correspond ; Nought earthly give it cause, or close. It wakes within, I know not how. Save that from Thee, O Holy Dove, There comes, Christ's cleansing to avow, A gladness lighting from above. Thy teaching of an holy walk The heart with healthful glow imbues ; And checked desire, and chastened talk, The gleam of conscious grace diffuse. 212 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG I hold the joy midst cares and pains, Like secret kept on martyr's rack ; And 'neath repented sin remains A spark to bring the radiance back. It cannot boast a rapturous sense, Like relish of earth's lofty state ; But surer rests, though less intense, In bosom fixed to hope and wait. An heirship in the future lies ; And present wealth I lightly miss : Joy whatsoe'er would dim defies. Bright in the gleam of coming bliss. Lord Kinloch SATURDAY IN WHITSUN WEEK SPIRIT, exiled long from earth, Who, like rainfall after dearth, Poured'st down from Christ on high. Leave no more this world of ours. But with all Thy heavenly powers In the Church be ever nigh ! Thou Who, by our Prophet sent. Didst the Apostles' mind frequent. Till they grasped the Truth He taught, Oh, in this perplexed age Shine upon the Holy Page And illuminate our thought ! Unction from our great High Priest, Flowing down to be increased TRINITY SUNDAY 213 Through the Lord's ordained signs Come, anoint each sacred Rite And Thyself with us unite, When our soul to God inclines ! Power of Heaven's enthroned King, Who to Peter's heart didst bring Strength to brave the angry Jews, Oh that now with royal sway Thou would'st teach us to obey Every thought Thou dost infuse ! G. T. S. Farquhar TRINITY SUNDAY MOST High and Holy Trinity ! Who of Thy mercy mild Hast form'd me here in Time, to be Thy image and Thy child : Oh let me love Thee day and night With all my soul, with all my might ; Oh come, Thyself my soul prepare, And make Thy dwelling ever there ! Father ! replenish with Thy grace This longing heart of mine. Make it Thy quiet dwelling-place. Thy sacred inmost shrine ! Forgive that oft my spirit wears Her time and strength in trivial cares. Enfold her in Thy changeless peace, So she from all but Thee may cease ! O God the Son ! Thy wisdom's light On my dark reason pour ; 214 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Forgive that things of sense and sight Were all her joy of yore ; Henceforth let every thought and deed On Thee be fix'd, from Thee proceed, Draw me to Thee, for I would rise Above these earthly vanities ! O Holy Ghost ! Thou fire of love, Enkindle with Thy flame my will ; Come with Thy strength. Lord, from above. Help me Thy bidding to fulfil : Forgive that I so oft have done What I as sinful ought to shun ; Let me with pure and quenchless fire Thy favour and Thyself desire ! Most High and Holy Trinity ! Draw me away far hence. And fix upon eternity All power of soul and sense ! Make me at one within ; at one With Thee on earth ; when life is done Take me to dwell in light with Thee, Most High and Holy Trinity ! Lyra Germanica MONDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY FAITH of our fathers ! living still In spite of dungeon, fire, and sword ; Oh how our hearts beat high with joy Whene'er we hear that glorious word ; Faith of our fathers ! Holy Faith ! We will be true to thee till death. TUESDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 215 Our fathers chain'd in prisons dark, Were still in heart and conscience free ; How sweet would be their children's fate, If they, like them, could die for thee ! Faith of our fathers ! Holy Faith ! We will be true to thee till death. Faith of our fathers ! we will love Both friend and foe in all our strife ; And preach thee, too, as love knows how, By kindly words and virtuous life ; Faith of our fathers ! Holy Faith ! We will be true to thee till death. Frederick William Faber TUESDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY SPIRIT, soul and body's union. Mingling with the heavenly host, One with God in Christ's communion, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. With the water, blood, and spirit Sanctified in one on earth. Wholly blameless, may be merit. Wholly all the heavenly birth. Light and cloud of God's indwelling, Breathed to make a living soul, Spirit, passion's fury quelling With a more than man's control. Mirror of that breath's reflection, Soul, yet dew'd with earthly sense. 1 6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Source of holiest affection, Shrine of purest innocence. Body, that shall be celestial, Now so sinful and so frail, Outer court of things terrestrial, Parted with the fleshly veil. O the joy, when, without ending. When your three-fold work is done, Spirit, soul, and body blending, You shall be with God in one. Herbert Kynaston WEDNESDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY O (UR Father" — happy he that knows Of that dear word the sweet repose ; Who on Thy Will doth strive to lean. And hopes of comfort wean From her, our evil mother's breast ; — Yea, like a weaned child doth yield, and is at rest. As darker vengeance seem'd to dwell On Thy forsaken Israel, And Zion's daughter had her throne Upon the desert stone. As Canaan's sun sunk down beneath the sea, The brighter broke the lights of Gospel prophecy. Now that we, wise and prudent grown. Forget the lore to babes made known. And there are sounds upon the wind Of Judgment close behind, THURSDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 217 All will be well, if sights of stern alarm But teach to cling more close unto a Father's arm. So may we walk through that dark dell Where death and death's dim shadows dwell, Knowing beyond in that bright vale Nor health nor peace shall fail ; The silver eye of Heaven looks out afar On evening going down upon her golden car. And we too may look back erewhile, And from a Parent's bosom smile, And sing His praise for endless day, " Who left us not a prey ; As birds from fowler's snare, so we Have 'scap'd ; the snare is broke, we are for ever free." Isaac Williams THURSDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY I LATELY talked with one who strove To show that all my faith was dim, That his alone, the road to Heaven ; And thus it was I answered him — " Strike not the staff I hold away. You cannot give me yours, dear friend ; Up the steep hill our paths are set In different wise, to one sure end. " What though with eagle-glance upfixt On heights beyond our mortal ken, You tread the broad sure stones of faith More firmly than do weaker men. 2i8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG " Snatch not away the gUmmering Hght The father holds, the son rejects, Nor thrust your candle in their eyes, And bhnd them, — into narrow sects. " To each according to his strength : But as we leave the plains below, Let us carve out a wider stair, A broader pathway through the snow. " And when upon the golden crest We stand at last together, freed From mists that gather round the base, And clouds that but obscure our creed, " We shall perceive that though our steps Have wandered wide apart, dear friend, No pathway can be wholly wrong That leads unto one perfect end." Hamilton Aide FRIDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY LET thy gold be cast in the furnace, Thy red gold, precious and bright ; Do not fear the hungry fire With its caverns of burning light : And thy gold shall return more precious, Free from every spot and stain ; For gold must be tried by fire, As a heart must be tried by pain ! In the cruel fire of Sorrow Cast thy heart ; do not faint or wail ; SATURDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY 219 Let thy hand be firm and steady ; Do not let thy spirit quail : But wait till the trial is over, And take thy heart again ; For as gold is tried by fire, So a heart must be tried by pain ! I shall know by the gleam and glitter Of the golden chain you wear, By your heart's calm strength in loving Of the fire they have had to bear. Beat on, true heart, for ever ; Shine bright, strong golden chain ; And bless the cleansing fire And the furnace of living pain. Adelaide Anne Procter SATURDAY AFTER TRINITY SUNDAY WIDE the compass of the world, Peopled by a countless host ; And the flag of Sin unfurled Waves in pride o'er every coast ! Therefore, Lord, we said : — " In vain Strive we to enlarge Thy reign ! " Yet we hear Thy sure command : — *' Go and make your voices ring With My Gospel in each land, Till the nations own Me King ! " Therefore woe be on us, Lord, Should we fail to preach Thy Word ! 220 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Something greater, too, than fear Sways us now with fond control : Moved by love, we know how dear Is Thy service to the soul ! Therefore, Lord, we will proclaim Joyfully Thy blessed Name ! What though we ourselves are weak And the task beyond our power ? Thou, O Lord, to those who seek, Givest Grace from hour to hour. Therefore we advance to fight, Sure of victory by Thy might ! G. T. S. Farquhar THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY GOD is Love," the Heavens tell it, Through their glorious orbs of light ; In that glad and golden language. Speaking to us day and night. Their great story, " God is Love," and God is Might. And the teeming earth rejoices, In that message from above ; With ten thousand thousand voices, TeUing back, from hill, and grove, Her glad story, God is Might, and " God is Love." Through these anthems of Creation, Struggling up with gentle strife, Christian songs, of Christ's salvation, FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 221 To the world, with blessings rife, Tell their story, " God is Love," and God is Life. Through that precious " Love " He sought us, Wand'ring from His holy ways ; With that precious " Life " He bought us ; Then let all our future days. Tell this story, Love's our life — our lives be praise. John S. B. Monsell WEEK OF THE FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY IMMORTAL Love, for ever full, ^ For ever flowing free ; For ever shared, for ever whole, A never-ebbing sea ! Our outward lips confess the Name All other names above ; Love only knoweth whence it came. And comprehendeth Love. Blow, winds of God, awake and blow The mists of earth away ! Shine out, O Light Divine, and show How far and wide we stray ! Hush every lip, close every book, The strife of tongues forbear ; 22 2 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Why forward reach, or backward look, For Love that clasps like air ? We may not climb the heavenly steeps To bring the Lord Christ down : In vain we search the lowest deeps, For Him no depths can drown. In joy of inward peace, or sense Of sorrow over sin, He is His own best evidence, His witness is within. No fable old, nor mythic lore, Nor dream of bards and seers. No dead fact stranded on the shore Of the oblivious years, — But warm, sweet, tender, even yet A present help is He ; And Faith has still its Olivet, And Love its Galilee. John Greenleaf Whittier TUESDAY LOVE hath descended from His Throne on high, And taken brotherhood with man below ; A Man full pledged to sorrow, pledged to sigh, He pour'd His Love on those that wrought His woe. What surer proof could best affection show Than thus to suffer ? And, for us if He, Shall we not for His sake, some suffering know ; FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 223 That we, as lov'd, may also loving be, And for Love's sake, by Love, from sin and shame be free? But Love doth not in contemplation dwell, Lock'd in the bosom's innermost recess, Which it doth still with sighs and longing swell But never passeth ; which it may oppress By brooding thoughts, to utter hopelessness, But never ease by action ; — forth it goes And doth itself to that high task address Whence only cometh solace to all woes, And which alone the fount of endless gladness knows. The task of Love is that of man below, Fulfilment of the law of God above ; The only task which doth perfection know, And which for its own sake doth merit love, And upon earth, as not of earth, doth move : O happy, happy, who Love's task fulfil, Nor from affection's settled purpose rove ; But their true loving Lord do copy still, And, for Love's sake, by Love, do execute Love's will. A. H. Wratislaw WEDNESDAY ALL things that are on earth shall wholly pass away. Except the Love of God, which shall live and last for aye. The forms of men shall be as they had never been ; The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and tender green ; 224 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant song, And the nightingale shall cease to chant the evening long ; The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills, And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the hills. The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox, The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of the rocks, And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden dust shall lie ; And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, shall die. And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be no more, And they shall bow to death, who ruled from shore to shore ; And the great globe itself, so the holy writings tell. With the rolling firmament, where the starry armies dwell, Shall melt with fervent heat — they shall all pass away. Except the Love of God, which shall live and last for aye. William Cullen Bryant THURSDAY WHAT joyful harvester did ere obtain The sweet fruition of his hopeful gain. Till he in hardy labours first had passed The summer's heat, and stormy winter's blast ? A sable night returns a shining morrow, And days of joy ensue sad nights of sorrow; FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 225 The way to bliss lies not on beds of down, And he that has no cross deserves no crown. There's but one Heaven, one place of perfect ease, In man it lies, to take it where he please. Above, or here below : and few men do Enjoy the one, and taste the other too : Wisdom, the antidote of sad despair. Makes sharp afflictions seem not as they are. Through patient sufferance ; and doth apprehend, Not as they seeming are, but as they end. Who sends affliction, sends an end, and He Best knows what's best for Him, what's best for me : 'Tis not for me to carve me where I like ; Him pleases when He list to stroke or strike. I'll neither wish, nor yet avoid temptation. But still expect it, and make preparation : If He think best my faith shall not be tried ; Lord, keep me spotless from presumptuous pride : If otherwise, with Thy trial, give me care By thankful patience to avoid despair : Fit me to bear whate'er Thou shalt assign ; I kiss the rod, because the rod is Thine. Howe'er let me not boast, nor yet repine. With trial, or without. Lord, make me Thine. Francis Quarles FRIDAY O BRIGHT Ideals, how ye shine, , Aloft in realms of air ! Ye pour your streams of light divine Above our low despair. I've climbed, and climbed these weary years To come your glories nigh ; p 226 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG I'm tired of climbing, and in tears Here on the earth I lie. As a weak child all vainly tries To pluck the evening star, So vain have been my life-long cries To reach up where ye are. Shine on, shine on, through earth's dark night, Nor let your glories pale ! Some stronger soul may win the height Where weaker ones must fail. And this one thought of hope and trust Comes with its soothing balm, As here I lay my brow in dust. And breathe my lowly psalm, — That not for heights of victory won, But those I tried to gain. Will come my gracious Lord's '* Well done ! " And sweet effacing rain. Then on your awful heights of blue Shine on, for ever shine ; I come ! I'll climb, I'll fly to you, For endless years of mine. Edmund Hamilton Sears SATURDAY WE all are in one school ; Each hath his daily lesson, line on line ; But sterner chastisement and stricter rule God doth for some design. FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 227 Nor chief nor only those Who break their bands, and cast their cords away, Who, unsubmissive, murmur and oppose, He scourgeth day by day. But whom the Master's eye With wise discernment singles from the throng, Beholding that far down which, raised on high Shall turn to Angel's song ; — Unseen, deep-hidden love, Of power untried, or wise unconscious skill, By outward hindrance marred, He thus doth prove Chastising to His will. He wisely loveth all ; And whom He loves. He still doth train and teach ; But whom He loveth most, on them doth fall Ofttimes His sharpest speech ; Whereat they wonder much And envy oft, when other souls the while, That lightlier serve, receive the gentler touch, The kinder-seeming smile. But He doth all things right. Gathering both pearls and diamonds for His crown, Those cleansing, these transforming for delight, Pruning all roughness down. Charles Lawrence Ford 228 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY SKIRTING the azure of the summer sky Along the horizon like a wall of snow, A bank of cloud appeared, and, soaring high. Upraised at intervals a warlike show Of glistering bastions in an ordered row. But ah ! what change a few brief moments wrought ! The fleecy rampart lost its radiant glow : Its towery forms to other shapes were brought And the proud vision passed and spake another thought. All this was done with utter quietude, Far, far above the sounds of earthly care ; And I was moved therewith, and understood God speaking to me from the silent air : — " Seest thou," He asked, " the clouds enforced to wear Their shapes and hues for but a little space ? They teach thee how the world itself must fare; That stars and planets ebb and flow apace, And man must vary too before he see My Face ! " " If this be so, Eternal God," I said, "If every form must change but Thou alone. How are we mortals piteously misled ! Alas, we place the creatures on Thy Throne, Which, when Thine all-prevailing Breath has blown. SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 229 Vanish like mists, that last not half a day ! Thou changeless Lord, since yonder clouds have shown Mortality its doom by their array, O draw my wandering love to rest in Thee alway ! " G. T. S. Farquhar WEEK OF THE SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY " /^ OD is my strength ! "—Be this my shield, ^^ Whether my duty calls me forth To the high places of the field, Or to some modest path on earth. When the fierce fight begins to thicken. And the soul wrestles as for life, Striving my weary steps to quicken Ever onward through the strife ; How often would my spirit fail me, If I could not, amidst the fight, Hear the Lord's voice, when foes assail me, — " My son, go on in this thy might." When the world's enchantments lure me, Or when its menaces appal ; Nature too feeble to secure me. And certain in its pride to fall ; When tempted to forsake the way, Loving the present world too well. Backward to work, and watch, and pray ; In bondage to the enchanter's spell; 230 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG When, Lord, I walk too much by sight, When faith and hope are well-nigh flown, Teach me to lean upon Thy might, For I have none to call my own. In ev'ry trial and temptation, In all life's burdens, toils, and cares. The one great end, — the soul's salvation, Is that for which true faith prepares. Faint in myself, and yet pursuing. Faith is contented to obey. Knowing, like Gideon, God is doing His own great work in His own way. The way, however dark and dreary, Leads to a land where all is light, And I am strong, though faint and weary. If journeying in this Thy might. John Streatfeild TUESDAY T^VERMORE their lauds the Angel hosts are -C' singing. Honour, praise, and glory to the Three in One ; Wherefore should not we too, our lowly service bringing. Swell that mighty chorus ever here beneath the sun? Saviour, Thou hast told us, wheresoe'er assemble Two or three to praise Thee, there Thou art surely nigh, There too are Thine Angels : so let the haughty tremble. For those mighty spirits fold their snow-white wings and cry — SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 231 Lowly, lowly bending in deepest adoration — " Holy, holy, holy, God of Hosts," they sing : With their glorious voices they swell our faint oblation ; Round us still they hover when our sacrifice we bring. Into all the glories of our Rites most holy, Sacrificial wonders. Angels deign to look : Christ hath died for mortals in self-devotion lowly : Thence do Angels wait on man, so saith the Sacred Book. How can we be worthy, we weak and erring creatures. Of such wondrous blessing, that Angels us befriend ? Something grant us. Saviour, of those Angel natures. Love for Thee as boundless, love to serve Thee without end. Archer Gurney WEDNESDAY WORKMAN of God ! oh lose not heart, But learn what God is like ; And in the darkest battle-field Thou shalt know where to strike. Oh learn to scorn the praise of men ! Oh learn to lose with God ! For Jesus won the world through shame, And beckons thee His road. 232 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG God's glory is a wondrous thing, Most strange in all its ways ; And of all things on earth, least like What men agree to praise. As He can endless glory weave From time's misjudging shame; In His own world, He is content To play a losing game. Muse on His justice, downcast soul ! Muse, and take better heart ; Back with thine Angel to the field. Good luck shall crown thy part. God's justice is a bed where we Our anxious hearts may lay : And, weary with ourselves, may sleep Our discontent away. For right is right, since God is God, And right the day must win ; To doubt would be disloyalty. To falter would be sin. Frederick William Faber THURSDAY OH ! help me, Lord, to seek Thy face, Obedient to Thy call. To seek the presence of Thy grace, My strength, my life, my all. All I can wish is Thine to give ; I only ask Thy love — That greatest bliss I can receive, That bliss of Heaven above. SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 233 In these dark scenes of pain and woe, What can my spirit find ? No happiness can dwell below, To fill th' immortal mind ! To Heaven my restless soul aspires : Oh, for a quickening ray To strengthen my poor faint desire. And cheer the tiresome way. The path to Thy divine abode Through weary deserts lies, A thousand snares beset the road, A thousand terrors rise. Satan and sin unite their art To keep me from my Lord ; Dear Saviour, guard my trembling heart, And guide me by Thy Word. My Guardian, my Almighty Friend, On Thee my soul would rest : On Thee alone my hopes depend — Be near, and I am blest. Anne Steele FRIDAY THE Poet scanned with mighty awe The mystery of Man ; He spake the strange things that he saw. And thus it ran : — " The silent stars are overhead, The silent graves below : A dream between — how quickly fled ! — Is all we know." 234 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG He pointed up — he pointed down — The witnesses were there. O'er the between a veil was thrown He could not tear. The Preacher saw the hand he raised, And heard the words he spake ; And in his soul with grief amazed A fire outbrake. " Poet," he cried, " the things we see They are not all we know ; The web of thy philosophy I rend it so ! " — He pointed with his eager hand Behind and then before, — And there, and there, for ever stand Two wonders more. " The silent stars sing out with mirth, The graves with grass are green : — Christ Cometh twice upon the earth ; — We live between ! " William Walsham How SATURDAY OFT when of God we ask For fuller, happier life, He sets us some new task Involving care and strife : Is this the boon for which we sought ? Has prayer new trouble on us brought ? This is indeed the boon. Though strange to us it seems ; THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 235 We pierce the rock, and soon The blessing on us streams ; For when we are the most athirst, Then the clear waters on us burst. We toil as in a field, Wherein, to us unknown, A treasure lies concealed, Which may be all our own : And shall we of the toil complain That speedily will bring such gain ? We dig the wells of life, And God the waters gives ; We win our way by strife. Then He within us lives ; And only war could make us meet For peace so sacred and so sweet. Thomas Toke Lynch THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY HUSHED was the evening hymn, The Temple courts were dark ; The lamp was burning dim Before the sacred ark ; When suddenly a Voice Divine Rang through the silence of the shrine. The old man, meek and mild. The priest of Israel, slept ; His watch the Temple-child, The little Levite kept ; 236 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And what from Eli's sense was sealed, The Lord to Hannah's son revealed. Oh ! give me Samuel's ear, The open ear, O Lord, Alive, and quick to hear Each whisper of Thy word : Like him to answer at Thy call, And to obey Thee first of all. Oh ! give me Samuel's heart, A lowly heart that waits. Where in Thy house Thou art. Or watches at Thy gates. By day and night, a heart that still Moves at the breathing of Thy will. Oh ! give me Samuel's mind, A sweet, unmurmuring faith. Obedient and resigned To Thee in life and death ; That I may read with child-like eyes Truths that are hidden from the wise. James Drummond Burns WEEK OF THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY GOD called the nearest Angels who dwell with Him above, The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love. THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 237 " Arise," He said, " My Angels ! a wail of woe and sin Steals through the gate of Heaven, and saddens all within. " My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells. The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels. "Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain ! " Two faces bowed before the Throne veiled in their golden hair : Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air. The way was strange, the flight was long ; at last the Angels came, Where swung the lost and nether world, red- wrapped in rayless flame. There Pity, shuddering, wept ; but Love, with faith too strong for fear, Took heart from God's almightiness, and smiled a smile of cheer. And lo ! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell ! 238 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne, Four white wings folded at the feet of Him Who sat thereon ! And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake — " Welcome, My Angels ! ye have brought a holier joy to Heaven ; Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven ! " John Greenleaf Whittier TUESDAY BLESSED Light of saints on high. Who fill the mansions of the sky ; Sure defence. Whose mercy still Preserves Thy subjects here from ill ; O, my Jesus, make me know How to pay the thanks I owe. As the fond sheep that idly strays, With wanton play, through winding ways, Which never hits the road of home, O'er wilds of danger learns to roam. Till, wearied out with idle fear. And, passing there, and turning here, He will, for rest, to covert run. And meet the wolf he wish'd to shun ; Thus wretched I, through wanton will, Run blind and headlong on in ill : THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 239 'Twas thus from sin to sin I flew, And thus I might have perish'd too : But Mercy dropp'd the likeness here, And show'd, and sav'd me from my fear. While o'er the darkness of my mind The Sacred Spirit purely shin'd, And mark'd, and brighten'd all the way Which leads to everlasting day, And broke the thickening clouds of sin, And fix'd the light of love within. From hence my ravish'd soul aspires. And dates the rise of its desires. From hence to Thee, my God ! I turn, And fervent wishes say I burn, I burn, Thy glorious face to see. And hve in endless joy with Thee. Thomas Parnell WEDNESDAY ONE in one hundred lost ! and ninety-nine That never knew another will than Thine ! O Love ! that holds so many to Thee bound, Yet cannot rest until the lost be found. And one in ten through man's untoward neglect. Lost from the number of the Lord's elect ! Yet light Truth's candle, search the house well round, And that lost image of the Lord is found. And one in two, lost through the perverse will That cannot rest contented, and be still ! Loves triple cord, unbroken though unwound. Draws back to pardon, and the lost is found. 240 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Thus lost! lost! lost! blight with their threefold curse The beauty of heart, home, and universe ! But threefold Love, with threefold glory crown'd. That lost ! lost ! lost ! blots out with found ! found ! found ! O Love ! so httle losing ! at such cost Restoring to Thyself that little lost ! This, this Thy praise, through worlds on worlds renown'd " Was dead, and is alive — was lost — is found ! " John S. B. Monsell THURSDAY DARK was my lot, and long it spurned The poor reliefs that man could give ; Till God my wayward spirit turned. And bade me see, believe, and live. Then flowed my tears, then woke my tongue, And loud His gracious mercies sung. O what return can I bestow On Him Who needeth nought from me ? What can I give that will not flow In blessings back, my God, from Thee ? How rich on earth Thy cup of Love ! How richer still the fount above ! Be mine to own Thy gentle sway, To hve, to die to Thee alone ; Whom should I love, and whom obey But Him Who made me twice His own? Who formed me by His hving breath ? Who rescued me from sin and death ? THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 241 Him will I praise ; heart, hand, and voice To Him shall daily offerings bring ; E'en now, in hope, I will rejoice. With all above, in spirit, sing ; Till I shall join those brighter choirs And add fresh themes for Angels' lyres. Henry Francis Lyte FRIDAY NOT here, not here : not where the sparkling waters Fade into mocking sands, as we draw near ; Where in the wilderness each footstep falters : I shall be satisfied — but oh, not here. Not here — where every dream of bliss deceives us, Where the worn spirit never gains its goal ; Where, haunted ever by the thought that grieves us, Across us floods of bitter memory roll. There is a land where every pulse is thrilling With rapture earth's sojourners may not know ; Where Heaven's repose the weary heart is stilling, And peacefully life's time-toss'd currents flow. Far out of sight, while yet the flesh infolds us, Lies the fair country where our hearts abide, And of its bliss is nought more wondrous told us Than these few words : " I shall be satisfied." Satisfied ! satisfied ! the spirit's yearning . For sweet companionship with kindred minds ; The silent love that here meets no returning, The inspiration which no language finds. Q 242 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Shall they be satisfied ? — the soul's vague longings, The aching void which nothing earthly fills ? what desires upon my soul are thronging, As I look upward to the heavenly hills ! Thither my weak and weary feet are tending — Saviour and Lord with Thy frail child abide : Guide me toward home, where, all my wanderings ended 1 then shall see Thee and " be satisfied." SATURDAY STRIVE ; yet I do not promise The prize you dream of to-day Will not fade when you think to grasp it, And melt in your hand away ; But another and holier treasure You would not perchance disdain, Will come when your toil is over. And pay you for all your pain. Wait ; yet I do not tell you The hour you long for now, Will not come with its radiance vanished And a shadow upon its brow ; Yet far through the misty future. With a crown of starry light. An hour of joy you know not Is winging her silent flight. Pray ; though the gift you ask for May never comfort your fears. May never repay your pleading. Yet pray, and with hopeful tears ; FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 243 An answer, not that you long for, But diviner, will come one day ; Your eyes are too dim to see it ; Yet strive, and wait, and pray. Adelaide Anne Procter THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY OH, deem not they are blest alone Whose lives a peaceful tenor keep ; The Power Who pities man, hath shown A blessing for the eyes that weep. The light of smiles shall fill again The lids that overflow with tears ; And weary hours of woe and pain Are promises of happier years. There is a day of sunny rest For every dark and troubled night : And, grief may bide an evening guest, But joy shall come with early light. And thou, who, o'er thy friend's low bier. Dost shed the bitter drops like rain, Hope that a brighter, happier sphere Will give him to thy arms again. Nor let the good man's trust depart. Though life its common gifts deny, — Though with a pierced and bleeding heart And spurned of men, he goes to die. For God hath marked each sorrowing day And numbered every secret tear, 244 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And Heaven's long age of bliss shall pay For all His children suffer here. William Cullen Bryant WEEK OF THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY CHARMING flowers ! your day is come- Hours of sunshine, hope, and joy ; Cruel blasts no longer roam You to scatter and destroy. Open then your queenly state, All your boundless charms display ; Nature's eyes expectant wait With the watchful god of day. Western zephyrs crowd around With their fond devoted sighs, Constant lovers ever found Of your thousand magic dyes. And for you amid the trees Tuned is yonder serenade. Wafted softly on the breeze, By admiring songsters made. Happy flowers ! what bliss for you ! Dwelling all the day in light. Bathed at eve in showers of dew, Homage of the silent night. FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 245 Go then, beauties ! proudly reign, Nobly spend your little breath : Fell disease and blight and pain Onward stalk with nipping death. Fleeter still than human glory, All your gorgeous pomps decay ; None to tell the fragrant story. Of your little royal day. Flowers of virtue only last, Fading though to mortal eyes — Lo ! their blossoms new they cast In the bowers of Paradise ! E. D. Jackson TUESDAY MAN hath a voice severe, His neighbour's fault to blame, A wakeful eye, a listening ear. To note his brother's shame. He, with suspicious glance. The curtained breast doth read. And raise the accusing balance high To weigh the doubtful deed. O Thou, Whose piercing thought Doth note each secret path. For mercy to Thy Throne we flee, From man's condemning wrath. Thou Who dost dimness mark In Heaven's resplendent way. And folly in that Angel host Who serve Thee night and day ; 246 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG How fearless should our trust In Thy compassion be, When from our brother of the dust We dare appeal to Thee. Lydia Huntley Sigourney WEDNESDAY HOW beautiful is Truth ! she wins her way, Through deepest night, to realms of glorious day; But fierce the struggle, — fierce the moral fight, Ere Truth serene can sun herself in light. The age moves on ! — the nation's heaving mind Struggles to leave opposing mists behind ; And, having once its onward course begun, Aims at the light, as eagles seek the sun. The future children of this favour'd land Shall reap rewards from learning's liberal hand ; And education's blest and lucid beam On all shall fall with rich and copious stream. Those helpless poor — the aged, wan, and weak ; The sick who sigh, the child which cannot speak ; Rights have they— ^-/^/^/j-, by claim of kindred blood. The right of freedom and the right of food. Too long stark poverty has been a crime, Darkly recorded on the rolls of time ! Too long, indeed ! — but now 'tis past, 'tis o'er, And civil slavery soon shall be no more. FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 247 Ye lofty ones of earth, ye so-call'd " Great," Ye potent rulers in our Church and State, Give ear to what shall stamp th' historic page, Nor lag behind the progress of the age. The age moves ofi ! The nation's heaving mind Feels the true brotherhood of humankind. Expands its wings, and lo ! (its course begun) Aims at the lights as eagles seek the sun I John Peat THURSDAY THOUGH I am slow to trust Thee, Lord, Slow to believe Thy gracious word. Yet sweet Thy promise is to me, " Sufficient is My grace for thee." Though trials often here, and care. This weary heart of mine must share, How comforting Thy word to me, " My grace sufficient is for thee." Thus I can triumph in distress, And find that "even pain can bless. Feeling how sure Thy word to me, " Sufficient is My grace for thee." Thy love I know, O Lord, can shed Its beams o'er every path I tread, Reviving me and teaching me, " Sufficient is My grace for thee." For Thou canst feel each grief / feel, Canst sympathize, sustain, and heal, 248 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And sweetly bring the truth to me, " Thy grace sufficient is for me." O Saviour ! grace on me bestow, Then though my tears may sometimes flow. The precious truth my faith shall see, " My grace sufficient is for thee." And when I see Thee in the light Thy matchless glory makes so bright. Then shall I own, adoring Thee, " Sufficient was Thy grace for me. E. C. FRIDAY ONE by one the sands are flowing, One by one the moments fall ; Some are coming, some are going ; Do not strive to grasp them all. One by one thy duties wait thee. Let thy whole strength go to each, Let no future dreams elate thee. Learn thou first what these can teach. One by one — bright gifts from Heaven- Joys are sent thee here below Take them readily when given. Ready be to let them go. One by one thy griefs shall meet thee Do not fear an arm^d band ; One will fade as others greet thee, Shadows passing through the land, FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 249 Do not look at life's long sorrow ; See how small each moment's pain ; God will help thee for to-morrow, So each day begin again. Every hour that fleets so slowly Has its task to do or bear ; Luminous the crown, and holy, When each gem is set with care. Do not linger with regretting. Or for passing hours despond ; Nor, the daily toil forgetting, Look too eagerly beyond. Hours are golden links, God's token. Reaching Heaven ; but one by one Take them, lest the chain be broken Ere the pilgrimage be done. Adelaide Anne Procter SATURDAY SEE how yon little lark is borne With music up to heaven, To bask in sunlight ere the morn To vales beneath is given. That bird Salvation's sign hath made By stretching forth its wings ; The cross upon his back is laid, And lo ! he soars and sings. Take off the fardel that he bears, He falleth in his flight ; 250 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG The cross is in the wings he wears ; He proves the burden light. So Christ hath laid His Cross on me ; It wings me to the sky, And day by day, though sore it be, By that dear Cross live I. It beareth those by whom 'tis borne. And by its weight we rise. Who casts it down, he sinks forlorn ; Who takes it up, he flies. Easy the yoke, and light the load, Indeed, my spirit sings ; To him that pants for God's abode His cross shall prove his wings. Arthur Cleveland Coxe THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY THERE are no little things on earth. There's nought beneath the Christian's care. No virtuous deeds of little worth ; The flower, upon the mountain bare. Where never came admiring eye. The Lord has carved as curiously, Has stained it with as gorgeous dye. As though a thousand looks were there. Deem not the simple charms, that dwell In gentle tone and smiling face, The courtesy, that flings a spell Of winning love and quiet grace FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 25 O'er common deeds in silence wrought, Beneath the Christian's careful thought ; Another love our Lord has taught, Adorning many a secret place. Upon the lonely mountain height He bids His fair young blossoms swell. For fragrance all and beauty bright Forth bursting from each dark green shell ; And shall no flowers of courtesie Within our lowly hamlets be. To brighten with their fragrance free The homes where poor men dwell ? Oh ! yes, the temple stones of old Admiring glances ever drew. All fair and beauteous to behold. Ranged in their polished order due ; And lovely deeds beseem us all. The stones in Christ's own temple wall, And nought is trivial, nought is small. That we, for His Great Name, can do. Cecil Frances Alexander WEEK OF THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY HOW sweet the ways of wisdom early gain'd Growing with growth; and strength by strength attain'd. As higher heights and broader ways expand A freer air more near th' immortal land, 252 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG More treasure stor'd in Heaven ! Then habit's might Gives armour, makes the yoke and burden Hght, When with spontaneous spring the heart ascends In prayer to Heaven, in prayer begins and ends ; Till custom shall to nature's strength attain, Duty her present joy, her future gain. Opening a wider path in green old age Strewed with calm hopes of her high heritage. Then wisdom's self descending from the sky Shall train thy heart to glad philosophy ; And Christ Himself upon the way appears In things of Heaven to school thine eyes and ears, To walk with thee, as erst with them of old. And all the world around thee to unfold. The scene to worldlings where their glory dies, The grave, wherein their hope in ruin lies. Becomes replete with pictures ever new. Presenting heavenly lessons to the view ; — Portraying things of our immortal birth, As evening clouds oft shadow things of earth, Obscure and transient, yet as by they sail There the full heart reads many a solemn tale ; Each object seen becomes a speaking sign. Which with a finger points to things divine, A mirror wherein things celestial pass, Eternity disclosed as in a glass. Isaac Williams TUESDAY TO be thought ill of, worse than we deserve. To have hard speeches said, cold looks displayed By those who should have cheered us when we swerve, — Is one of Heaven's best lots, and may be made FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 253 A treasure ere we know it, a lone field Which to hot hearts may bitter blessings yield. Either we learn from our past sins to shrink, When their full guilt is kept before our eye. And, thinking of ourselves as others think. We so are gainers in humility : — Or the harsh judgments are a gloomy screen. Fencing our altered lives from praise and glare ; And plants that grew in shades retain their green, While unmeet sternness kindly chills the air. Frederick William Faber WEDNESDAY M Y heart was glad to hear their call. Who said, " To God's own house we go,"- Thy gate and glorious wall Our due feet early know ; Jerusalem ! 'tis there we stand ; Jerusalem ! for ever sure, Built by th' unswerving Hand In union to endure ; Fair city, in herself at rest ! The tribes are there, the tribes of God To her their way address'd. And climb the holy road, (A law for Israel through all time ;) There praising God's high Name, they met ; Full many a throne sublime For judgment there is set. Full many a throne for David's seed : — Come frame your prayer, come breathe your spell. 254 CHURCHMAN^S TREASURY OF SONG For Salem in her need ! Thy lovers, fare they well ! Peace in thy forts her refuge make, And plenty in thy bowers increase ! For friends and brethren's sake I bid thee joy and peace ; For friends and hearts that are as mine, Fain would I speak thee peace entire ; For God's own glorious shrine Thy blessing I desire. John Keble THURSDAY HEAVEN from all creatures hides the book of Fate, All but the page prescribed, their present state : From brutes what men, from men what spirits know : Or who could suffer being here below ? The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? Pleased to the last, he crops the flowery food, And licks the hand just raised to shed his blood. Oh, blindness to the future ! kindly given. That each may fill the circle, marked by Heaven : Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, A hero perish or a sparrow fall, Atoms or systems into ruin hurled, And now a bubble burst and now a world. Hope humbly, then ; with trembling pinions soar; Wait the great teacher Death ; and God adore. What future bliss, He gives not thee to know. But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 255 Hope springs eternal in the human breast : Man never is, but always to be blest : The soul, uneasy and confined from home, Rests and expatiates in a Hfe to come. Alexander Pope FRIDAY TIS first the true and then the beautiful, Not first the beautiful and then the true ; First the wild moor, with rock and reed and pool, Then the gay garden, rich in scent and hue. 'Tis first the good and then the beautiful, — Not first the beautiful and then the good ; First the rough seed, sown in the rougher soil. Then the flower-blossom, or the branching wood. Not first the glad and then the sorrowful, — But first the sorrowful, and then the glad ; Tears for a day, — for earth of tears is full. Then we forget that we were ever sad. Not first the bright, and after that the dark, — But first the dark, and after that the bright ; First the thick cloud, and then the rainbow's arc, First the dark grave, then resurrection-light. 'Tis first the night, — stern night of storm and war, — Long night of heavy clouds and veiled skies ; Then the far sparkle of the Morning-star, That bids the saints awake and dawn arise. HORATIUS BONAR 256 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG SATURDAY IN thorny thickets blow the sweetest roses ; Lilies in damp woods droop their snow-white bells ; The yellow primrose 'neath the brier reposes ; The purest water springs from deepest wells. From common clay are form'd the fairest vessels ; The diamond glitters in the darksome mine ; The golden wren, in her snug dwelling nestles, Slung from the branches of the gloomy pine. The scarlet seaweeds wave their trembling tresses In the deep ocean-caves by man unseen ; And rocks, all black and bleak, the sea-fern dresses With spiny tufts of glistening evergreen. And so from out the gloom and smoke of cities Deeds of deep love and meek endurance shine ; In squalid lanes is found the heart that pities, The soul that hungers after things Divine. In foetid courts the steadfast love of woman Makes oftentimes the house of toil seem bright ; And princely hearts, which beat 'neath garments common. In midst of wrong are ruled by truth and right. Not men of high degree alone in story, In human hearts and histories, are enshrined ; The poor and humble have their meed of glory ; Some wreaths of laurel poor men's foreheads bind. Greville J. Chester SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 257 THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY ALL things a prophecy contain Of something higher still ; A close relation all sustain, A place and purpose fill. The mineral, the moss, the flower. The life with instinct fraught, All indicate a growing power That trembles into thought. Feeling and thought expression gain And grow to perfect speech ; Philosophy and science reign And still we higher reach. Our life on earth is incomplete ; For larger life we plead ; Who made the heart, aspiring, beat Will answer to its need. Beyond the bound of time and space A fairer world we see ; Within the soul of man we trace The sign and prophecy. We trust the Lord in faith serene, A ladder He hath given ; The lower rounds on earth are seen, The higher reach to Heaven. Thomas Brevior 2S8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG WEEK OF THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY IF thou hast lost a friend By hard or hasty word, Go call him to thy heart again ; Let pride no more be heard. Remind him of those happy days, Too beautiful to last ; Ask, if a word should cancel years Of truth and friendship past. Oh ! if thou'st lost a friend By hard or hasty word, Go call him to thy heart again ; Let pride no more be heard. Oh ! tell him, from thy thought The light of joy hath fled ; That, in thy sad and silent breast. Thy lonely heart seems dead : That mount and vale, each path ye trod By morn or evening dim, Reproach you with their frowning gaze, And ask your soul for him. Then, if thou'st lost a friend By hard or hasty word. Go call him to thy heart again ; Let pride no more be heard. Charles Swain SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 259 TUESDAY LET me count my treasures All my soul holds dear, Given me by dark spirits Whom I used to fear. Through long days of anguish, And sad nights, did Pain Forge my shield, Endurance, Bright and free from stain ! Doubt, in misty caverns, 'Mid dark horrors sought, Till my peerless jewel, Faith to me she brought. Sorrow, that I wearied Should remain so long, Wreathed my starry glory. The bright Crown of Song. Strife, that racked my spirit Without hope or rest. Left the blooming flower. Patience, on my breast. Suffering, that I dreaded, Ignorant of her charms. Laid the fair child. Pity, Smiling, in my arms. So I count my treasures. Stored in days long past — And I thank the givers. Whom I know at last ! Adelaide Anne Procter 26o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG WEDNESDAY FOND heart, when learnest thou to say, I love not pomps that fade away Nor glories that decay and wane, Nor lights that rise to set again ? When wilt thou turn where Abraham turned, And learn the lesson Abraham learned ? Beyond the river while he dwelt. He with his kin to idols knelt, And nightly gazing on the sky. Worshipped the starry host on high. But when he saw their splendours fail. And that bright multitude grow pale. He left them and adored the moon ; But she too wanly waned soon. Baffled, he knelt unto the sun ; But when his race of light was done, He cried " To such no vows I bring — I worship not the perishing ! " And turned him to the God Whose hand Made sun, and moon, and starry band — An everlasting Light, in Whom Decrease and shadow find no room. Richard Chenevix Trench THURSDAY WHERE then shall hope and fear their objects find? Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind ? Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate ? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise. No cries invoke the mercies of the skies ? SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 261 Inquirer cease ! petitions yet remain Which Heaven may hear, nor deem religion vain. Still raise, for good, the supplicating voice, But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice ; Safe in His power, Whose eyes discern afar The secret ambush of a specious prayer. Implore His aid ; in His decisions rest Secure : whate'er He gives. He gives the best ; Yet, when the sense of sacred presence fires, And strong devotion to the skies aspires. Pour forth thy fervours for a peaceful mind. Obedient passions and a will resign'd ; For love, which scarce collective man can fill ; For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill ; For faith, that, panting for a happier seat. Counts death kind nature's signal for retreat ; — These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain ; These goods He grants. Who grants the means to gain; With these celestial wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find. Samuel Johnson FRIDAY I WALK as one who knows that he is treading A stranger-soil ; As one round whom a serpent-world is spreading Its subtle coil. I walk as one but yesterday deliver'd From a sharp chain ; Who trembles lest the bond so newly sever'd Be bound again. 262 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG I walk as one who feels that he is breathing Ungenial air ; For whom as wiles, the tempter still is wreathing The bright and fair. My steps, I know, are on the plains of danger, For sin is near ; But looking up, I pass along, a stranger, In haste and fear. This earth has lost its power to drag me downward ; Its spell is gone ; My course is now right upward, and right onward, To yonder Throne. Hour after hour of time's dark night is stealing In gloom away ; Speed Thy fair dawn of light and joy and healing. Thou Star of day ! For thee its God, its King, the long-rejected, Earth groans and cries ; For Thee the long beloved, the long expected. Thy bride still sighs ! HORATIUS BONAR SATURDAY THIS is true glory and renown, when God, Looking on the earth, with approbation marks The just man, and divulges him through Heaven To all His Angels, who with true applause Recount his praises : thus He did to Job, Who famous was in Heaven, on earth less known ; Where glory is false glory, attributed To things not glorious, men not worthy of fame. SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 263 They err who count it glorious to subdue By conquest far and wide, to over-run Large countries, and in field great battles win, Great cities by assault : what do these worthies, But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote, Made captive, yet deserving freedom more Than those their conquerors, who leave behind Nothing but ruin wheresoe'er they rove, And all the flourishing arts of peace destroy. But if there be in glory aught of good, It may by means far different be attain'd. Without ambition, war, or violence ; By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent, By patience, temperance. John Milton THE SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY SEE the rivers flowing Downwards to the sea, Pouring all their treasures Bountiful and free — Yet to help their giving Hidden springs arise ; Or, if need be, showers Feed them from the skies. Watch the princely flowers Their rich fragrance spread, Load the air with perfumes From their beauty shed — 264 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Yet their lavish spending Leaves them not in dearth, With fresh Hfe replenished By their mother earth. Give thy heart's best treasures — From fair Nature learn ; Give thy love — and, ask not, Wait not a return ! And the more thou spendest From thy little store, With a double bounty, God will give thee more. Adelaide Anne Procter WEEK OF THE SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY THOUSANDS completely fed With a few loaves of bread Such as would barely form one household's fare, And, when the feast was o'er, The fragments were a store Enough for needy hundreds still to share. What was the Power that wrought This wonder passing thought ? What but that Word Divine, which called of yore Systems and suns to grace The mighty realms of space, And then with life and beauty spread them o'er? SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 265 God only can create ; None less could arrogate The power to sway all Nature with a nod : O Christ ! be Thou adored,— For that creative word Which blessed the bread was God's, — and Thou art God ! Joseph H. Clinch TUESDAY LIFE, believe, is not a dream So dark as sages say ; Oft a little morning rain Foretells a pleasant day. Sometimes there are clouds of gloom, But these are transient all ; If the shower will make the roses bloom O why lament its fall ? Rapidly, merrily. Life's sunny hours flit by, Gratefully, cheerily, Enjoy them as they fly ! What though Death at times steps in, And calls our Best away ? What though Sorrow seems to win, O'er Hope, a heavy sway ? Yet Hope again elastic springs, Unconquered, though she fell ; Still buoyant are her golden wings, Still strong to bear us well. Manfully, fearlessly. The day of trial bear, 266 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG For gloriously, victoriously, Can courage quell despair ! Charlotte Bronte WEDNESDAY O NATURE ! all thy seasons please the eye Of him who sees a Deity in all. It is His Presence that diffuses charms Unspeakable, o'er mountain, wood, and stream. To think that He, Who hears the heavenly choirs. Hearkens complacent to the woodland song ; — To think that He, Who rolls yon solar sphere. Uplifts the warbling songster to the sky ; To mark His Presence in the mighty bow That spans the clouds, as in the tints minute Of tiniest flower, to hear His awful Voice In thunder speak, and whisper in the gale ; To know, and feel His care for all that lives ; — 'Tis this that makes the barren waste appear A fruitful field, each grove a paradise. Yes ! place me 'mid far-stretching woodless wilds. Where no sweet song is heard ; the heath-bell there. Would soothe my weary sight, and tell of Thee ! There would my gratefully uplifted eye Survey the heavenly vault by day, — by night, When glows the firmament from pole to pole ; There would my overflowing heart exclaim, " The heavens declare the glory of the Lord, The firmament shows forth His handiwork ! " James Grahame SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 267 THURSDAY I WALKED the fields at morning's prime, The grass was ripe for mowing ; The skylark sang his matin chime, And all was brightly glowing. " And thus," I cried, " the ardent boy, His pulse with rapture beating, Deems life's inheritance is joy — The future proudly greeting." I wandered forth at noon : — Alas ! On earth's maternal bosom The scythe had left the withering grass, And stretched the fading blossom. And thus, I thought with many a sigh. The hopes we fondly cherish, Like flowers which blossom but to die. Seem only born to perish. Once more, at eve, abroad I strayed, Through lonely hay-fields musing, While every breeze that round me played, Rich fragrance was diffusing. The perfumed air, the hush of eve, To purer hopes appealing. O'er thoughts perchance too prone to grieve, Scattered the balm of healing. For thus " the actions of the just," When memory hath enshrined them, 268 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG E'en from the dark and silent dust Their odour leave behind them. Bernard Barton FRIDAY WE cannot stay, said the winter stars ; We shall set to-night, to-morrow to rise Upon other worlds and other eyes : Gaze fondly and well on our glorious light, For our silver lamps must go out to-night : We cannot stay. We are hurrying on from our mother hills, Said the little springs ; we shall soon be gone : Drink a long draught as we hurry on ; With the falling eve we shall join the river, To-morrow be lost in the sea for ever : We cannot stay. We cannot stay, said my petted flowers ; Gay tendrils next year shall cover your door, But we shall have fled to bloom no more : Go, gather some leaves to keep for our sake, For next year there shall be no leaves to take : We cannot stay. I follow those stars, said a dying child ; And all my hopes, said I, follow those waves. And they sleep like those flowers in perfumed graves ; And I heard them sing as I saw them flee, There's a brighter world for us, and for thee : We cannot stay. SEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 269 Changing friends of a changing world, Keep heart ! — we may love what we have loved best In a changeless world, where all are blest ; Where only the sorrows that make us mourn, And only our sighs shall sigh in their turn : We cannot stay. John Emmet SATURDAY VIEW not forms with heedless scorn ; These are but the seemly dress. Holy feast-time to express, And the bride of Christ adorn. Forms are fetters, wrong entwined ; But, to those who rightly wear, Girdle that sustaineth prayer, Due compression to the mind. Forms are helps to infant speech, Aiding it to go alone ; Strength at times to minds full-grown, When too weak their aim to reach. Forms are rules, by which to tame Zeal into decorous mood ; Bonds of ancient brotherhood, Binding those who said the same. Forms supply the humble tale, Easy to repentant sin ; Faith, when near the crown to win, Words obtains, when others fail. 270 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Forms afford the means to hush, Through devotion, others' care ; Yielding him a ready prayer, Who himself to pray would blush. Who may e'er 'gainst forms inveigh, As unmeet or insincere. When he thinks, how Christ, when here, Taught us, by a form, to pray ? Lord Kinloch THE EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY L OVE hath taught me to obey All His precepts, and to say. Not to-morrow, but to-day." What He wills, I say, " I must " ; What I must, I say, " I will"; He commanding, it is just, What He would, I should fulfil ; Whilst He biddeth, I believe ; What He calls for. He will give ; To obey Him is — to live. His commandments grievous are not Longer than men think them so ; Though He send me forth, I care not, Whilst He gives me strength to goe. When or whither, all is one ; On His bus'nesse, not mine owne I shall never goe alone. EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 271 If I be compleat in Him, — And in Him all fulnesse dwelleth, — I am sure aloft to swim Whilst that ocean overswelleth ; Having Him that is All in All, I am confident I shall Nothing want for which I call. Christopher Harvey WEEK OF THE EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY TEACH me, my God and King, In all things Thee to see. And what I do in anything, To do it as for Thee : Not rudely, as a beast To runne into an action ; But still to make Thee prepossest, And give it his perfection. A man that looks on glasse On it may stay his eye ) Or if he pleaseth, thro' it passe And then the heav'n espie. All may of Thee partake ; Nothing can be so mean. Which with his tincture (for Thy sake) Will not grow bright and clean. 2 72 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG A servant with this clause Makes drudgerie divine : Who sweeps a room, as for Thy laws, Makes that and th' action fine. This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold : For that which God doth touch and own Cannot for lesse be told. George Herbert TUESDAY IF Solomon for wisdom prayed, The Lord before had made him wise ; Else he another choice had made And asked for what the worldlings prize. Thus He invites His people still ; He first instructs them how to choose. Then bids them ask whate'er they will, Assured that He will not refuse. Our wishes would our ruin prove. Could we our wretched choice obtain. Before we feel the Saviour's love Kindle our love to Him again. But when our hearts perceive His worth, Desires, till then unknown, take place ; Our spirits cleave no more to earth, But pant for holiness and grace. And dost Thou say, " Ask what thou wilt " ? Lord, I would seize the golden hour, — I pray to be released from guilt. And freed from sin and Satan's power. EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 273 More of Thy presence, Lord, impart ; More of Thy image let me bear ; Erect Thy throne within my heart And reign without a rival there. John Newton WEDNESDAY IN silence mighty things are wrought — Silently builded, thought on thought, Truth's temple greets the sky ; And like a citadel with towers, The soul with her subservient powers Is strengthened silently. Soundless as chariots on the snow The saplings of the forest grow To trees of mighty girth ; Each nightly star in silence burns, And every day in silence turns The axle of the earth. The silent frost with mighty hand Fetters the rivers and the land With universal chain ; And, smitten by the silent sun, The chain is loosed, the rivers run. The lands are free again. O Source unseen of hfe and light, Thy secrecy of silent might If we in bondage know. 2 74 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Our hearts, like seeds beneath the ground, By silent force of life unbound, Move upward from below. Thomas Toke Lynch THURSDAY THIS did not once so trouble me, That better I could not love Thee, But now I feel and know That only when we love, we find How far our hearts remain behind The love they should bestow. While we had little care to call On Thee, and scarcely prayed at all. We seemed enough to pray : But now we only think with shame. How seldom to Thy glorious Name Our lips their offerings pay. And when we gave yet slighter heed Unto our brother's suffering need. Our hearts reproached us then Not half so much as now, that we With such a careless eye can see The woes and wants of men. In doing is this knowledge won, To see what yet remains undone ; With this our pride repress. And give us grace, a growing store. That day by day we may do more. And may esteem it less. Richard Chenevix Trench EIGHTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 275 FRIDAY I WOULD not ask Thee that my days Should flow quite smoothly on and on : Lest I should learn to love the world Too well, ere all my time was done. I would not ask Thee that my work Should never bring me pain nor fear ; Lest I should learn to work alone, And never wish Thy presence near. I would not ask Thee that my friends Should always kind and constant be : Lest I should learn to lay my faith. In them alone and not in Thee. But I would ask Thee still to give, By night my sleep — by day my bread, And that the counsel of Thy Word, Should shine and show the path to tread. And I would ask a humble heart, A changeless will to work and wake, A firm faith in Thy Providence, The rest — 'tis Thine to give or take. Alfred Norris SATURDAY STILL evermore for some great strength we pray. Seeking and yearning for it day by day ; A strength whereon undoubting we may lean, And find that rest we have but dimly seen. To lean our heart upon another heart, In love that neither life nor death can part ; 2 76 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG So seek we still to end our life-long quest, For only in true love we find true rest. That love which makes another's life our own, And tunes our jarring natures to one tone ; The filling up of all we've sought so long ; For leaning on itself no strength is strong. No love is perfect here, it leads us on To love's great source — the Uncreated One ; Most true is that through which we learn to see Most of Thy strength, and most, O Lord, of Thee. Which sees, in all its happiness and bliss, The promise of a joy more great than this ; Which seeks its perfectness for evermore. In the love-light that gilds the happy shore. O strength, O love and rest, the light that steals From the pure sunshine of those golden fields ! Faint rays we catch e'en now upon our way. Lighting our footsteps to the land of day. Thou art the light, the sunshine is from Thee ; And in Thy heart is strength and purity ; There lean our weary hearts, there ends our quest. For there is perfect love and perfect rest. L. R. THE NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY W E seek a land of more delight Than aught that promised Canaan gave ; We have escaped from sin's dark grave, Have passed the pure Baptismal wave ; Christ leads us on by day and night. The Bread, that feeds our weariness. NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 277 The Rock, that, in the wilderness, Still gushes pure and free to bless Our souls with spiritual might. We must not be Hke Israel's band, Who tempted God by deed and thought, Who scorned the Law His Prophet taught. Who loathed the precious food he brought. And wished again for Egypt's land ; His Holy Faith they would not hold, But loved the tales the Heathen told, And made them idol Gods of gold. Provoking His Almighty hand. These things are our examples, given, That we, who walk in brighter day. May hold our Faith more pure than they ; Nor in this bad world go astray To sin, by evil passions driven ; Till He, Whom type and lay foretold In mystic signs and songs of old. Shall lead us o'er life's dreary wold. Safe to our happy home in Heaven. Cecil Frances Alexander WEEK OF THE NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY THE child leans on its parent's breast. Leaves there its cares, and is at rest ; The bird sits singing by its nest, And tells aloud His trust in God, and so is blest 'Neath every cloud. 278 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG He has no store, he sows no seed ; Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed ; By flowing stream or grassy mead, He sings to shame Men, who forget, in fear of need, A Father's name. The heart that trusts for ever sings, And feels as light as it had wings ; A well of peace within it springs : Come good, or ill, Whate'er to-day, to-morrow brings, It is His will. Isaac Williams TUESDAY HOW happy is he born and taught, That serveth not another's will ; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill ! Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death. Not tied unto the world by care Of public fame, or private breath. Who envies none whom chance doth raise, Or vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise ; Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; Who hath his life from rumours freed. Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; Whose state can neither flatterers feed. Nor ruin make oppressors great ; NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 279 Who God doth late and early pray, More of His grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day With a religious book, or friend ; This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands ; And; having nothing, yet hath all. Sir Henry Wotton WEDNESDAY WHY throbs this breast ? Why heave these piteous sighs ? Say, doubting heart, why do such fears arise ? Hast thou forgotten One, Whose loving power Is strong to save in sorrow's saddest hour ? Oh ! when cast down, remember days gone by, When earthly comforts failed, but He was nigh ! Remember how He stayed thy falling tears. Subdued the storm, and drove away thy fears. And now again. He says to thee, " Be still, For I am God — thy God — and ever will ; Though dark to thee, yet all My ways are just. And, where thou seest not, believe and trust. " A little while, and all these clouds shall pass ; Then thou no more shalt see through earth's dark glass, But face to face ; hereafter thou shalt know That out of love I sent thee that brief woe." 28o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Then, Lord, whatever seemeth good to Thee — Bitter or sweet — let it be done to me ; And should'st Thou bid each earthly stay be gone, Oh ! give me grace to say, " Thy Will be done." C. H. I. THURSDAY LONG have I view'd, long have I thought, And held with trembling hand this bitter draught : 'Twas now just to my lips applied ; Nature shrank in, and all my courage died. But now resolved and firm I'll be. Since, Lord, 'tis mingled, and reach'd out by Thee. Since 'tis Thy sentence I should part With the most precious treasure of my heart, I freely that and more resign ; My heart itself, as its delight, is Thine ; My little all I give to Thee— Thou gav'st a greater gift, Thy Son, to me. He left true bliss and joys above. Himself He emptied of all good, but love ; For me He freely did forsake More good than He from me can ever take. A mortal life for a divine He took, and did at last even that resign. Take all, great God, I will not grieve. But still will wish that I had still to give. I hear Thy voice ; Thou bid'st me quit My paradise, I bless and do submit. I will not murmur at Thy word, Nor beg Thy Angel to sheath up his sword. John Norris NINTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 281 FRIDAY TO pray to God continually; To learn to know Him rightfully ; To honour God in Trinity ; The Trinity in Unity ; The Father in His majesty ; The Son in His humanity ; The Holy Ghost's benignity ; Three persons one in a Deity ; To serve Him alway holily ; To ask Him all thing needfully ; To praise Him alway worthily ; To love Him alway stedfastly ; To dread Him alway fearfully ; To ask Him mercy heartily ; To trust Him alway faithfully ; To obey Him alway willingly ; To abide Him alway patiently ; To thank Him alway thankfully ; To live here alway virtuously ; To use thy neighbour honestly ; To look for death still presently ; To help the poor in misery ; To hope for heaven's felicity ; To have faith, hope, and charity ; To count this life but vanity ; — Be points of Christianity. Thomas Tusser SATURDAY " OTAY, Master, stay upon this heavenly hill \ O A little longer, let us linger still ; With these two mighty ones of old beside. Near to the Awful Presence still abide ; 284 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG WEEK OF THE TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY IS thy cruse of comfort wasting ? haste its scanty drops to share, And through all the years of famine thou shalt still have drops to spare. Love divine will fill thy storehouse, or thy handful still renew. Scanty fare for one will often make a royal feast for two. For the heart grows rich in giving ; all its wealth is living grain ; Seeds which mildew in the garner, scattered, fill with gold the plain. Is thy burden hard and heavy? Do thy steps drag wearily ? Help to bear thy brother's burden ; God will bear both it and thee. Numb and weary on the mountains, wouldst thou sleep amidst the snow ? Chafe that frozen form beside thee, and together both shall glow. Art thou stricken in Hfe's battle? many wounded round thee moan ; Lavish on their wounds thy balsams, and that balm shall heal thine own. TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 285 Is the heart a well left empty ? none but God its void can fill ; Nothing but a ceaseless fountain can its ceaseless longings still. Is the heart a living power? self-entwined, its strength sinks low ; It can only live in loving; and, by serving, love will grow. Elizabeth Rundle Charles TUESDAY SHOW me the tears, the tears of tender love, Wept over Salem in her evil day ; When grace and righteousness together strove, And grace at length to righteousness gave way. Dread hour of conflict between law and love ! — When not from tears couldst Thou, O Christ, refrain ; When grace went forth to save, but like the dove, Returned disconsolate, its errand vain. Theirs the great woe, yet Thine, O Lord, the deep And awful anguish for their coming fears ; Thou weepedst because they refused to weep. And grief Divine found vent in human tears. They closed the ear against Thy tender words ; They chose another lord, and spurned Thy sway ; Thou wouldst have drawn them, but they snapped Thy cords ; Thou wouldst have blest them, but they turned away. 286 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Thou lovedst them, but they would not be loved, And human hatred fought with Love Divine ; They saw Thee shed the tears of love unmoved. And mocked the grace that would have made them Thine. O Son of God, Who camest from above To take my flesh, to bear my bitter cross ; Show me Thy tears, Thy tears of tender love, That I for Thee may count all gain but loss. That I may know Thee, and by Thee be known ; That I may love Thee, and may taste Thy love ; That I may win Thee, and in Thee a crown ; That I may rest and reign with Thee above. HORATIUS BONAR WEDNESDAY THERE is a dwelling-place above ; Thither to meet the God of love, The poor in spirit go ; There is a paradise of rest ; For contrite hearts and souls distrest Its streams of comfort flow. There is a goodly heritage, Where earthly passions cease to rage ; The meek that haven gain : There is a board, where they who pine, Hungry, athirst, for grace divine. May feast, nor crave again. There is a voice to mercy true ; To them who mercy's path pursue That voice shall bliss impart ; TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 287 There is a sight from man concealed ; That sight, the face of God revealed, Shall bless the pure in heart. There is a name, in Heaven bestow'd ; That name, which hails them sons of God, The friends of peace shall know : There is a Kingdom in the sky. Where they shall reign with God on high, Who serve Him best below. Lord ! be it mine like them to choose The better part, like them to use The means Thy love hath given ! Be holiness my aim on earth. That death be welcomed as a birth To life and bliss in Heaven ! Richard Mant THURSDAY PRAYER is omnipotence descending, when We pray through Him Who died upon the Tree, Pray through His merits and His agony ; The prayer of them who pray as dying men, Who pray as they who ne'er can pray again, — Such power is mighty to bring down the sky With all that bright and glorious company ; Which made thus sensible to mortal ken, Are but the spiritual deeds that go before, Or follow after to the Judgment door. Prayer hath the power to draw them from their sphere. And bring them unto us in spirit near. 286 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Thou lovedst them, but they would not be loved, And human hatred fought with Love Divine ; They saw Thee shed the tears of love unmoved, And mocked the grace that would have made them Thine. O Son of God, Who camest from above To take my flesh, to bear my bitter cross ; Show me Thy tears, Thy tears of tender love, That I for Thee may count all gain but loss. That I may know Thee, and by Thee be known ; That I may love Thee, and may taste Thy love ; That I may win Thee, and in Thee a crown ; That I may rest and reign with Thee above. HORATIUS BONAR WEDNESDAY THERE is a dwelling-place above ; Thither to meet the God of love, The poor in spirit go ; There is a paradise of rest ; For contrite hearts and souls distrest Its streams of comfort flow. There is a goodly heritage, Where earthly passions cease to rage ; The meek that haven gain : There is a board, where they who pine. Hungry, athirst, for grace divine, May feast, nor crave again. There is a voice to mercy true ; To them who mercy's path pursue That voice shall bliss impart ; TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 287 There is a sight from man concealed ; That sight, the face of God revealed, Shall bless the pure in heart. There is a name, in Heaven bestovv'd ; That name, which hails them sons of God, The friends of peace shall know : There is a Kingdom in the sky. Where they shall reign with God on high, Who serve Him best below. Lord ! be it mine like them to choose The better part, like them to use The means Thy love hath given ! Be holiness my aim on earth. That death be welcomed as a birth To life and bliss in Heaven ! Richard Mant THURSDAY PRAYER is omnipotence descending, when We pray through Him Who died upon the Tree, Pray through His merits and His agony ; The prayer of them who pray as dying men. Who pray as they who ne'er can pray again, — Such power is mighty to bring down the sky With all that bright and glorious company ; Which made thus sensible to mortal ken, Are but the spiritual deeds that go before, Or follow after to the Judgment door. Prayer hath the power to draw them from their sphere, And bring them unto us in spirit near. 288 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Oh, if those bright ones come on earth to dwell, It is the golden age which poets tell ! It is in prayer, as at celestial springs. Those Virtues live, and breathe ethereal air : Prayer brings on all around Angelic care ; — Prayer o'er each scene Love's radiant halo flings ; — Prayer spreads o'er all we love protecting wings. Makes all events a cloud-surmounting stair : — Prayer, eye-enlightening, soul-transforming prayer. Hallows the Church, o'er parents spreads, and kings, Bears and is borne to Heaven. When monarchs call On God they build a more than earthly wall ; The mother's prayer, in the calm midnight hour. Brings on her child the moonlight's silver shower ; And, at the Altar kneeling, Christ's own poor For worldly gifts Heaven's Kingdom have in store. Isaac Williams FRIDAY OTHOU, the contrite sinner's Friend, Who loving, lov'st them to the end, On this alone my hopes depend. That Thou wilt plead for me ! When, weary in the Christian race, Far-off appears my resting-place. And fainting I mistrust Thy grace, Then, Saviour, plead for me ! When I have err'd and gone astray Afar from Thine and Wisdom's way. And see no glimmering guiding ray. Still, Saviour, plead for me ! TENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 289 When Satan, by my sins made bold, Strives from Thy Cross to loose my hold, Then with Thy pitying arms enfold, And plead, O plead for me ! And when my dying hour draws near, Darken'd with anguish, guilt, and fear. Then to my fainting sight appear. Pleading in Heaven for me ! When the full light of heavenly day Reveals my sins in dread array, Say Thou hast wash'd them all away ; O say, Thou plead'st for me ! Charlotte Elliott SATURDAY SOWER Divine ! Sow the good seed in me, Seed for eternity. 'Tis a rough barren soil. Yet by Thy care and toil. Make it a fruitful field An hundredfold to yield. Sower Divine, Plough up this heart of mine ! Sower Divine ! Quit not this wretched field Till Thou hast made it yield, Sow Thou by day and night, In darkness and in Hght. Stay not Thy hand, but sow ; Then shall the harvest grow. Sower Divine, Sow deep this heart of mine ! 290 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Sower Divine ! Let not this barren clay Lead Thee to turn away ; Let not my fruitlessness Provoke Thee not to bless ; Let not this field be dry, Refresh it from on high. Sower Divine, Water this heart of mine ! HORATIUS BONAR THE ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY TO Thy temple, Lord, or table. Ne'er by me be access sought, Save, as much as I am able. In the temper Christ hath taught. Though in aspect all agree, Each alike a Christian man, Here there stands a Pharisee, There an humble PubHcan. Lord, I'd shun the former's part. Fair though seen in outward view ; Keep the other's lowly heart ; Still, like him, for mercy sue. Nought of pride I'd mix with praise ; Nought for boast in grace would see ; Ever this the prayer I raise, " God be merciful to me ' ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 291 All my proper sins and faults Bending downwards I would own ; Ne'er a thought which self exalts Nurse, by charge on others thrown. Some a glance around me scans, Far from God who seem to be ; Yet, who names them Publicans, Proves himself a Pharisee. Nought I'd think, far less would say, These by contrast to condemn ; Only would I further pray, " God be merciful to them." Lord Kinloch WEEK OF THE ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY THE Pharisee informed the Lord How good a life he led ; The Publican shrank back in shame, And smote his breast instead : But when the Lord, in tender love, The penitent commended, The hypocrite, with heart unchanged. Straightway his prayer amended. Said he : " The man who says he's worst Is by the Lord thought best " ; So next when he to worship went. As Publican he drest. 292 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And smote upon his hollow heart, And bowed him down and groaned, And, proud of his humility. His unfelt sins he owned. The Publican, an altered man, Came, too, with lifted head, And joyfully gave thanks to God For the new life he led ; The Lord again his offering took. Still spurned the Pharisee's, For sometimes tears, and sometimes thanks, But only Truth can please. Thomas Toke Lynch TUESDAY GOD never meant that man should scale the heavens By strides of human wisdom. In His works, Though wondrous, He commands us in His Word To seek Him rather where His mercy shines. The mind indeed, enlighten'd from above, Views Him in all ; ascribes to the grand cause The grand effect ; acknov/ledges with joy His manner, and with rapture tastes His style. And never yet did philosophic tube. That brings the planets home into the eye Of observation, and discovers, else Not visible. His family of worlds, Discover Him that rules them ; such a veil Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, And dark in things divine. Full often too Our wayward intellect, the more we learn Of nature, overlooks her Author more, ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 293 From instrumental causes proud to draw Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. But if His Word once teach us, shoot a ray Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light, Then all is plain. Philosophy baptized In the pure fountain of eternal love Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees, As meant to indicate a God to man, Gives Him His praise, and forfeits not her own. William Cowper WEDNESDAY SORE was the famine throughout all the bou Of Israel, when Elijah by command Of God, journeyed to Cherith's faiHng brook. No raindrop falls, no dew-fraught cloud at morn Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale ; The withering herbage dies ; among the palms. The shrivelled leaves send to the summer gale An autumn rustle ; no sweet songster's lay Is warbled from the branches ; scarce is heard The rill's faint brawl. The prophet looks around, And trusts in God, and lays his silvered head Upon the flowerless bank ; serene he sleeps, Nor wakes till dawning : then with hands enclasp'd And heavenward face, and eyelids closed, he prays To Him Who manna on the desert shower'd. To Him Who from the rock made fountains gush ; Entranced the man of God remains ; till roused By sound of wheeling wings, with grateful heart, He sees the ravens fearless by his side Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food. James Grahame 294 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THURSDAY CHRISTIAN, did no one, thinkest thou, behold thee. What time thou faintedst in the noonday heat ? Heardst thou no Angel's voice, which sweetly told thee, " The journey is too great ; arise and eat " ? An Angel's voice ? Nay, 'twas thy God that spake it, In sweeter tones than Angel could repeat ;' Himself the Food, His own the Hands that brake it, His own the words that bade thee " Rise and eat; "This is the Bread of Life which came from Heaven, And now for thee is on My table spread ; This is My Body, which for thee was given, And this My Blood, which for thy sins was shed." O fainting, faltering wanderer, art thou able Still to refuse thy suppliant God's request ? — " Be filled, ye hungry, from My bounteous table ; And come, ye weary, I will give you rest." Oh, may His gracious, oft-urged invitation Subdue thee with its tones so soft and sweet ; Mayst thou, at length, with heartfelt adoration. And tearful penitence, arise and eat. Another banquet is for thee preparing ; Another feast thy longing eyes shall greet ; — An Angel's voice shall break thy rest, declaring, " Behold, all things are ready ; rise and eat ! " ELEVENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 295 FRIDAY THE voice of God was mighty, when it brake Through the deep stillness of chaotic night, Uttering the potent words " Let there be light ! " And light was kindled as th' Eternal spake ; While hosts seraphic hymned the wondrous plan Which formed Heaven, earth, sun, sea, and crowned the work with man. The voice of God was mighty, when it came From Sinai's summit, wrapt in midnight gloom ; When ceaseless thunders told the sinner's doom, And answering lightnings flash'd devouring flame. Till prostrate Israel breathed th' imploring cry, '' Veil, Lord, Thy terrors ; cease Thy thunders, or we die ! " The voice of God was mighty, when alone Elijah stood on Horeb, and the blast Rent the huge mountains as Jehovah passed, And the earth quaked beneath the Holy One : When ceased the storm, the blast, the lightning glare. And, but the "still small voice" was heard, yet God was there. Yet not alone in thunder or in storm The voice of God was mighty, as it came From the lurid mount, or from the car of flame When stooped the Godhead to a mortal form, When Jesus came to work His Father's will, His was the voice of God, and it was mighty still. Thomas Dale ^96 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG SATURDAY WHY dost thou heap up wealth which thou must quit, Or, what is worse, be left by it ? Why dost thou load thyself when thou'rt to fly, O man ordained to die ? Why dost thou build up stately rooms on high. Thou who art underground to lie ? Thou sowest and plantest, but no fruit must see. For death, alas ! is sowing thee. Suppose thou fortune couldst to tameness bring, And clip or pinion her wing ; Suppose thou couldst on fate so far prevail As not to cut off thy entail ; Yet death at all that subtilty will laugh : Death will that foolish gardener mock Who does a slight and annual plant engraff, Upon a lasting stock. Thou dost thyself wise and industrious deem ; A mighty husband thou wouldst seem ; Fond man ! like a bought slave thou all the while Dost but for others sweat and toil. O scene of fortune, which dost fair appear Only to men that stand not near ! Proud poverty that tinsel bravery wears. And, like a rainbow, painted tears ! Be prudent, and the shore in prospect keep ; In a weak boat trust not the deep : TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 297 Placed beneath envy, above envying rise ; Pity great men, great things despise. Abraham Cowley THE TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY "TPIS not the whirlwind, o'er our fair fields A sweeping That speaks God's present wrath : This is but nature's course, for all men keeping One indiscriminate path. Nor yet the earthquake, firm foundations shaking Of houses long since built : This is but fortune's chance, its havoc making, Without affixing guilt. Nor yet the fire, whate'er is near confounding In blind remorseless flame : This is but man's fierce ire, which all surrounding Treats, good or bad, the same. It is the still small voice within which speaketh, When guilt's fierce gust is done. That tells the doom God's righteous anger wreaketh. Yet tells, that we may shun. O gentle Lord, Who like a friend reprovest, Tender not less than true ; Thou our hard hearts by whispered warnings movest. Their erring ways to rue. 298 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Thou, Whose pure eye like lightning might consume him, On man with pity look'st ; Thou Who to fire, storm, earthquake, well might'st doom him. With still small voice rebuk'st. Lord Kinloch WEEK OF THE TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY WOMAN of pure and heaven-born fame ! Though Scripture's hallow'd page Has made no mention of thy name, Thou liv'st from age to age ! Thy labour of unwearied love To soothe the prophet's lot, Prompted by kindness from above. Shall never be forgot. The chamber built upon the wall, The bed whereon he lay, Stool, table, candlestick, and all — These things endure for aye. If humble was each boon conferred, Their giver nameless too. The record many a heart hath stirr'd Kind acts of love to do. And thus in human hearts to dwell, A pure undying flame. TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 299 Is a more glorious chronicle, Than most that boast a name. For ne'er was brighter lustre thrown On path by woman trod, Than hers, who dwelt among her own — And cared for those of God. Bernard Barton TUESDAY LEAD us aside, we would not ever stay In pleasure's gilded haunts, but come away That we may hear more clear Thy heavenly voice j Too often we have sought the world's false glare. Too often shunned the solitude of prayer, And thrusting Thee quite out, thought we had made a goodly choice. Perchance in some tremendous hour Thou wilt deprive us both of pride and power, And make us on some tearful bed lie down ; Still Thou dost lead aside, and pain is sweet If we but kiss Thy wounded hands and feet. And on our pillow for companion have Thy thorny crown. Lead us aside, over the holy dead It may be that we stand, and idly shed Tears which both dim our eyes and shut out heaven : Give us to see the Resurrection Light, And, ere our wavering faith shall quite take flight. To pray beside the open grave that strength to us be given. 300 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Like him of old we come, O Lord, to Thee, Both deaf and dumb he was, and so are we ; Good Master, now put forth Thy heahng Hand ; Our ears, O Lord, unstop, our tongues untie, And make the powers of ill and darkness fly, Before that sigh of love, the Ephphatha of Thy command. William Chatterton Dix WEDNESDAY AH ! dearest Lord, I cannot pray, My fancy is not free ; Unmannerly distractions come. And force my thoughts from Thee. The world that looks so dull all day, Grows bright on me at prayer ; And plans that ask no thought but then, Wake up and meet me there. All nature one full fountain seems Of dreamy sight and sound. Which, when I kneel, breaks up its deeps, And makes a deluge round. Old voices murmur in my ear. New hopes start into life, And past and future gaily blend In one bewitching strife. Yet Thou art oft most present, Lord, In weak, distracted prayer : A sinner out of heart with self Most often finds Thee there. TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 301 And prayer that humbles, sets the soul From all illusions free, And teaches it how utterly It hangs, dear Lord, on Thee. Frederick William Faber THURSDAY COME, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove, My sinful maladies remove ; Be Thou my Light, be Thou my Guide, O'er every thought and step preside. The Light of Truth to me display. That I may know and choose my way ; Plant holy fear within my heart. That I from God may ne'er depart. Conduct me safe, conduct me far From every sin and hurtful snare ; Lead me to God, my final Rest, In His employment to be blest. Lead me to Christ, the Living Way, Nor let me from His pastures stray ; Lead me to Heav'n, the seat of bhss. Where pleasure in perfection is. Lead me to holiness, the road That I must take to dwell with God ; Lead to Thy Word, that rules must give And sure directions how to live. Lead me to means of grace, where I May own my wants, and seek supply ; ;o2 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Lead to Thyself, the Spring from whence To fetch all quick'ning influence. Thus I, conducted still by Thee, Of God a child beloved shall be ; Here to His family pertain. Hereafter with Him ever reign. Simon Browne FRIDAY MY Maker ! of Thy power the trace In every creature's form and face The wond'ring soul surveys : Thy wisdom, infinite above Seraphic thought, a Father's love As infinite displays ! From all that meets or eye or ear, There falls a genial holy fear Which, like the heavy dew of morn, Refreshes while it bows the heart forlorn ! Great God ! Thy works are wondrous fair ! Yet sinful man didst Thou declare The whole Earth's voice and mind ! Lord, ev'n as Thou all-present art, O may we still with heedful heart Thy presence know and find ! Then, come what will of weal or woe, Joy's bosom-spring shall steady flow ; For though 'tis Heaven Thyself to see. Where but Thy shadow falls, grief cannot be ! S. T. Coleridge TWELFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 303 SATURDAY TRUE honour bides at home, and takes delight In keeping, not in gaining, of a right ; Scorns usurpation, nor seeks she blood, And thirsts to make her name not great, as good : God gives a right to man ; to man, defence To guard it given ; but when a false pretence Shall ground her title on a greater might, What doth he else but war with Heav'n, and fight With Providence? God sets the princely crown On heads of kings ; who then may take it down ? No juster quarrel, or more noble fight. Than to maintain where God hath given a right : There's no despair of conquest in that war. Where God's the leader : policy's no bar To His designs ; no power can withstand His high exploits, within Whose mighty hand Are all the corners of the earth ; the hills His fensive bulwarks are, which when He wills, His lesser breath can bandy up and down. And crush the world, and with a wink can drown The spacious universe in suds of clay : Where Heav'n is leader, Heav'n must win the day; God reaps His honour hence ; that combat's safe Where He's a combatant, and ventures half; Right's not impaired with weakness, but prevails In spite of strength, when strength and power fails : Frail is the trust reposed in troops of horse ; Truth in a handful finds a greater force. Lord, mail my heart with faith, and be my shield, And if a world confront me, I'll not yield. Francis Quarles 304 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THE THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY THY neighbour? it is he whom thou Hast power to aid and bless, Whose aching heart or burning brow Thy soothing hand may press. Thy neighbour ? 'tis the fainting poor, Whose eye with want is dim, Whom hunger sends from door to door — Go thou and succour him. Thy neighbour ? 'tis that weary man, Whose years are at their brim, Bent low with sickness, cares, and pain — Go thou and comfort him. Thy neighbour ? 'tis the heart bereft Of every earthly gem ; Widow and orphan, helpless left — Go thou and shelter them. Thy neighbour ? yonder toiling slave, Fettered in thought and limb. Whose hopes are all beyond the grave — Go thou and ransom him. Whene'er thou meet'st a human lot Less favoured than thine own. Ne'er be this truth by thee forgot. Thou dost not live alone. Oh, pass not, pass not heedlessly ; Perhaps thou canst redeem The breaking heart from misery ; Go, share thy lot with him. XIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 305 WEEK OF THE THIRTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY SWORDS of fire around us play, Shafts of flame around us fly ; Though no lightnings glare the day, Though no meteor cross the sky. In the sunniest summer noon, There is war amidst the calm ; In the loveliest beaming moon, Adverse spirits working harm. Yet the intellectual strife, Fierce and mighty as it glows, Wakes no earthly sound to life, Nor moves the tresses of the rose. Fallen man to slay, in soul, Is the prize for which they fight ; Counter warriors onward roll. Demons dark and Angels bright. The swift artillery of Heaven Passes round us every hour. Though to man it be not given While on earth to see its power. Yet the prophet's servant saw, When the Syrian host assailed, Every heavenly warrior. And bright encampment all unveiled. 3o6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And from yonder distant sky All the conflict we shall view : Turn, and see the dangers fly, And praise the God that led us through. James Edmeston TUESDAY " T^THO yonder on the desert heath, V V Complains in feeble tone? " " A pilgrim in the vale of Death, Faint, bleeding and alone ! " " How cam'st thou to this dismal strand Of danger, grief, and shame ? " "From blessed Zion's holy land. By Folly led, I came ! " "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 pass'd 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 ransom'd from the grave Should live but to His praise ! " XIIl. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 307 " Rise, then, oh rise ! His health embrace, With heavenly strength renew'd ; And, such as is thy Saviour's grace, Such be thy gratitude ! " Reginald Heber WEDNESDAY COME let us sound her praise abroad. Sweet Charity, the child of God ! Her, on whose kind maternal breast The shelter'd babes of misery rest ; Who, when she sees the sufferer bleed, Reckless of name, or sect, or creed, Comes with prompt hand and look benign, To bathe his wounds in oil and wine ; Who in her robe the sinner hides. And soothes and pities while she chides ; Who lends an ear to every cry. And asks no plea but misery. Her tender mercies freely fall. Like Heaven's refreshing dews on all ; Encircling in their wide embrace Her friends, her foes — the human race. Nor bounded to the earth alone, Her love expands to worlds unknown ; Wherever Faith's rapt thought has soar'd. Or hope her upward flight explor'd. Ere these received their name or birth. She dwelt in Heaven, she smiled on earth ; Of all celestial graces blest. The first — the last — the greatest — best. 3o8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG When Faith and Hope, from earth set free, Are lost in boundless ecstasy, Eternal daughter of the skies, She mounts to Heaven, and never dies. W. H. Drummond THURSDAY SINCE without Thee we do no good, And with Thee do no ill, Abide with us in weal and woe, In action and in will. In weal, — that while our lips confess The Lord that " gives," we may Remember, with an humble thought, The Lord Who *' takes away." In woe, — that, while to drowning tears Our hearts their joys resign. We may remember IV^o can turn Such water into wine. By hours of day, — that when our feet O'er hill and valley run. We still may think the light of truth More welcome than the sun. By hours of night, — that when the air Its dew and shadow yields. We still may hear the voice of God In silence of the fields. Oh ! then sleep comes on us Hke death. All soundless, deaf and deep : Lord ! teach us so to watch and pray. That death may come like sleep. XIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 309 Abide with us^ abide with 2is^ While flesh and soul agree ; And when our flesh is only dust, Abide our souls with Thee. Elizabeth Barrett Browning FRIDAY AUTUMN has come at last ; and Nature now Binds up her summer tresses and disrobes, That she may lay herself in silence down Upon her winter's couch, and there by sleep Repair her worn-out energies, and draw New life into her veins, that when the sun Flames out again, and the long-silent voice Of happy birds and happier children wakes Spring's first glad matin song, she may arise. Girt with new strength and with fresh beauty clothed. Thus comes life's autumn, and the happy spirit. Calmly disrobing, lays its garments down, Upon the leaf-strewn soil of this old earth. Committing them, in quiet confidence. To the safe keeping of the trusty tomb. Till death's brief winter shall have passed away. Then these old robes, with which she walked the earth, Purged from each stain of vile mortality By the all-cleansing winter of the grave. And blanch'd to glorious whiteness by its gloom. Shall shine in fairer, fresher purity. When earth's long-promised spring at last arrives. And the unsetting sun smiles down in peace O'er a new Paradise of love and joy. HORATIUS BONAR 310 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG SATURDAY IN every place, in every hour, Whate'er my wayward lot may be, In joy or grief, in sun or shower, Father and Lord, I turn to Thee. Thee, when the incense-breathing flowers Pour forth the worship of the spring. With the glad tenants of the bowers My trembling accents strive to sing. Thee, when upon the frozen strand Winter, begirt with storms, descends ; Thee, Lord, I hail. Whose gracious hand O'er all a guardian care extends. Thee, when the golden harvests yield Their treasures to increase our store ; Thee, when through ether's gloomy field The lightnings flash, the thunders roar. Thee, when athwart the azure sky Thy starry hosts their mazes lead, And when Thou sheddest from on high Thy dewdrops on the flowery mead. Thee, when my cup of bliss o'erflows ; Thee, when my heart's best joys are fled ; Thee, when my breast exulting glows ; Thee, while I bend beside the dead. AUke in joy and in distress, O let me trace Thy hand Divine ; Righteous in chast'ning, prompt to bless. Still, Father, may Thy will be mine. Lady Flora Hastings XIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 311 THE FOURTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY LORD, through infinity, which lay outspread. Thou lookedst for a form and it was mine : From nothingness to happy life I sped — And yet I linger with the ungrateful nine I Thou giv'st me to behold the teeming earth, With glimpses through it of Thy vast design : I feel its glory and its mystic worth — And yet I linger with the ungrateful nine ! I placed the creatures on the Maker's Throne, Lost in their glamour to Thy claim Divine : And Thou didst plan to bring me back Thine own — A fid yet I linger with the ungrateful nine ! Thy Son forgot the raptures of the sky, Entering our nature as a lowly shrine, And was content because of me to die — And yet I linger 7vith the ungrateful nine t And now He comes to me as heavenly Food, Like Manna hidden 'neath the Bread and Wine : What ? Can 1 still prolong my thankless mood And linger always with the ungrateful nine 1 Nay, Lord, behold me full of thankfulness : Help my ingratitude, for I am Thine : O teach my lips to praise Thee and to bless — / will arise and leave the ungrateful nine I G. T. S. Farquhar 312 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG WEEK OF THE FOURTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY HAPPY is he, who at each gift of grace, Turns back to bless the bountiful Bestower, In whom the plentitude of largess stays, And welling ever, gathers more and more ! Happy is he, in whom o'erflowing love Finds a responsive heart to love again, Happy the soil, that goodly seeks to prove. By rapid growth the gentle falling rain ! Like two sweet lutes, accorded well the two, When swept the one, the other murmurs sweet, So happy is the heart accorded true, That murmurs soft response and echo meet. Happy is he, whose streams of grace return. Laden with sweets, to whence they first have well'd. Who keeps the freshness of youth's early morn, Fervent and fresh to late declining eld ! A few short years shall quickly pass away. Life's orbit traced, to be retraced no more. But he, whose course in love was guided aye, A wider orb shall reach, and goodlier shore ; — Where everlasting love shall crown his soul. With new and fathomless depths, wherein to trace. As countless years pass by, and ages roll, The ample plenitude of loving grace ! XIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 313 TUESDAY LORD, what am I ? A worm, dust, vapour, nothing ! What is my life ? A dream, a daily dying ! What is my flesh ? My soul's uneasy clothing ! What is my time ? A minute ever flying 1 My time, my flesh, my life, and I : What are we. Lord, but vanity ? Where am I, Lord ? Downe in a vale of Death : What is my trade ? Sin my dear God offending : My sport sin, too ; my stay a puffe of breath : What end of sin ? Hell's horrour never ending : My way, my trade, sport, stay and place Help up to make my doleful case. Lord what art Thou ? pure life, power, beauty, bliss : Where dwell'st Thou ? up above in perfect light : What is Thy time ? Eternity it is : What state ? attendance of each glorious spirit : Thyself, Thy place. Thy dayes. Thy state Pass all the thoughts of powers create. How shall I reach Thee, Lord? Oh, soar above. Ambitious soul ! But which way should I flie ? Thou, Lord, art way and end. What wings have I? Aspiring thoughts of faith, of hope, of love. Oh, let these wings that way alone Present me to Thy blissful throne. Joseph Hall 314 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG WEDNESDAY AND is it so that Nature stints her praise, With niggard thanks makes offering to her God; As though His Spirit knew not all her ways, And there were paths that He had never trod ? See, the lone iceberg glittering in the sun, Reflecting back his beams with thankfulness. And reck'ning up Heaven's blessings one by one. Does every separate ray with joy confess. It is not now and then that flowers are fair, And smile their gratitude for blessings given ; Or gleam at morning, through a grateful tear. For all the mercy showered down by Heaven. It is not here and there that woods grow green, And bud beneath the spring's reviving breath, Or in their brightest hues arrayed are seen With double beauty from their transient death. No, Nature is not backward ; she declares Each blessing as it comes, and owns her Lord ; She is no miser of her thanks, nor spares What due is to the Giver, loved, adored. Alas ! for man day after day may rise. Night after night may shade his thankless head ; He sees no God in the bright morning skies, He sings no praises for his guarded bed. But one in ten is found to bend him low. To thank that Father, Who has given him all. — XIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 315 Down on thy knees, thou thankless one, and know That He Who gives can, at a word, recall. T. Marsland Hopkins THURSDAY SWEET Hope is soveraigne comfort of our life Our joy in sorrow and our peace in strife ; The dame of beggars and the queene of kings : Can these delight in height of prosperous things Without expecting still to keep them sure ? Can those the weight of heavy wants endure Unless persuasion instant paine allay. Reserving spirit for a better day ? Our God, Who planted in His creature's breast This stop, on which the wheeles of passion rest, Hath rays'd, by beames of His abundant grace, This strong affection to a higher place. It is the second vertue which attends That soule whose motion to His sight ascends. Rest here, my mind, thou shalt no longer stay To gaze upon these houses made with clay : Thou shalt not stoope to honours or to lands. Nor golden balles, where sliding fortune stands ; If no false colours draw thy steps amisse, Thou hast a palace of eternal blisse, A paradise from care and feare exempt, An object worthy of the best attempt. Who would not for so rich a country fight ? Who would not runne that sees a goal so bright ? O Thou, Who art our Author and our End, On Whose large mercy chains of hope depend ; Lift me to Thee by Thy propitious hand, For lower I can find no place to stand. Sir John Beaumont 3i6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG FRIDAY WHY should we vex our foolish minds So much from day to day, With what concerning us an idle World May think or say ? Do we not know there sits a Judge, Before Whose searching eyes Our inmost hidden being cleft in twain And open lies ? O my Omniscient Lord and God ! Enough, enough for me, That Thou the evil in me and the good Dost wholly see. Let others in their fancies deem of me, Or say, whatever they will, Such as I am before Thy Judgment-throne So am I still. Praise they my good beyond desert, And all my bad ignore ; — That am I which in Thy pure sight I am. No less, no more ! Decry they all my good, and blame My evil in excess ; — That am I which in Thy pure sight I am, No more, no less ! Edward Caswall XIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 317 SATURDAY NEATH the full beamings of an orient sky The prophet sat, watching what God would do Unto the doomed city. Nought was there Of lofty rock or shadowing palm-tree tall, From the sun's heat to shelter, so he made A booth and sat therein, and God prepared A gourd, which straightway grew ; and pleasantly Beneath the shadow of its spreading leaves The prophet felt refreshed. Brief pleasantness : For in the gourd — the gourd which gladdened him, The gourd which God's own goodness had prepared — There was a worm, which smote it that it withered. Withered and died. Was it not strange that God, Whose power prepared the comfort, should Himself As well prepare the blight ? but from the fact Is drawn a useful lesson, which our God Sees that His servants need. Ponder, my soul, The history : to nothing earthly yield Thy soul's affections ! In a night earth's joys Spring up, and ofttimes in a night they die — Die, blighted by the worm within themselves ! Neither presumptuously, my soul, arraign His ways Whose steps are on the shoreless sea; But, holding earth's delights with loosened hand. Walk softly, humbly, prayerfully with God. Ebenezer Palmer 3i8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THE FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY THEN give Thy saints That faithful zeal which neither faints Nor wildly burns, but meekly still Dares own the truth and show the ill. Frustrate those cancerous, close arts Which cause solution in all parts. And strike them dumb, who, for mere words Wound Thy beloved more than swords. Dear Lord, do thus ! and then let grace Descend and hallow all the place ; Incline each hard heart to do good, And cement us with Thy Son's blood ; That like true sheep, all in one fold, We may be fed and one mind hold. Give watchful spirits to our guides : For sin — like water — hourly glides By each man's door, and quickly will Turn in, if not obstructed still. Therefore write in their hearts Thy law, And let these long, sharp judgments awe Their very thoughts, that by their clear And holy lives Mercy may here Sit regent yet, and blessings flow As fast as persecutions nqw. So shall we know, in war and peace. Thy service to be our sole ease. With prostrate souls adoring Thee, Who turned our sad captivity. Henry Vaughan XV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 319 WEEK OF THE FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY LIKE Israel's king, oft have I too received From some who fear not God, neither regard Man or man's laws, a letter, false, unkind, Threatening to injure. They are too hard for me. What can I but as Hezekiah did, Take it to God, and on the knee of prayer Supplicate, earnestly supplicate, in faith My Heavenly Father's all-sufficient aid ? O Thou Who dwell'st between the cherubim. Bow down Thine ear, and hear my sad complaint, Bow down Thine eye and see my deep distress ; Save, Father, that Thy children and the world May know that Thou and only Thou art God. In every gone-by trouble Thou hast heard, Thou hast upheld, till now ! Across the waste. The dreary wilderness of trodden years, Faith can full many an Ebenezer see. Pillars erected to commemorate The answered prayer, the great deliverance known. I plead no merit. Lord ; no worthiness ; I plead Thy Name, Thy promise ; yea, I look To Thee in Thy true temple, confident That while the prayer of faith is lisped without. Our great Melchizedek will incense give From His gold censer in the sanctuary, Perfumed by which my prayer acceptably Will reach the presence of the Lord of Hosts. Spirit of prayer ! teach me the prayer of faith ; I need the blessing, the protection need ; 320 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Let not the chariot and the war-horse, Lord, Crush one who trusts in Thee, on Thee the Rock, The Rock to which I cling, all destitute ; Shelterless else ! Lord, hear me ! hear and save ! Ebenezer Palmer TUESDAY WE walk amid a world of beauteous things, Unnumbered blessings all around us flowing. Till we forget the gracious Hand that brings. Unheeded in Its bountiful bestowing. Sweet sights, glad sounds, are round us every day — The golden dawn, the gentle breath of even, The scent of summer flowers, the sun's warm ray, And all for pleasure, all for comfort given. We walk in a new life ; for us the stain That fell on this bright world, God's fair creation, Is washed away ; and we are made again The sons of God, the heirs of Christ's salvation ; And Angels wave their guardian wings around ; Communion with eternal things is ours, Hopes brightening still, and joys that are not found On this fair earth with all her songs and flowers. Where are our deeds in grateful service done ? Where are the words with thankful rapture burning ? Alas ! though we are cleansed, there's scarcely one With voice of praise and works of love returning. XV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 321 But words are weak when thoughts lie deep and strong ; Then hearts run o'er, in deeds their love ex- pressing ; Be all your holy lives one grateful song, Be all your acts one voice of praise and blessing. Cecil Frances Alexander WEDNESDAY WEIGHING the steadfastness and state Of some mean things which here below reside. Where birds like watchful clocks the noiseless date And intercourse of times divide. Where bees at night get home and hive, and flowers, Early as well as late, Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers : I would, said I, my God would give The staidness of these things to man ! for these To His divine appointment ever cleave. And no new business breaks their peace ; The birds nor sow nor reap, yet sup and dine, The flowers without clothes live, Yet Solomon was never drest so fine. Man hath still either toys or care ; He hath no root, nor to one place is tied. But ever restless and irregular About this earth doth run and ride. He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where ; He says it is so far That he hath quite forgot how to go there. 322 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG He knocks at all doors, strays and roams ; Nay hath not so much wit as some stones have Which in the darkest nights point to their homes, By some hid sense their Maker gave ; Man is the shuttle to whose winding quest And passage through these looms God ordered motion, but ordained no rest. Henry Vaughan THURSDAY NAY, but these are breezes bright, Currents pure from deeps of light ; Bracing to all hearts are they. He Whom winds and seas obey To the children of His love Tempers them that they may prove Free, not lawless, chastely bold. Self-controlling, Heaven-controlled. Fear not if strong o'er thee such gales should blow, Even when autumnal life might sigh for calm ; But test them ere thine heart o'erflow. By pureness, and by love's soft balm. From the rushing of that breeze Far away the ill spirit flees. What were else a storm and strife, Blotting the last gleam of life, Now shall waft thee steadily Upward through the lucid sky. Like the deep air gathering Underneath an eagle's wing. Then fearless let the sacred whirlwind bear Thee, wearied else, where Christlike souls ascend ; XV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 323 But mark : — no gales may waft thee there, But thence were breathed, and homeward tend. John Keble FRIDAY THO' nothing once, and born but yesterday. Like Him Who knows nor ending nor decay, So shalt thou live, my soul, immortal one ! Strong as the firm, the dread, eternal throne, Endless as God, Who sits for aye thereon. Infinite Father ! shall Thy creature dare Look forth, and say, Eternity I share With Him Who made me ? May he forward send His thoughts, and say, Like God 1 know no end ? — Stretch onward, age on age, till mind grows dim. Yet conscious, cry. There still am I with Him ? Worm of the dust, thought almost blasphemy ! Dread glory ! — I, like God, shall ever be ! O goodness searchless ! Thou Who once didst walk With man on earth, with man familiar talk, Bringing Thyself to him, to lead the way From darkness up to glory and to day. Uniting with our form, that man, when blind To all but sense, the high intent might find Of his own soul, his never dying mind, — Teach us, in this Thy Sacrifice, to see Thy love, — our worth, in this great m.ystery. Richard Henry Dana SATURDAY SPIRIT of God ! descend upon my heart ; Wean it from earth ; through all its pulses move ; Stoop to my weakness, mighty as Thou art, And make me love Thee as I ought to love. 324 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies ; No sudden rending of the veil of clay ; No Angel-visitant, no opening skies ; But take the dimness of my soul away. Hast Thou not bid us love Thee, God and King ? All, all Thine own — soul, heart, and strength, and mind ; I see Thy Cross — there teach my heart to cling : O let me seek Thee, and O let me find ! Teach me to feel that Thou art always nigh ; Teach me the struggles of the soul to bear ; To check the rising doubt, the rebel sigh ; Teach me the patience of unanswer'd prayer. Teach me to love Thee as Thine Angels love, One holy passion filling all my frame ; The baptism of the Heaven-descended Dove, My heart an altar, and Thy love the flame. George Croly THE SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY THEY came on, Bearing a body heavily on its bier. And by the crowd that in the burning sun Walk'd with forgetful sadness, 'twas one Mourn'd with uncommon sorrow. The broad gate Swung on its hinges, and the Roman bent His spear-point downwards as the bearers pass'd. Bending beneath their burden. There was one — XVI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 325 Only one mourner. Close behind the bier, Crumpling the pall up in her wither'd hands, Follow'd an aged woman. Her short steps Falter'd with weakness, and a broken moan Fell from her lips, thicken'd convulsively As her heart bled afresh. The pitying crowd Follow'd apart, but no one spoke to her. She had no kinsmen. She had lived alone — A widow with one son. He was her all — The only tie she had in the wide world, And he was dead. They could not comfort her. Forth from the city-gate the pitying crowd Follow'd the stricken mourner. They came near The place of burial, and, with straining hands, Closer upon her breast she clasp'd the pall. And with a gasping sob, quick as a child's. And an inquiring wildness flashing through The thin grey lashes of her fever'd eyes, She came where Jesus stood beside the way. He look'd upon her, and His heart was moved. " Weep not ! " He said ; and as they stay'd the bier. And at His bidding laid it at His feet. He gently drew the pall from out her grasp And laid it back in silence from the dead. With troubled wonder the mute throng drew near, And gazed on His calm looks. A minute's space He stood and pray'd. Then, taking the cold hand. He said, " Arise ! " And instantly the breast Heaved in its cerements, and a sudden flush Ran through the lines of the divided lips, And with a murmur of his mother's name. He trembled and sat upright in his shroud. And, while the mourner hung upon his neck, Jesus went calmly on His way to Nain. Nathaniel Parker Willis 326 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG WEEK OF THE SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY OH sweetest words that Jesus could have spoke, To soothe the widow's heart which grief had broke ; They fall with comfort on mine ear, When life is sad and trouble near. They were not whispered accents, but aloud The Saviour spake them to the silent crowd ; That each might hear His heavenly voice, And in the widow's joy rejoice ! Words that were spoken amid sorrow's strife, And in the very midst of death and life ; They shall refresh my soul at last. And strengthen me till life is past. If poverty obscures my earthly lot. Then shall I hear my Saviour say, " Weep not " ; To God, our Father, raise thine eye, For He still hears the raven's cry. Though death the dearest to my heart has slain, Jesus shall yet restore my dead again ; "Weep not," He says, "poor weary one. But think on what at Nain I've done ! " And when I shall myself draw near to death. This Jesus shall be there, and thus He saith, " The race is run, the battle fought, I am thy light, thy life, ' weep not ! ' " XVI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 327 Oh, sweetest words that Jesus could have spoke, To raise the weary hearts which grief had broke ; Thrice blessed words ! I listening stay Till grief and sorrow melt away. Jane Borthwick TUESDAY ME hath He called to love Him, me hath deign'd To call His child, for me His life-blood pour'd ; And when I wander from Him He is pain'd : To all things else His all-constraining word Sets bounds, and o'er them throws His holding cord. But to our love : He asks our being whole : And who unto the soul can bounds afford ? 'Tis He, Who can the infinite control. Alone can meet her love, alone can fill the soul. I ask not wealth, I ask not length of days. Nor joys which home and rural sights bestow, Nor honour among men, nor poet's praise. Nor friendship, nor the lamp of thought to know. Which, with its own warm light, bathes all below ; Nor that the seed I sow should harvest prove ; I ask not health, nor spirit's gladdening flow, Nor an assured pledge of rest above, If only Thou wilt give a heart to know Thy love. As many as the crosses which abound On every side our road which leads to Heaven, 328 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG So many tokens of Thy care are found To wean our fancies unto pleasure given, To aid Thy Spirit which with ours hath striven, And bring us to the Cross of Thy deep woes. Here in the twilight of the silent even, While life's short day to stable darkness goes, My heart shall fly to Thee, and rest in Thy repose. Isaac Williams WEDNESDAY SEPTEMBER'S woods are clothed in darker green, Though yet autumnal crimson spares the trees ; The sunshine slants athwart the quiet scene. And harvest waves around in golden seas. No more the tender blade will cleave the soil, For now the swelling corn has filled the ear ; The husbandman awaits to-morrow's toil, The crown and issue of the busy year. But ere that sun can set and rise again, That slopes e'en now to hide beneath the west, There is a farewell respite for the grain ; A final evening of unhindered rest. And O, my heart, inspired by such a view Of rich and silent fields, that calmly wait. Frets at the countless turmoils, which pursue The hurrying moments of our mortal state ! And it becomes the prophet of a day. When God shall bid the whirl of labour cease. Yet hold the heavenly reapers from my way, And grant me too a parting hour of peace ! XVI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 329 But, kindly harvest, though I view thee now With longings for an evening rest hke thine, Behold, 'tis God's to yield or disallow. And 'tis my part to make His pleasure mine ! G. T. S. Farquhar THURSDAY ETERNAL Father ! God of peace ! Being Whose bounties never cease ! While to the heavens in grateful tones Ascend our mingled orisons. Listen to these, the notes of praise, Which we, a happy people, raise. Our hamlets, sheltered by Thy care, Abodes of peace and plenty are ; Our tillage by Thy blessing yields An hundredfold — the ripen'd fields Of waving grain — the burdened vine — Are tokens of Thy love divine. The cradled head of infancy Oweth its tranquil rest to Thee — Youth's doubting step, and firmer tread In years mature, by Thee are led — Secure may trembling age, O Lord, Lean on its staff, the Holy Word. Teach us these blessings to improve ; Teach us to serve Thee, teach to love — Exalt our hearts, that we may see The Giver of all Good in Thee : And be Thy Word our daily food, Thy service. Lord, our greatest good. Whether in youth, like early fruit. Or in the sere and solemn suit Of our autumnal age, like wheat Ripen'd, and for the reaper fit, 330 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Thou cut us off, O God, may we Gathered into Thy garner be. H. Hastings Weld FRIDAY ALAS ! my torments ; my distracted fears Have no commerce with reasonable tears : How hath Heaven's absence darken'd the renown Of Zion's glory with one angry frown ! How hath the Almighty clouded those bright beams And changed her beauties' streamers into streams! Zion, the glory of whose refulgent fame Gave earnest of an everlasting name, Is now become an indigested mass ; And ruin is, where that brave glory was. How hath Heaven struck her earth-admired name From th' height of honour to the depth of shame ! Thou great Creator, Whose diviner breath Preserves Thy creature, joy'st not in his death, Look down from Thy eternal Throne, That art The only Rock of a despairing heart ; Look down Heaven, O from Thou, Whose tender ear Once heard the trickling of one single tear : How art Thou now estranged from his cry. That sends forth rivers from his tearful eye ! How often hast Thou, with a gentle arm. Raised me from death, and bid me fear no harm ! What strange disaster caused this sudden change ? How wert Thou once so near, and now so strange ! Francis Quarles XVI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 331 SATURDAY WHEN darkness long has veil'd my mind And smiling day once more appears, Then, my Redeemer, then I find The folly of my doubts and fears. Straight I upbraid my wandering heart And blush that I should ever be Thus prone to act so base a part Or harbour one hard thought of Thee. Oh ! let me then at length be taught What I am still so slow to learn, That God is love and changes not, Nor knows the shadow of a turn. Sweet truth, and easy to repeat ! But when my faith is sharply tried, I find myself a learner yet. Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide. But, O my Lord, one look from Thee Subdues the disobedient will ; Drives doubt and discontent away. And Thy rebellious child is still. Thou art as ready to forgive As I am ready to repine ; Thou, therefore, all the praise receive ; Be shame and self-abhorrence mine. William Cowper 332 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG THE SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY ONE baptism, and one faith, One Lord, below, above ! The fellowship of Zion hath One only watch ward, — Love. From different temples though it rise, One song ascendeth to the skies. Our Sacrifice is One ; One priest before the Throne, — The Crucified, the risen Son, Redeemer, Lord alone ! And sighs from contrite hearts that spring, Our chief, our choicest offering. Oh, why should they who love One Gospel to unfold. Who look for one bright home above. On earth be strange and cold ? Why, subjects of the Prince of Peace, In strife abide, and bitterness ? Oh, may that holy prayer, His tenderest and His last. The utterance of His latest care, Ere to His Throne He passed, — No longer unfulfilled remain The world's offence, the people's stain ! Head of Thy Church beneath. The catholic, — the true, — On her disjointed members breathe, Her broken frame renew ! XVII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 333 Then shall Thy perfect will be done When Christians love and live as one. E. Robinson WEEK OF THE SEVENTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY AN earnest, ardent will for good, Increasing still with new desire, Still longing more and more for food — Such is love's holy, heavenly fire ! Zeal for all virtue, more and more. Is the instinctive mark to prove That thou hast rightly learn'd to soar Upon the upward wings of love ! Who does not every hour apply Fresh fuel to increase the flame. Who lifts not up his heart on high, Knoweth of love but by the name ! Who does not every day improve, And grow more pure each forward pace, Knows not the fire of holy love. Nor basks within its kindly rays. A firm resolve to welcome death. Rather than grovel back in sin. To cling more loving to thy faith. And every day new worth to win ; — 334 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG To bow before affliction's rod, To nurse a contrite soul apart. — Such are the fruits of love to God, Within the faithful's glowing heart ! TUESDAY SINCE trifles make the sum of human things, And half our misery from our foibles springs ; Since life's best joys consist in peace and ease. And though but few can serve, yet all may please : Oh ! let the ungentle spirit learn from hence, A small unkindness is a great offence. To spread large bounties though we wish in vain, Yet all may shun the guilt of giving pain : To bless mankind with tides of flowing wealth. With rank to grace them, or to crown with health, Our little lot denies ; yet liberal still. Heaven gives its counterpoise to every ill ; Nor let us murmur at our stinted powers, When kindness, love, and concord, may be ours. The gift of ministering to others' ease. To all alike, impartial, God decrees : The gentle offices of patient love. Beyond all flattery, and all price above : The mild forbearance at a brother's fault, The angry word suppressed, the taunting thought ; Subduing and subdued, the petty strife. Which clouds the colour of domestic life ; The sober comfort, all the peace which springs From the large aggregate of little things ; On these small cares of daughter, wife, or friend, The almost sacred joys of home depend. There, kind affection, there thou best may reign, Home is thy true legitimate domain. XVII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 335 A solitary bliss thou ne'er could'st find, Thy joys with those thou lov'st are intertwined ; And he whose helpful tenderness removes The rankling thorn which wounds the breast he loves, Smooths not another's rugged path alone. But clears the obstructions which impede his own. Hannah More WEDNESDAY WORK while it is called to-day. Watch and pray ! With both thine hands right earnestly, As in sight of God most high, Thy calling ply. Watch ! it is the Master calls thee ; Pray ! it is His ear that hears ; Up ! shake off thy chilly fears ! Mindful that whate'er befalls thee Leaves thee further on thy way, Watch and pray. Watch ! for demons haunt around thee, Sin and harm beset thy path ; Yet be sure that nothing hath Power to hinder or confound thee. So thou faithfully alway Watch and pray. Pray ! lest watching make thee weary ; Praying thou shalt never fail. Though the night be long and dreary. 336 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Though the dawn be faint and pale, Brightens fast the perfect day : Watch and pray. H. G. TOMKINS THURSDAY THERE are some hearts like wells, green-mossed and deep As ever summer saw, And cool their water is, yea, cool and sweet ; But you must come to draw. They hoard not, yet they rest in calm content. And not unsought will give ; They can be quiet with their wealth unspent, So self-contained they live. And there are some like springs, that bubbling burst To follow dusty ways, And run with offered cup to quench his thirst Where the tired traveller strays ; That never ask the meadows if they want What is their joy to give ; Unasked, their lives to other life they grant, So self-bestowed they live. And One is like the ocean, deep and wide, Wherein all waters fall ; That girdles the broad earth, and draws the tide, Feeding and bearing all. That breeds the mists, that sends the clouds abroad, That takes again to give ; — Even the great and loving heart of God, Whereby all love doth live. XVII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 337 FRIDAY ARISE, my soul, the morning sun Will soon disperse the silv'ry mist ; Its giant course is just begun ; E'en now the rose of dawn hath kiss'd The topmost branches of the trees ; Arise, my soul, the early birds Are waken'd by the whisp'ring breeze Rustling the foliage, and the words Of God Himself join with the song, and say : "Arise, come forth, and work while it is day." But, O my soul ! thy morn is o'er, The mid-day of thy course is past ; Is pass'd to be recall'd no more. And ev'ning shades are falling fast. Hast thou indeed no work to do. That I may fold my arms and sleep ? Thou hast to battle with the foe ; A race to run ; a guard to keep. Look to the Cross ! The Saviour never cried " 'Tis finish'd " till He bowed the head and died. Lord ! I loitered by the way. And slumber'd while the golden light Call'd me to work, to watch and pray, To run the race, and fight the fight : 1 paus'd to pluck some fragile flower Which faded ere the sun went down, Forgetful that the Christian's dower Is first the cross, and then the crown. Restore my soul, may I no longer roam ; But keep the narrow way that leads me home. John Streatfeild Y 338 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG SATURDAY SOUL, when your flesh dissolves to dust, To God's safe hands yourself entrust ; Be not too curious to inquire Where to aspire ; Whether to Paradise you fly, Or in bless'd Abram's bosom lie, Or to that orb your flight you raise Where Enoch stays ; Or to the third celestial sphere. Where wonders Paul was rapt to hear, Or Hades blest, where souls elect Full bliss expect. Secure your love while here below. And dying you'll to Jesus go : Paul long lov'd Jesus' face to view. For that long you. Bless'd Jesus' boundless Hiss divine. In you a miniature will shine, Glory for glory, beam for beam Will on you stream. A crown, a throne on God's right hand, Where saints their robes of ray expand, Where saints are kings, and on their state High Angels wait. Such blessings on the saints attend. When Jesus-like they Heaven ascend. The Lamb of joys, the boundless Spring, They'll ever sing. XVIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 339 Death our forerunner is, and guides To Zion where the Lamb abides ; There saints enjoy ecstatic rest In mansions blest. Thomas Ken THE EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY CHRIST had two several wrongs to bear Two sets of foes to flee ; The Pharisee drew nigh to snare, To sneer, the Sadducee. And still the Lord two classes sees His Gospel's spread oppose ; Professing hypocrites are these ; And sensual worldlings those. Both to the temple take their way, And join the Saviour's walk, But chiefly still, that Christ they may Entangle in His talk. Both hear His gracious words of truth, Then straight their grace pervert ; These a self-righteous pride to soothe, And those a carnal heart. Each to the other bears a grudge ; These harshly censure those ; And catch what words of Christ they judge To silence put their foes. 340 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Both the true Lord alike reject, Alike from grace far off ; Though these a coming Christ expect, And those Messiah scoff. With both the Lord aHke is wroth ; Both shall to shame be driven : Lord, help me, while I mix with both. To shun of each the leaven. Lord Kinloch WEEK OF THE EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY CLEARLY I see. My God, how Thou, in every fate Thou send'st, Only by different wile of love intend'st To draw to Thee. In joy's bright hour, Thou'dst have us bring our flowers to Thee for gift; Close to Thy side our place of refuge shift. When tempests lour. But each event We construe wrong ; joy to the festive room Sends us from Thee ; woe to a sullen gloom. In our frail tent. XVIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 341 Like children we, Whom in the market-place their fellows try, With varied speech ; but who, perverse or shy, To nought agree. The merry pipe Is tuned to rouse them ; but they will not dance ; Sad tales are told, yet ne'er, for one mischance, A tear they wipe. E'en thus, and more. Our folly. Lord, tow'rds Thee ; the bliss bestowed Finds us unthankful ; and love's sadder mode. Hard to the core. Lord, take away This childish mind, and give a healthier tone : Make, both by beam and cloud, each heart Thine own, For all the day. Lord Kinloch TUESDAY I SAY to thee, do thou repeat To the first man thou mayest meet In lane, highway, or open street — That he, and we, and all men move Under a canopy of love As broad as the blue sky above ; That doubt and trouble, fear and pain, And anguish, are but shadows vain, That death itself shall not remain. That weary deserts we may tread, A dreary labyrinth may thread. Through dark ways underground be led ; 342 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Yet, if we will one Guide obey, The dreariest path, the darkest way Shall issue out in heavenly day ; And we, on divers shores now cast, Shall meet, our perilous voyage past. All in our Father's house at last. And ere thou leave him, say thou this, Yet one word more — they only miss The winning of that final bliss, Who will not count it true, that Love, Blessing, not cursing, rules above. And that in it we live and move. And one thing further make him know, — That to believe these things are so, This firm faith never to forego. Despite of all that seems at strife With blessing, all with curses rife, That this t's blessing, this is life. Richard Chenevix Trench WEDNESDAY WIDELY midst the slumbering nations Darkness holds his despot sway ; Cruel in his habitations. Ruthless o'er his prostrate prey. Star of Bethlehem ! Rise and beam in conquering day ! Light of Life, our sole Defender, Rise with healing on Thy wing ; Rise in all Thy soothing splendour ; XVIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 343 Rise, and earth with joy will sing ! Israel's glory ! Gentiles call Thee " Lord and King !" Christians, haste ! the morn is breaking ; Darkness wheels his downward flight ; But, your polished armour taking, Stand, nor quit the waning fight. Great Redeemer ! Guard us with Thy shield of light. Onward, Christians, onward pressing. Triumph in the Crucified ! Endless honour, rest and blessing, Wait you at His radiant side. Cease not, cease not, Till you see Him glorified. William Henry Havergal THURSDAY THEY are all gone into the world of light ! And I alone sit lingering here ; Their very memory is fair and bright. And my sad thoughts doth clear : — It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast. Like stars upon some gloomy grove. Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest. After the sun's remove. I see them walking in an air of glory. Whose light doth trample on my days : My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmerings and decays. 344 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Oh holy Hope ! and high Humihty, High as the heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have show'd them me, To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the just, Shining nowhere, but in the dark ; What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust. Could man outlook that mark ! He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know At first sight, if the bird be flown ; But what fair well or grove he sings in now. That is to him unknown. And yet, as Angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul, when man doth sleep ; So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes And into glory peep. Henry Vaughan FRIDAY O PIETY ! O heavenly Piety ! She is not rigid as fanatics deem. But warm as Love, and beautiful as Hope. Prop of the weak, the crown of humbleness, The clue of doubt, the eyesight of the blind. The heavenly robe and garniture of clay ! XVIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 345 Clad in that raiment, ever white and pure, The wayside mire is harmless to defile, And rudest storms sweep impotently by. Shown by that clue, the doubtful path is clear, The intricate snares and mazes of the world Are all unlabyrinth'd and bright as day. Sweet Piety ! divinest Piety ! She has a soul capacious as the spheres, A heart as large as all humanity. Who to his dwelling takes that visitant. Has a perpetual solace in all pain, A friend and comforter in every grief. The noblest domes, the haughtiest palaces. That know not her, have ever open gates Where misery may enter at her will. But from the threshold of the poorest hut Where she sits smihng, sorrow passes by. And owns the spell that robs her of her sting. Charles Mackay SATURDAY LORD, canst Thou condescend indeed to dwell In such a frail, ungracious heart as mine ? Then from that heart the idol self expel. And make it Thine, O Lord, and only Thine. When Israel chose Thy mercy as their theme, The glory shone most brightly from Thy face ; When we are lowest in our own esteem. Our hearts become Thy favour'd dwelHng-place ; 346 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG When grace alone is sought, and self is lost, Our souls will then reflect Thine image most. " Christ in us " ! — who can reach the depth and height, The length and breadth of such a gift as this ? In weakness He is strength, in darkness light. Amidst the world's distress an untold bliss, Treasures of wisdom to a simple mind, Riches of grace the contrite heart to bless, A clear and open vision to the blind. And to the naked soul a comely dress ; Compared with this all other gifts are dim : Poor in ourselves, yet we have all in Him. With " Christ in us," our glorious hope is sure ; Dwelling in Him the true and Uving way. Our souls are safe, and to the end endure ; Through faith all sin and guilt on Him we lay : See through the veil our great High Priest within, Prepared His own redeemed ones to bless ; Himself made sin for us. Who knew no sin. That we might perfect righteousness possess ; While by His Spirit, dwelling in our hearts. His peace. His joy. His glory He imparts. John Streatfeild THE NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY IF we scan The wide or narrow circle of our friends And weigh their worth, we find, alas ! that all. Even in the glance of charity, possess XIX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 347 Some spot ; and if we haply mark ourselves, We are not perfect ! E'en humanity, Like the spoilt picture of some master-mind, Hath much it may admire, but prominent The fault obtrudes ! And as when Lucifer Poured the dark drop at Eden's fountain-head. He poisoned every stream ; e'en so when Eve The cup of disobedience tasted there, She gave to all her children naughtiness. Which only death can end ! The silent grave Is Nature's crucible ! our bodies thence. Crumbled to dust, and yet, new modelled there. Shall rise in pristine beauty, like the Lord, If, in the Lord, on earth regenerate ! Oh ! let this truth teach tenderness to all ! And when we mark unlovely tempers rise, When in our brother, in God's likeness made, And more especially in one new-born, We see the shadow of the tempter flash O'er features God made good, oh, let us ask, — Not of the tempter, nor of his own pride, Indignant to reply, — but at the throne. The mercy throne, where sits the Prince of Peace, Let us, all conscious we are liable To the same temper, the same tempest too. Ask larger measure of that heavenly grace Which calms, and loves, and wins ! Ebenezer Palmer 348 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG WEEK OF THE NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY " T OVE God, love truth, love virtue, and be ^ happy"; These were the words first uttered in the ear Of every being rational made, and made For thought, or word, or deed accountable. Most men the first forgot, the second none. Whatever path they took, by hill or vale, By day or night, the universal wish. The aim and sole intent was happiness. But, erring from the heaven-appointed path, Strange tracts indeed they took through barren wastes. And up the sandy mountain climbing toiled, Which pining lay beneath the curse of God, And nought produced. Yet did the traveller look And point his eye before him greedily. As if he saw some verdant spot, where grew The heavenly flower, where sprang the well of life, Where undisturbed felicity reposed ; Though Wisdom's eye no vestige could discern, That happiness had ever passed that way. Wisdom was right, for still the terms remained Unchanged, unchangeable — the terms on which True peace was given to man, unchanged as God, Who, in His own essential nature, binds Eternally to virtue happiness. Nor lets them part through all His universe. Robert Pollok XIX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 349 TUESDAY I STOOD and watched my ships go out, Each, one by one, unmooring free, What time the quiet harbour filled With flood-tide from the sea. The first that sailed, — her name was Joy ; She spread a smooth and ample sail, And eastward strove, with bending spars, Before the singing gale. Another sailed, — her name was Hope ; No cargo in her hold she bore, Thinking to find in western lands Of merchandise a store. The next that sailed, — her name was Love ; She showed a red flag at the mast, — A flag as red as blood she showed, And she sped south right fast. The last that sailed, — her name was Faith ; Slowly she took her passage forth, Tacked and lay to — at last she steered A straight course for the north. My gallant ships they sailed away Over the shimmering summer sea ; I stood at watch for many a day. But only one came back to me. For Joy was caught by Pirate Pain ; Hope ran upon a hidden reef; And Love took fire, and foundered fast In 'whelming seas of grief. 350 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Faith came at last, storm-beat and torn ; She recompensed me all my loss, For as a cargo safe she brought A Crown, linked to a Cross ! WENESDAY NIGHT turns to day when sullen darkness lowers, And heaven and earth are hid from sight ; Cheer up, cheer up, ere long the opening flowers. With dewy eyes shall shine in light ! Winter wakes spring, when icy blasts are blowing O'er frozen lakes, through naked trees ; Cheer up, cheer up, all beautiful and glowing. May floats in fragrance on the breeze. Storms die in calms, when over land and ocean Rolls the loud chariot of the wind ; Cheer up, cheer up, the voice of wild commotion Proclaims tranquillity behind. War ends in peace : though dread artillery rattle, And ghastly corses load the ground ; Cheer up, cheer up; where groan'd the field of battle The corn shall deck the peaceful ground. Toil brings repose ; with noontide fervours beating, When droop thy temples o'er thy breast ; Cheer up, cheer up, gray twilight cool and fleeting. Wafts on its wing the hour of rest. XIX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 351 Death springs to life, though sad and brief thy story, Thy years all spent in grief and gloom ; Look up, look up, eternity and glory Dawn through the terrors of the tomb. James Montgomery THURSDAY RISE ! for the day is passing, And you lie dreaming on ; — The others have buckled their armour And forth to the field have gone. A place in the ranks awaits you, Each man has some part to play ; The past and the future are nothing In the face of the stern to-day. Rise from your dreams of the future — Of gaining some hard-fought field, Of storming some airy fortress. Or bidding some giant yield. Your future has deeds of glory, Of honour (God grant it may !) But your arm will never be stronger, Or the need more great, than to-day. Rise ! if the past detains you. Her sunshine and storms forget ; No chains so unworthy to hold you As those of a vain regret. Sad or bright, she is lifeless for ever ; Cast her phantom arms away, Nor look back, save to learn the lesson Of a nobler strife to-day. 352 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Rise ! for the day is passing ; The low sound you scarcely hear, Is the enemy marching to battle — Arise, for the foe is near ! Stay not to sharpen your weapons, Or the hour will strike at last, When, from dreams of a coming battle, You may wake to find it past ! FRIDAY NOW weary men are tending to their home, The sun is going down on mount and sea ; Where shall the way-worn pilgrim cease to roam. Or find on earth a resting-place but Thee ? This is the pilgrim's way-side hospital. With oil and wine meet for his sorrowing breast ; From thence Thy loving accents seem to call, — "Come unto Me, ye weary, and find rest." This shall be fire to warm his world-chilled heart, A light to lighten in the darkest gloom, — In Hfe or death in Thee to have his part, — Here shall the homeless traveller find a home. Home-loving men, amid their homes at ease. They are of all most homeless ; and where'er The palmer strays, each man on earth he sees Is but a stranger and a sojourner. And village-homes that seem so still and bright By golden streams and meadows rich and fair, And castellated holds on mountain height That catch the sun's last gleam, rais'd high in air, — XIX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 353 All these unreal things appear to me The melancholy shadow of a shade ; Or cloudy pageants in the setting sun, That seem so fair because so soon to fade. The sun is going down, and bids good night To homeward wandering men, and field, and town; Thou art my light in darkness, and more bright When this sun fails, — a star that goes not down. Isaac Williams SATURDAY 'HTIS not the temple's shrine i Which holy makes the place ; Where'er God is, is power divine ; Where'er God helps, is grace. The bush on Horeb's peak, Burning, and unconsumed, The prophet bent to reverence meek, For God the spot illumed. The sword at night beheld, By Jordan's swelling bed. The captain of the host compelled To own the Lord Who led. Think of thy God as near ; And, once His presence found. Be sure, whate'er around appear. Thou tread'st on holy ground. Put off, O man, thy shoes, With which thou earth hast trod ; 354 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Thee from earth's dust and toil unloose And worship pay thy God. So shalt thou find a light, To burn, and still endure ; A leader of all-conquering might, To make thy Canaan sure. Lord Kinloch THE TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY SOLDIER, go— but not to claim Mouldering spoils of earth-born treasure, Not to build a vaunting name. Not to dwell in tents of pleasure. Dream not that the way is smooth. That thy path is strewn with roses ; Turn no wistful eye of youth Where the sunny beam reposes : — Thou hast sterner work to do, Hosts to cut thy passage through : See the plain behind thee burning ! Forward ! — there is no returning. Soldier, rest — but not for thee Spreads the world her downy pillow ; On the rock thy couch must be, While around thee chafes the billow ; Thine must be a watchful sleep. Longer than a restless waking : Such a watch as thou dost keep Brooks no moment of forsaking. XX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 355 Sleep, as on the battle-field, Girded — grasping sword and shield : Foes thou canst not name or number Steal upon thy broken slumber. Soldier, rise ! the war is done ; Lo, both death and hell are flying ; 'Twas thy Lord the battle won ; Jesus vanquish'd them by dying. Pass the stream — before thee lies All the conquer'd land of glory j — Hark ! — what songs of rapture rise ! These proclaim the Victor's story. Soldier, lay thy weapons down. Sheath the sword, and take the crown : Triumph ! all thy foes are banished ; Death is slain ; and earth has vanished. Charlotte Elizabeth Tonna WEEK OF THE TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY WHAT had I been if Thou wert not ? What were I now if Thou wert gone ? Anguish and fear were then my lot, In this wide world I stood alone ; Whate'er I loved were safe no more, The future were a dark abyss, To whom could I my sorrows pour, If Thee my laden heart should miss ? 356 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG But when Thou mak'st Thy presence felt, And when the soul has grasped Thee right, How fast the dreary shadows melt Beneath Thy warm and living light : In Thee I find a nobler birth, A glory o'er the world I see, And Paradise returns to earth, And blooms again for us in Thee. Thou strong and loving Son of Man, Redeemer from the bonds of sin, 'Tis Thou the living spark dost fan That sets my heart on fire within. Thou openest Heaven once more to men. The soul's true home, Thy Kingdom, Lord, And I can trust and hope again. And feel myself akin to God. Brethren, go forth beside all ways, The wanderer greet with outstretch'd hand. And call him back who darkly strays, And bid him join our gladsome band. That Heaven hath stoop'd to earth below, Proclaim the glad news everywhere, That all may learn our faith, and know They too may find an entrance there. Lyra Germanica TUESDAY BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy. Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse, Wed your divine sounds, and mix'd power employ Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce ; XX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 357 And to our high-raised fantasy present That undisturbed song of pure concent, Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd throne To Him that sits thereon, With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; Where the bright Seraphim, in burning row, Their loud uplifted angel trumpets blow ; And the Cherubic host, in thousand quires. Touch their immortal harps of golden wires. With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, Hymns devout and holy psalms Singing everlastingly : That we on earth, with undiscording voice. May rightly answer that melodious noise. As once we did, till disproportion'd sin Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din Broke the fair musick that all creatures made To their great Lord, Whose love their motion sway'd In perfect diapason, whilst they stood In first obedience and their state of good. O may we soon again renew that song. And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long To His celestial concert us unite, To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light ! John Milton WEDNESDAY BEHOLD the Sun from eastern gloom arise Circling the heavens upon his glittering way : Transparent glory flashes from the skies And gladsome earth exults to greet the day ! E'en thus, where souls of men are plunged in night, I view the Church's Lord in splendour shine ! 3S8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG O how He sheds the Spirit's quickening light And bathes the human heart in tints divine ! Yea, as the gold narcissus, the red rose, The snowdrop, white as winter nearly done, The violet and each blushing flower that blows. Draw each their dye from the pellucid Sun, So from the shining of the Incarnate's Face, Grow Martyrs' courage and the tearful care Of penitents, rich Love and Virgins' grace — The countless gifts that Saints have won by prayer ! Never may Sin with dark embowering leaves O'ershade and blanch my soul to deathlike hue : But some rich glow, such as Thy light achieves In Thine elect, work in me, Saviour, too ! G. T. S. Farquhar THURSDAY AS men, for fear the stars should sleep and nod, And trip at night, have spheres supplied ; As if a star were duller than a clod, Which knows his way without a guide : Just so the other Heaven they also serve, Divinity's transcendent sky : Which with the edge of wit they cut and carve. Reason triumphs, and faith lies by. Could not that Wisdom, which first broach'd the wine, Have thicken'd it with definitions ? And jagg'd His seamless coat, had that been fine. With curious questions and divisions ? XX. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 359 But all the doctrine, which He taught and gave, Was clear as Heaven, from whence it came. At least those beams of truth, which only save, Surpass in brightness any flame. Love God, and love your neighbour. Watch and pray. Do as you would be done unto. O dark instructions, e'en as dark as day ! Who can these Gordian knots undo ? But He doth bid us take His blood for wine. Bid what He please ; yet I am sure. To take and taste what He doth there design, Is all that saves, and not obscure. Then burn thy Epicycles, foolish man j Break all thy spheres, and save thy head ; Faith needs no staff of flesh, but stoutly can To Heaven alone both go, and lead. George Herbert FRIDAY THY ways, O Lord, are unlike ours ; Thy thoughts surpass our own ; And Angels, when they scan their powers, Fall, wing-veiled, round the Throne. Resistance seems a noble gift To reason's haughty view ; And passions, which proud self uplift, Re-echo it as true. But He, Whose will was crucified Throughout His sad career- 36o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Whom earth abhorr'd and man denied One sympathetic tear, On bearing outrage, wrong and hate. This Heaven-born lesson taught. That souls are not divinely great Except with meekness fraught. Submission, tender, mild, and deep. Not sullen, stern, or sad. But gentle, as when Angels weep While they watch o'er the bad, — Such the meek virtue Christ commends. Believer, as divine ; And, if thy knee to Jesu bends. That lowly grace be thine. In Christ the lamb and lion met. Their graces were combined ; And blest are those who follow yet The path He left behind. Robert Montgomery SATURDAY THERE is a Sabbath won for us, A Sabbath stored above, A service of eternal calm, An altar-rite of love. There is a Sabbath won for us. Where we shall ever wait In mute or voiceful ministries Upon the Immaculate. XXI SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 361 There shall transfigured souls be filled With Christ's Eternal Name, Dipped, like bright censers, in the sea Of molten glass and flame. Yet set not in thy thoughts too far Our Heaven and Earth apart, Lest thou should'st wrong the Heaven begun Already in thy heart. Though Heaven's above and Earth's below Yet are they but one state. And each the other with sweet skill Doth interpenetrate. Yea, many a tie and office blest. In earthly lots uneven. Hath an immortal place to fill And is a root of Heaven. And surely Sundays bright and calm. So calm, so bright as this. Are tastes imparted from above Of higher sabbath bliss. Frederick William Faber THE TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY GIRD thy loins up, Christian soldier ; Lo ! thy Captain calls thee out : Let the danger make thee bolder ; War, in weakness ; dare, in doubt. 362 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Buckle on thy heavenly armour ; Make thou no inglorious peace ; Let thy courage wax the warmer As thy foes and fears increase. Bind thy golden girdle round thee, Truth — to keep thee firm in fight ; Never shall the foe confound thee While the truth maintains the right. Righteousness within thee rooted May appear to take thy part ; But let righteousness imputed Be the breastplate of thy heart. Though to speak thou be not able, Always pray, and never rest. Prayer's a weapon for the feeble ; Weakest souls can wield it best. Ever on thy Captain calling. Make thy worst condition known ; He shall hold thee up when falling, Or shall lift thee up when down. JosiAH Hart WEEK OF THE TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY OH ! Thou, that driest the mourner's tear. How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to Thee ! XXI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 363 The friends, who in our sunshine live, When winter comes, are flown ; And he who has but tears to give Must weep those tears alone. But Thou wilt heal the broken heart. Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of woe ; When joy no longer soothes or cheers. And even hope, that threw A moment's sparkle o'er our tears. Is dimmed and vanished too. Oh ! who could bear life's stormy doom. Did not Thy Word of love Come brightly bearing, through the gloom, A peace-branch from above ? Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright With more than rapture's ray ; As darkness shows us worlds of light We could not see by day. Thomas Moore TUESDAY STRONG Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen Thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace. Believing where we cannot prove ! Thine are these orbs of light and shade ; Thou madest life in man and brute ; Thou madest Death ; and, lo ! Thy foot Is on the skull which Thou hast made. 364 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Thou wilt not leave us in the dust : Thou madest man, he knows not why ; He thinks he was not made to die ; And Thou hast made him : Thou art just. Thou seemest human and divine The highest, holiest manhood Thou : Our wills are ours, we know not how ; Our wills are ours, to make them Thine. Our Httle systems have their day ; They have their day, and cease to be ; They are but broken lights of Thee, And Thou, O Lord ! art more than they. We have but faith : we cannot know, For knowledge is of things we see ; And yet we trust it comes from Thee, A beam in darkness : let it grow. Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell ; That mind and soul, according well, May make one music, as before. Alfred, Lord Tennyson WEDNESDAY LORD, Thou art mine, and I am Thine, If mine I am : and Thine much more, Than I or ought, or can be mine. Yet to be Thine, doth me restore ; So that again I now am mine. And with advantage mine the more. XXI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 365 Since this being mine, brings with it Thine And Thou with me dost Thee restore. If I without Thee would be mine, I neither should be mine nor Thine. Lord, I am Thine, and Thou art mine : So mine Thou art, that something more I may presume Thee mine, than Thine. For Thou didst suffer to restore Not Thee, but me, and to be mine : And with advantage mine the more, Since Thou in death wast none of Thine, Yet then as mine didst me restore. O be mine still ! still make me Thine ; Or rather make no Thine and mine ! George Herbert THURSDAY GIVE us Thy blessed peace, God of all might ! Without it, we must weary in the fight ; Without it, our weak service soon must cease : Give us Thy blessed peace. Life's day is sultry, and its evening chill, With little left to cheer ; yet the heart still Cleaveth to dust, nor can obtain release, Excepting through Thy peace. Lord, give us peace, let it refresh anew The deeply tempted, yet the tried and true, Lest earthly spirits foil us in the strife, Of this too earnest life. 7,66 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG The fathers, loved by Thee, this blessing knew : Their children in the desert need it too. Give peace, and hope to lay our weapons down, And gain the victor's crown. Our life below, until the journey close. Is often stormy, and beset with foes ; Lord, in the shadow of Thy peace give rest. When we are most opprest. And whensoever death itself appear. Then may Thy Angel messengers be near, And bear us hence, to share, when troubles cease. Thine everlasting peace ! Jane Borthwick FRIDAY OH, were I ever what I am sometimes. And never more what I sometimes have been ; For oft my spirit, singing as it climbs, Can make of winter bleak a summer green : And yet sometimes, and in the sunniest weather, My work and I have fallen out together. Now, earth seems drossy. Heaven the land of gold, Anon Heaven fabulous, substantial earth ; And sometimes in my God I can be bold. And say, "What hopes are mine in right of birth?" And yet sometimes at former faith I wonder, And fears I once defied I now sink under. XXI. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 367 Lord, rid me of this natural waywardness, Unworthy one who is a child of Thine ; Calm let me be when rudest winds distress. Nor lose occasion if the day be fine ; But faithful to the light of sacred reason. One heart be mine in every changing season. Thomas Toke Lynch SATURDAY THAT which we dare invoke to bless ; Our dearest faith ; our ghastliest doubt ; He, They, One, All; within, without; The Power in darkness Whom we guess ; I found Him not in world or sun. Or eagle's wing, or insect's eye ; Nor thro' the questions men may try, The petty cobwebs we have spun : If e'er when faith had fall'n asleep, I heard a voice " believe no more " And heard an ever-breaking shore That tumbled in the Godless deep ; A warmth within the breast would melt The freezing reason's colder part, And like a man in wrath the heart Stood up and answer'd " I have felt." No, like a child in doubt and fear : But that blind clamour made me wise ; Then was I as a child that cries. But, crying, knows his father near; 368 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG And what I am beheld again What is, and no man understands ; And out of darkness came the hands That reach thro' nature, moulding men. Alfred, Lord Tennyson THE TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY " /^ O thou thy way ! " It is thy Lord Who VJ speaks ; He trod the narrow way in all its length, And His firm hand and all enduring strength Were never since denied to him who seeks. Go thou thy way, wherever it may lead : Through greenest pastures or on thorny road ; With gladsome heart, or bent beneath a load Of anxious cares, or sick with sorest need. The birds that wanton in the summer air Are vext by no forebodings, such as go To fret thy spirit ; but they trust, and so They sing to tell us of a Father's care. From sin's enticements see thou walk aloof; And if they come, to Christ for succour fly ; With Him thou shalt the powers of hell defy : The armour of His love is evil-proof. Let not past follies keep thy spirit sore ; Sin sorrowed for and conquered should impart A deeper wisdom and a purer heart ; So, go in peace, and see thou sin no more. XXII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 369 Room for thy soul to grow, to rise above These common things of earth ? Oh, hush thy strife ! 'Tis lowly work well done that makes of life A holy sacrifice of patient love. Go thou thy way until the end shall be, Leaving, in faith, thy fate for God to cast ; And so stand steadfast in thy lot at last, For ever in thy God, and God in thee. Philip Southern WEEK OF THE TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY LORD ! how oft shall I forgive ? O my soul ! dost thou not live, Every day, and every hour. On thy Father's Love, and Power? Still vouchsafed thee, tho' with sin Days will end, as days begin ; Life, with all in life bestowed. Justly forfeit to thy God ? Count the puises of tny heart. Search thro' memory every part ; All the thousand nameless ways. In which God, thro' all thy days, Hath thy life sustain'd and blest, Giving thee the thing that's best ; Tho' alas ! that life has proved, All unworthy to be loved : — 370 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG When thou hast the sum of all Blessings that, uncounted, fall Round thy path ; the light and love, Waiting on thee from above, All by boundless Mercy brought, Into judgment entering not ; Thou some faint reply from Heav'n Hast, how man should be forgiven. John S. B. Monsell TUESDAY IN the Apocalypse sublime The new-created world shall see Eternity embracing time, Space swallowed in infinity. Each sun, each star, each heavenly orb, Shall one pervading light absorb. No temple there, for boundless Heaven Shall be a temple ; not a prayer Shall from the trembling soul be riven, For all shall be devotion there ; All day, no darkness, no eclipse, In that divine Apocalypse. This world, these cycles, mortal life And mortal death, are but the scene Of shifting, surging, struggling strife, The powers of ill and good between ; Though in that strife so rough and rude We see the conquering march of good. But in the glorious time revealed Each form of ill shall fade and fall ; And every, every wound be healed. XXII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 371 And God, our God be all in all — All light, all love, all God, all good, All infinite beatitude. Sir John Bowring WEDNESDAY AND though some impious wits do questions move. And doubt if souls immortal be, or no ; That doubt their immortality doth prove, Because they seem immortal things to know. For he who reasons on both parts doth bring. Doth some things mortal, some immortal call ; Now, if himself were but a mortal thing. He could not judge immortal things at all. For when we judge, our minds we mirrors make ; And as those glasses which m.aterial be. Forms of material things do only take ; For thoughts or minds in them we cannot see ; So when we God and Angels do conceive. And think of truth, which is eternal too ; Then do our minds immortal forms receive, Which, if they mortal were, they could not do. And as if beasts conceiv'd what reason were. And that conception should distinctly show, They should the name of reasonable bear ; For, without reason, none could reason know : So when the soul mounts with so high a wing, As of eternal things she doubts can move ! 372 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG She proofs of her eternity doth bring, E'en when she strives the contrary to prove. For e'en the thought of immortahty, Being an act done, without the body's aid, Shows that herself alone could move and be, Although the body in the grave were laid. Sir John Davies THURSDAY OGOD, Whose thunder shakes the sky, Whose eye this atom globe surveys. To Thee, my only rock, I fly. Thy mercy in Thy justice praise. The mystic mazes of Thy will, — The shadows of celestial light, — Are past the power of human skill, But what the Eternal acts is right. Oh, teach me in the trying hour When anguish swells the dewy tear. To still my sorrows, own Thy power. Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear. If in this bosom aught but Thee Encroaching sought a boundless sway, Omniscience could the danger see, And mercy look the cause away. Then why, my soul, dost thou complain ? Why drooping seek the dark recess ? Shake off the melancholy chain, For God created all to bless. XXIT. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 373 The gloomy mantle of the night, Which on my sinking spirit steals, Will vanish at the morning light, Which God, my East, my Sun, reveals. Thomas Chatterton FRIDAY OH, bright and happy Olivet, Where once the Master trod, From whence He first went up on high- True Man and Very God. Incarnate Christ in human flesh. We wait till Thou appear. With glory crowned, and saints around Caught up in joy and fear. Oh, bright and happy Olivet, Once more shalt Thou behold The blessed form of God's own Son, As by those Angels told. And then shall David's throne be set. And Israel too shall be Amid the happy throng that shall The true Messiah see. Oh, bright and happy Olivet, How glad that day and fair, When Jew and Gentile in accord His love shall then declare. For when He comes, they shall return With joy upon their head. For Israel shall accepted be As living from the dead ! 374 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Oh, bright and happy Olivet, The time now draweth near When Israel, God's beloved, shall know Contrition's sweetest tear. For Christ shall come to earth again, His scattered flock to save ; And on the throne of David reign, Victorious o'er the grave. Tom L. Brown SATURDAY CONTEMPLATE all this work of Time, The giant labouring in his youth ; Nor dream of human love and truth. As dying Nature's earth and hme ; But trust that those we call the dead Are breathers of an ampler day For ever nobler ends. They say, The solid earth whereon we tread In tracts of fluent heat began. And grew to seeming-random forms. The seeming prey of cyclic storms. Till at the last arose the man ; Who throve and branch'd from clime to clime. The herald of a higher race. And of himself in higher place, If so he type this work of time Within himself, from more to more ; Or, crown'd with attributes of woe Like glories, move his course, and show That life is not as idle ore, XXIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 375 But iron dug from central gloom, And heated hot with burning fears, And dipt in baths of hissing tears, And batter'd with the shocks of doom To shape and use. Arise and fly The reeling Faun, the sensual feast ; Move upward, working out the beast, And let the ape and tiger die. Alfred, Lord Tennyson THE TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY WHEN across the inward thought Comes the emptiness of life, And it seems that earth has nought But a vain and weary strife : All to do, and nothing done, Useless days fast fleeting by, Wanderings many, progress none, Faltering steps by fountains dry. Shall we, in that hapless mood, Fainting fall beside the way ? Help us. Giver of all good ! Teach Thy wretched ones to pray. Thou that with the Father art. One in power, in glory One, Yet within the trusting heart Bearest witness with the Son : 376 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Oh, forgive our faithless mind, Raise us from our low estate, Breathe in us the will to find Higher life in small and great ! Give us watchful eyes and clear. Purged from the scales of sense, Seeing still the Master near. And the City far from hence. Higher lead our love and faith, Lower our humility ; Let the words that Jesus saith Be illumined all by Thee ! And in them let us discern, Calming all our sinful strife, While our hearts within us burn. Him, the Word, the Truth, the Life ! H. G. TOMKINS WEEK OF THE TWENTY-THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY HOW should I praise Thee, Lord ! how should my rhymes Gladly engrave Thy love in steel, If what my soul doth feel sometimes. My soul might ever feel ! Although there were some forty heavens, or more, Sometimes I peer above them all ; XXIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 377 Sometimes I hardly reach a score, Sometimes to hell I fall. O rack me not to such a vast extent ; Those distances belong to Thee ; The world's too little for Thy tent, A grave too big for me. Wilt Thou meet arms with man, that Thou dost stretch A crumb of dust from heaven to hell ? Will great God measure with a wretch ? Shall he Thy stature spell ? O let me, when Thy roof my soul hath hid, O let me roost and nestle there : Then of a sinner Thou art rid, And I of hope and fear. Yet take Thy way ; for sure Thy way is best Stretch or contract me Thy poor debtor : This is but tuning of my breast, To make the music better. Whether I fly with Angels, fall with dust. Thy hands made both, and I am there. Thy power and love, my love and trust, Make one place everywhere. George Herbert TUESDAY YOU say, but with no touch of scorn. Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes Are tender over drowning flies You tell me, doubt is Devil-born. 378 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG I know not : one indeed I knew In many a subtle question versed, Who touch'd a jarring lyre at first, But ever strove to make it true : Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds, At last he beat his music out. There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds. He fought his doubts and gather'd strength. He would not make his judgment blind, He faced the spectres of the mind And laid them : thus he came at length To find a stronger faith his own ; And Power was with him in the night. Which makes the darkness and the light, And dwells not in the light alone, But in the darkness and the cloud, As over Sinai's peaks of old, While Israel made their gods of gold, Altho' the trumpet blew so loud. Alfred, Lord Tennyson WEDNESDAY SPIRIT Divine ! attend our prayers, And make our hearts Thy home : Descend with all Thy gracious powers O come, great Spirit, come ! Come as the light — to us reveal Our emptiness and woe ; And lead us in those paths of life Where all the righteous go. XXIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 379 Come as the fire — and purge our hearts Like sacrificial flame ; Let our whole soul an offering be To our Redeemer's name. Come as the dew — and sweetly bless This consecrated hour ; May barrenness rejoice to own Thy fertilizing power. Come as the dove— and spread Thy wings, The wings of peaceful love ; And let thy Church on earth become Blest as the Church above. Come as the wind — with rushing sound And Pentecostal grace ; That all of women born may see The glory of Thy face. Spirit Divine ! attend our prayers, Make this lost world Thy home ; Descend with all Thy gracious powers ; O come, great Spirit, come ! Andrew Reed THURSDAY THAT early love of creatures, yet unmade, To frame the world the Almighty did per- suade : For love it was that first created light. Moved on the waters, chased away the night From the rude chaos, and bestowed new grace On things disposed of to their proper place, 38o CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Some to rest here, and some to shine above : Earth, sea, and heaven, were all th' effects of love. And love would be returned but there was none That to themselves or others yet were known. The world a palace was without a guest. Till one appears that must excel the rest ; One like the Author, whose capacious mind Might by the glorious work the Maker find ; Might measure heaven, and give each star a name, With art and courage the rough ocean tame ; Over the globe with swelling sails might go, And that 'tis round by his experience know ; Make strongest beasts obedient to his will, And serve his use the fertile earth to till. When by His word God had accomplished all, Man to create He did a council call : Employed His hand to give the dust He took A graceful figure and majestic look ; With His own breath conveyed into his breast Life and a soul fit to command the rest ; Worthy alone to celebrate His name For such a gift, and tell from whence it came. Birds sing His praises in a wilder note, But not with lasting numbers, and with thought — Man's great prerogative. Edmund Waller FRIDAY IF thou art one whose cry is Liberty, Pass not the portal of our hallovv'd shrine ; We in a holier freedom would be free. If thou in wealth or honour lov'st to shine, XXIII. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 381 To build in cedars, or at ease recline, No holy awe thy tongue and foot shall hold In those lov'd haunts, where ancient discipline Keeps watch amid her treasures manifold, And welcomes to stern walls and dim cathedrals old. At her command the apostolic key Opens the solemn doors ; in speaking stone Her glories far withdraw, where none can see, Seeking the Infinite in secret known. And tell of wonders which surround His throne ; Her carv'd embroideries, which retire aloof, Are ancient virtues, seen by God alone And His good Angels, mysteries learn'd by proof, And prayers which hide from man o'er heaven's embowering roof. Ye cloistral shades, and Angel-haunted cells, Chantries, and tuneful roofs, and altars old. Wherein communicable Godhead dwells ! Let your dread spirit fill me, my hand hold. And every thought to your obedience mould ; While through the avenue of number'd years. As through a pillar'd vista, I behold Where Christ for me the bleeding burden bears, Till all my heart be love, and soul-constraining fears. Isaac Williams SATURDAY WE do not dread the darkest night, If we but know the path we tread ; The longest way is smooth and light, If home beyond us lift its head. 382 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Oh ! turn not in the hours of sin The thoughts of sinners to the grave : Where proffer'd love may fail to win, Oh ! deem not terror strong to save ! But when the cares of earth molest, Her rosy wreaths to fade begin, Point to your own unruffled breast, And tell them of the sweets within. Persuade them how each pilgrim hour Is brightened by a Saviour's love ; How longs the soul like summer flower To view unveiled His face above. Bid them expect, as some dear friend, The hour that calls their soul away ; And death with hoHer thoughts to blend, Than the dark grave or cold decay. Away with these — away with fear. That deadly fear, which sinners know ; Then, fairer is the placid bier Than all the joys possessed below. W. Sewell THE TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY JAIRUS knew it now ! To his fond cries no breath of answer came; Cold was his darling's brow, And never a pulse moved in her silent frame. XXIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 383 Therefore with many a tear They bade the Saviour draw no longer near, And, when He questioned if the soul were fled, Laughed with a bitter laugh, knowing the maid was dead. But still He sought the child And, dreading only lest by unbeHef Their hearts might be beguiled. Put each one forth, who aired fictitious grief, And, taking with Him those. Who nournished faith and her divine repose, Called to the damsel's heedless form : — Arise ! And she arose with recognition in her eyes. Behold again to-day The Pastor fills Jairus' mournful part ! For oft his children stray From healthful paths and, though with loving art He calls them back, no word Responsive comes, and they, who so have erred. Wander past hope ; their spirit's life is fled. And heavy is his heart, knowing their souls are dead. But, though his toil is vain, Christ, Who of old baflled the hungry tomb, Can rend the Devil's chain, And, rescuing his victims from their doom, Win them to righteousness. O pray we then our Lord to come and bless Each lost and guilty soul with second birth And rouse a grateful joy within the Church on earth ! G. T. S. Farquhar 384 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG WEEK OF THE TWENTY-FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY WHO loves not knowledge ? Who shall rail Against her beauty ? May she mix With men and prosper ! Who shall fix Her pillars ? Let her work prevail. But on her forehead sits a fire : She sets her forward countenance And leaps into the future chance, Submitting all things to desire. Half-grown as yet, a child, and vain — She cannot fight the fear of death. What is she, cut from love and faith, But some wild Pallas from the brain Of Demons ? fiery-hot to burst All barriers in her onward race For power. Let her know her place ; She is the second, not the first. A higher hand must make her mild If all be not in vain ; and guide Her footsteps, moving side by side With wisdom, like the younger child : For she is earthly of the mind, But Wisdom heavenly of the soul. O, friend, who camest to thy goal So early, leaving me behind, XXIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 385 I would the great world grew like thee, Who grewest not alone in power And knowledge, but by year and hour In reverence and in charity. Alfred, Lord Tennyson TUESDAY O SACRED Providence, Who from end to end Strongly and sweetly movest ! shall I write And not of Thee, through Whom my fingers bend To hold my quill ? shall they not do Thee right ? Of all the creatures both in sea and land Only to man Thou hast made known Thy ways, And put the pen alone into his hand. And made him secretary of Thy praise. Man is the world's high priest : he doth present The sacrifice for all ; while they below Unto the service mutter an assent. Such as springs use that fall, and winds that blow. He that to praise and laud Thee doth refrain, Doth not refrain unto himself alone. But robs a thousand who would praise Thee fain. And doth commit a world of sin in one. Wherefore, most sacred Spirit, I here present For me and all my fellows praise to Thee : And just it is that I should pay the rent. Because the benefit accrues to me. Thou art in small things great, nor small in any, Thy even praise can neither rise, nor fall. 386 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Thou art in all things one, in each thing many : For Thou art infinite in one and all. George Herbert WEDNESDAY WHEN man to Godlike being sprung, How sweet the glorious gift he found ! While Heaven with notes of gladness rung, And Eden's beauty smiled around : Where'er the stranger bends his view, 'Tis wondrous all, divinely new. By hands unseen the virgin soil Is with unlaboured plenty crowned ; But soon must Adam bow to toil, And dress the late spontaneous ground : For oh ! too soon the thorn appears — Too soon he blends his bread with tears. E'en thus when man is born anew. The Spirit to his being given, Lo ! a new Eden starts to view, While Angel harps rejoice in Heaven : 'Tis wondrous all, divinely bright, And the new creature walks in light. Then, too, the heart's unlaboured soil Is with mysterious plenty crowned ; But soon he finds 'tis meet to toil. And dress with tears the wayward ground : Too soon, alas ! the thorn appears. And Heaven's own bread is mixed with tears. XXIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 387 Yet onward, is no scene displayed Whose bright beginnings ne'er decay ? Must every prospect seem to fade ? Must clouds o'ercast the new-born day ? Forth let the new creation burst, — No changes then, all clouds dispersed. No thorns that paradise infest — No bitter tears its feast-days leaven — No toils disturb its hallowed rest : Unlaboured plenty lasts in Heaven : Then, oh ! let faith, let patience here, With hope unmurmuring, persevere. Thomas Grinfield THURSDAY FALL not out upon the way ; Short it is, and soon will end ; Better far to fly the fray. Than to lose the friend. Christ hath sent you, two and two, With a mandate to return : Can ye meet the Master's view. If with wrath ye burn ? If thy brother seemeth slow, Jeer not, but thy quickness slack ; Rather than divided go. Keep the wearier track. Quit not, as for shorter line, Ancient ways together trod ; Joy to read at once the sign Pointing on to God. 388 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Teach each other, as ye walk, How to sing the Angels' song ; Fill the time with homeward talk, Then 'twill not be long. Gently deal with those who roam, Silent as to wanderings past ; So, together at your home All arrive at last. Lord Kinloch FRIDAY A THOUSAND oracles divine Their common beams unite ; That sinners may with Angels join To worship God aright : To praise a Trinity adored By all the hosts above ; And one thrice-holy God and Lord Through endless ages love. Triumphant host ! they never cease To laud and magnify The triune God of holiness. Whose glory fills the sky ; Whose glory to this earth extends, When God Himself imparts And the whole Trinity descends Into our faithful hearts. By faith the choirs above we meet ; And challenge them to sing Jehovah, on His curtain'd seat. Our Maker and our King. XXIV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 389 But God made flesh is wholly ours, And asks eur nobler strain ; The Father of celestial powers, The Friend of earth-born man. Ye Seraphs, nearest to the Throne All rapt in deep amaze, On us, still exiles here, look down And join us in your praise. The King, Whose glorious face ye see, For us His crown resigned ; Yea, Fulness of the Deity, He died for all mankind. Charles Wesley SATURDAY THE waves, the winds of Circumstance ! What arm their strength can stem ? What struggling mortal has a chance To bind or buffet them ? Against these rapids, who can swim, And not be hurled away Over Niagara's boiling brim. The torrent of to-day ? Ah ! trust not, man, to thine own strength ; Ah ! boast not of thy power ; Thy best, in all its breadth and length, Will break in any hour. Let but Temptation touch the line Electrical within. That spark will spring the secret mine Of nature's ready sin ! 390 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG If some sun-chance, and some moon-change Of passion's light and heat, Within Occasion's comet-range, By bad conjunction meet. Behold, a deluge ! to o'erwhelm The wisdom and the worth Of mortal's noblest spirit-realm. The pattern-man of earth ! O tower of strength ! O God, O Friend ! Defend us by Thy power; Till we have reached our trial's end. Uphold us every hour ! Each step we venture in advance Is full of woes unknown. If Thou enfranchise Circumstance, And leave us all alone ! Martin F. Tupper THE TWENTY-FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY YE heavens, oh haste your dews to shed. Ye clouds, rain gladness on our head. Thou earth, behold the time of grace, And blossom forth in righteousness. O living Sun, with joy break forth. And pierce the gloomy clefts of earth ; Behold, the mountains melt away Like wax beneath Thine ardent ray ! O Life-dew of the Churches, come, And bid this arid desert bloom ! XXV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 391 The sorrows of Thy people see, And take our human flesh on Thee. Refresh the parch'd and drooping mind, The broken Hmb in mercy bind ; Us sinners from our guilt release. And fill us with Thy heavenly peace. O wonder ! night no more is night ! Comes then at last the long'd-for light ? Ah yes, Thou shinest, O true Sun, In Whom are God and man made one ! Lyra Germanica WEEK OF THE TWENTY-FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY MONDAY WHEREFORE shrink, and say, " 'Tis vain ; In their hour hell-powers must reign ; Vainly, vainly would we force Fatal error's torrent course ; Earth is mighty, we are frail ; Faith is gone and hope must fail." Yet along the Church's sky Stars are scattered pure and high ; Yet her wasted gardens bear Autumn violets sweet and rare — Relics of a spring-time clear. Earnest of a bright new year. 392 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Israel yet hath thousands sealed, Who to Baal never kneeled ; Seize the banner, spread its fold! Seize it with no faltering hold ! Spread its foldings high and fair; Let all see the Cross is there ! What, if to the trumpet's sound Voices few come answering round ? Scarce a votary swell the burst When the anthem peals at first ? God hath sown, and He will reap ; Growth is slow when roots are deep ; He will aid the work begun, For the love of His dear Son ; He will breathe in their true breath Who, serene in prayer and faith. Would our dying embers fan,. Bright as when their glow began. Lyra Apostolica TUESDAY WATCHER, who watch'st by the bed of pain, While the stars sweep on in their midnight train ; Stifling the tear for thy loved one's sake ; Holding thy breath, lest his sleep should break ; In thy loneliest hours, there is a helper nigh, " Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." Stranger, afar from thy native land. Whom no one takes with a brother's hand, Table and hearthstone are glowing free, Casements are sparkhng, but not for thee ; XXV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 393 There is One Who can tell of a home on high, " Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." Sad one, in secret, bending low, A dart in thy breast, that the world may not know, Striving the favour of God to win, — Asking His pardon for days of sin ; Press on, press on, with thy earnest cry "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." Mourner who sitt'st in the churchyard lone. Scanning the lines on that marble stone, — Plucking the weeds from thy children's bed, Planting the myrtle, the rose instead — Look up, look up, with thy tearful eye, " Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." Fading one, with the hectic streak, With thy vein of fire, and thy burning cheek, Fear'st thou to tread the darkened vale ? Look unto One, Who can never fail. He hath trod it Himself, He will hear thy sigh, " Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." Lydia Huntley Sigourney WEDNESDAY YEA, watch and wait a little while — The weary strife is ending ; Yet hold the red-cross banner fast. While hope and fear are blending. Sure pledge of victory, though it wave O'er many a lov'd disciple's grave. 394 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG A little while, a little while, And ye shall see it streaming From north to south, from east to west, Like lightning flash, far gleaming, Sign of the Son of Man in Heaven, Pledge of His instant advent given ! Then, cheerly, brethren, watch and pray, Though tempest gloom have shrouded Full many a star that brightly shone. And yet shall shine unclouded. Jerusalem, with robe of light And starry crown, shall yet be bright. For deem ye not, oh, deem ye not, The holy Church forsaken — Or built upon th' eternal rock. Her sure foundation shaken ; Nay, for the word can never fail, *' The gates of hell shall not prevail." Jane E. Leeson THURSDAY OF God, to thy doings, a time there is sent. Which endeth with time that in doing is spent ; For time is itself, but a time for a time, Forgotten full soon, as the time of a chime. In springtime we rear, we do sow, and we plant ; In summer get victuals, lest after we want ; In harvest we carry in corn, and the fruit. In winter to spend, as we need of each suit. XXV. SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY 395 The year I compare, as I find for a truth, The Spring unto Childhood, the Summer to Youth, The Harvest to Manhood, the Winter to Age, All quickly forgot as a play on a stage. Time past is forgotten, ere men be aware ; Time present is thought on, with wonderful care ; Time coming is feared, and therefore we save, Yet oft ere it come we be gone to the grave. The lands and the riches that here we possess Be none of our own, if a God we profess ; But lent us of Him, as His talent of gold. Which being demanded, who can it withhold ? God maketh no writing, that justly doth say. How long we shall have it, — a year or a day ; But leave it we must (howsoever we leave), When Atrop shall pluck us from hence by the sleeve. To Death we must stoop, be we high, be we low, But how and how suddenly, few be that know ; What carry we then but a sheet to the grave To cover this carcass, of all that we have ? Thomas Tusser FRIDAY OH yet we trust that somehow good, Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood ; 396 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG That nothing walks with aimless feet ; That not one life shall be destroy'd, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete ; That not a worm is cloven in vain ; That not a moth with vain desire Is shriveird in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain. Behold, we know not anything ; I can but trust that good shall fall At last — far off — at last, to all. And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream : but what am I ? An infant crying in the night : An infant crying for the light : And with no language but a cry. Alfred, Lord Tennyson SATURDAY THE wish, that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul ? Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams ? So careful of the type she seems. So careless of the single life ; That I, considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds. ST ANDREW 397 And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear, I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God, I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope. Alfred, Lord Tennyson ST ANDREW OH that, ere death shall close my eyes in sleep, I might behold that Galilean deep. Sun-gilded waves, and hill-embosom'd strand, Where Andrew dwelt with his fraternal band — Andrew, who saw and heard the living Word, And came, and then brought Peter to the Lord — Andrew, next added to that favour'd three, Schooled in Christ's lore upon their native sea. Blest sight ! to see those heights which round them clos'd, When holy eyes on their dark shapes reposed ; To watch those gales which came upon the deep. When in that hold their Lord was laid asleep ; To see those rocks where dwelt their thoughts of home. And 'neath that glowing firmament to roam ; Move on the sea they moved, and there behold The moon and stars which they beheld of old ! 398 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG But ah ! far more, when death hath closed mine eyes Might I but see beyond those eastern skies By Andrew led, where, round our Saviour's feet, The holy twelve in sweet communion meet In their last haven on that stable shore. Beside that crystal sea for evermore ! Isaac Williams ST THOMAS BLESSED were they who, in the days of old, Saw the Lord's face, and listened to His word ; More blessed they. His gentle voice has told. Who never saw, and yet believe their Lord. " Except I look upon the risen dead, And lay my finger where the nails ran thro'. And touch His wounded side," Saint Thomas said, " Your words are wild, I will not hold them true." On those eleven, met to pray and watch, The last red sunbeam flung a twilight gloom. No foot has stirred, no hand has raised the latch,— There stood Another in the lowly room. " Look on My hands, O faithless heart ! " He cried, " Behold the prints of cruel nails are here, Put forth thy finger now and touch My side. There deeply drank the Roman's hated spear." THE CONVERSION OF ST PAUL 399 No more th' Apostle's doubtful soul is dim, Bursts from his quivering lip the cry of faith, " My Lord, my God " ; henceforth content for Him To bear the life of scorn, the martyr's death. And dear to us that word, in later day Who hold, in faith, the things we might not see; — " Thou seeing hast believed ; more blest are they Who have not seen, yet have believed on Me." Cecil Francis Alexander THE CONVERSION OF ST PAUL THE Will Divine that woke a waiting time. With desert cry and Calvary's Cross sublime, Had equal need on thee its power to prove. Thou soul of passionate zeal and tenderest love ! O slave devout of burdening Hebrew school, Proud to fulfil each time-exalted rule. How broke the illusion of thy swelling wrath On that meek front of calm, enduring faith ! Then flashed it on thy spirit mightily That thou hadst spurned a love that died for thee ! And all the pride went down in whelming flood Of boundless shame and boundless gratitude. What large atonement that great conscience pays ! For every wounding slight, a psalm of praise ; Unending worship shall the debt consume ; For hours of rage, a life of martyrdom. 400 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Yet in such morning glow, such vital day, What chilling sense of claim or debt can stay? O wondrous power of noble love, to free From binding Law to glorious Liberty ! Dream not that one hath drained the exhaustless sea. Full pours the tide in widening stream for thee ; Lift for new liberties that conquering sign ; Shatter the severing walls with touch divine ! Samuel Johnson THE PRESENTATION OF CHRIST IN THE TEMPLE JERUSALEM, why are thy voices dumb? Where, Sons of Jacob, are your notes of glee ? Behold ! the Lord God, Whom ye seek, doth come To-day unto His Temple suddenly. Where stand the Levite bands their King to greet ? What waiting guards attend upon His state ? — One lowly Virgin beareth up the street Her first-born Son unto thy temple gate. Her forty days of loneliness are o'er ; What present doth the virgin Mother bring ? The two young pigeons from her scanty store. And Him, the full sufficient Offering. Haply, to-day, with pomp and proffered gold, Young noble mothers sought the holy dome, ST MATTHIAS 40 1 Paid the full price that Moses bade of old, And bore their ransomed treasures proudly home; But not for them the Prophet's eye, grown dim With watchful years, lit up in ecstasy ; Nor aged Anna looked in them for Him, Whom she had served so long, so patiently. And when resistless broke the glowing word, " Now let Thy servant die, my work is done ; Mine eyes have seen the glory of the Lord ; " The Prophet looked upon the Virgin's Son. He was the perfect Sacrifice, foreshown By shadowy type of old, and symbol high ; The First-born of unnumbered Sons, alone In Him accepted, and in Him brought nigh. No treasured gold shall buy Him back again. Self-offered gift to shrive a whole world's sin ; Open thy gates ; the Victim and His train Draw near ; the Virgin bears her First-born in. Cecil Frances Alexander ST MATTHIAS PRIESTS of the Lord— let Judas warn them well. Lest in some heart a secret germ may hide Of that which hurl'd him to the lowest hell. At once a traitor and a suicide ! If lucre-dreams, not love for souls, inspire The impious mocker, who presumes to say 2 c 402 CHURCHMAN^S TREASURY OF SONG " Come, Holy Ghost ; and with celestial fire Purge the vile dross of sin and self away," Alas for him ! but grace and truth are Thine, And through the channels of Thy Church can flow; The hands are human, but the gifts divine, Which all their virtue to Thy merit owe — Who art of sacraments the vital spring, Their viewless Source of purity and power When souls their sacrifice of worship bring And throng Thy Temple in devotion's hour. Nor should false worldlings in their pride forget. If lust of income o'er the conscience reign, Some heart of Judas may be throbbing yet, And act, in principle, his crime again ! And, Lord of souls, let faithful shepherds feed The flock committed unto past'ral care, Not lured by gain, but finding all their meed When Glory's fold shall see true converts there. Robert Montgomery THE ANNUNCIATION OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY T O, Gabriel, leaving the bright realms on i-^ high, Searched out reposeful Nazareth and saw The espoused Bride of Joseph ; and his eye Was filled with wonder and a reverent awe. THE ANNUNCIATION 403 As thus he spake: — "O Mary, hear God's law On thy behalf, thou Virgin full of grace ! The Holy Spirit from above shall draw His Presence o'er thee, and thou shalt embrace A Son, the Word of God, come to redeem thy race t" As when a shower flies glooming o'er the Spring, Blurring the cheerful gladness of the day. So do these words of sudden marvel fling Across that gentle heart a quick dismay, And to herself she thus began to say : — "Ah, how can I break ofl" my cherished schemes Of homely innocence, and find my way Perchance through paths, where evil surmise teems, To that bewildering height beyond all human dreams ? " But, as the vernal drops make haste to fly. Leaving the landscape brighter than before, So Mary's troubled thoughts passed swiftly by, And left her dowered with new celestial lore. " Yea, now," she said, " my spirit can adore God's blest decree ; for, though as 'twere a sword Pierced through my being, when He bade me soar. Yet will my Father in His love afford The needful strength! Behold the handmaid of the Lord ! " Yea, she alone of mortals in the earth Can on this wondrous eminence be placed. Tell out in every age her peerless worth. By majesty and utter meekness graced ! 404 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG But, though none other child of Adam taste Her cup of bliss, be sure, my soul, that thou Hast some high destiny before thee traced. Therefore, like Mary, swift obedience vow ; Break with the entangling world and Heavenward lift thy brow ! G. T. S. Farquhar ST MARK MEEK to suffer, strong to save, From the chambers of the grave Christ the steep ascent hath trod, Up to the right hand of God. With all power invested, thence He His Spirit doth dispense. To His faithful people still, Quickening whomso'er He will. Some apostles, prophets some. At His gracious bidding come ; Pastors, teachers still He sends To His children and His friends ; For the help of those who faint. For the strengthening of the saint ; That the Church increased may be. For the body's ministry : Till, in unity and love, Faith and hope in Him above. To the measure and the span Come we of a perfect man ; ST PHILIP AND ST JAMES 405 Be no longer to and fro Toss'd by all the winds that blow ; Keep the truth, nor let it slip ; Keep the Christian fellowship. By no cunning sleight enticed From our perfect trust in Christ ; Close, compact in joint and limb May we all grow up in Him. John Moultrie ST PHILIP AND ST JAMES THOU art the Way ! All ways are thorny mazes without Thee ; Where hearts are pierced, and thoughts all aimless stray : In Thee the heart stands firm, the life moves free ; Thou art our Way. Thou art the Truth ! Questions the ages break against in vain Confront the spirit in its untried youth ; It starves, while sifting poison from the grain : Thou art the Truth ! Thou art the Light ! Earth beyond earth no faintest ray can give ; Heaven's shadeless noontide blinds our mortal sight ; In Thee we look on God, and love, and live : Thou art our Light ! 4o6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Thou art the Rock ! Doubts none can solve heave wild on every side, Wave meeting wave of thought in ceaseless shock ; On Thee the soul rests calm amidst the tide : Thou art our Rock ! Thou art the Life ! All ways without Thee paths that end in death ; All life without Thee with death harvest rife ; All truths dry bones, disjoined, and void of breath : Thou art our Life ! For Thou art Love ! Our Way and End ! the way is rest with Thee ! O Hving Truth, the truth is life in Thee ! O Life essential, life is bliss with Thee ! For Thou art Love ! Elizabeth Rundle Charles ST BARNABAS CROWNED with immortal jubilee This day, thy soul set free. From earth to Heaven thou didst pass, O holy Barnabas, He, for Whose sake, at Whose dear call, Thou gavest up thine all : He shall thine all, thy treasure be Lasting eternally. 'Mid fasting, prayer, and holy hands, Lo ! 'mid the saints he stands, ST JOHN THE BAPTIST 407 The Spirit's high behest to bear, Christ's Heav'n-sent messenger. Thou hast with Paul in labours stood, Blest bond of brotherhood ! One, in the mandate sent from high ; And one, in charity. To what barbaric shores away Did ye that light convey, When from God's chosen race ye turn'd, Who faith's glad message spurn'd ? Lord, when to us an offer'd Guest Shall come that Spirit blest. Let not our hearts Heaven's bounty slight Deeming our darkness light. Isaac Williams ST JOHN THE BAPTIST THIS day the Church commemorates The birthday of St John ; Except our Lord's Nativity, She keeps this only one. As if to lift our earth-bound hearts, Above the things which are ; And teach, how death-days, when in Christ, Are brighter days by far. And by the side of Him, Whose Birth,. Like morning star, arose ; 4o8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG To light the way, of breaking day, That on the mountains glows ; She, in the lessons of her truth, To teach us " what is good," Contrasts another Birthday, kept In shame, and lust, and blood. O Saviour, when this day returns, Bright with its summer bloom, — And, on St John's Nativity, Points to his early tomb : Be this its holy use, to make The Birthdays of each year, Tho' dear, for all their human joy, As helps to Heav'n, most dear. The Baptist's pure and holy life. Severe from early youth ; His bold rebuke of haughty vice, His patience for " the truth " : His preparation of Thy way, His living in Thy Love : His brief, but hard and toilsome day, His early rest above : Be these our Birthday monitors, Our souls, for Heaven to train ; Teaching us how " to live is Christ," And how " to die is gain." John S. B. Monsell ST PETER 409 ST PETER WHAT tears are these that flow so fast ? The cock hath crowed for coming dawn, Twice hath he crowed ; the night is past ; With new day let new hope be born. It was the Lord at cock-crow came ; Like Moses' rod, with double stroke, A voice smote Simon in his shame ; Christ looked, — the strong man's heart was broke. He weeps, and bitter are his tears. As bitter as his words were base, As urgent as the sudden fears Which even love refused to face. O, love so false and yet so true, O, love so eager yet so weak. In these sad waters born anew Thy tongue shall yet in triumph speak. Thou livest, and the boaster dies, Dies with the night that wrought his shame, Thou livest, and these tears baptize — Simon, now Peter is thy name. A rock, upon Himself the Rock Christ places thee this awful day ; Him waves assault with direful shock. And cover thee with maddening spray. But safe art thou, for strong is He : Eternal Love all love will keep : 4IO CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG The sweet shall as the bitter be ; Thou shalt rejoice as thou dost weep. Thomas Toke Lynch ST JAMES SAINT James was in the path of toil When, " Follow me," Emmanuel said ; And lo, at once, the rude turmoil He left, to haste where Jesus led. What, though an aged sire remained Bereft of son and sympathy, The homage of his heart was gained — For He Who spoke was Deity ! So is it now : our daily path Is flower'd with blessings rich and rare. When duty in devotion hath Obey'd the voice of Conscience there : — Faith should not yearn for great event Or crisis through some wondrous change, But with the calm of home content In peace pursue Hfe's wonted range. Or if, hke James, our hearts aspire In some rapt dream too high for man, And grow inflam'd with zealot-fire, O teach us. Lord, the milder plan ! — The " Son of Thunder " soften Thou, And with the balm of love allay ; Till the stern bigot from the brow In soft forbearance dies away. Robert Montgomery ST BARTHOLOMEW 411 ST BARTHOLOMEW HOW blessed, from the bonds of sin And earthly fetters free, In singleness of heart and aim, Thy servant, Lord, to be ! The hardest toil to undertake With joy at Thy command. The meanest office to receive With meekness at Thy hand : With willing heart and longing eyes, To watch before Thy gate, Ready to run the weary race. To bear the heavy weight ; No voice of thunder to expect, But follow calm and still ; For love can easily divine The One Beloved's will. Thus may I serve Thee, gracious Lord, Thus ever Thine alone ; My soul and body given to Thee, The purchase Thou hast won. Through evil and through good report Still keeping by Thy side. By hfe or death, in this poor flesh Let Christ be magnified. How happily the working days In Thy dear service fly. How rapidly the closing hour, The time of rest, draws nigh ! 412 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG When all the faithful gather home, A joyful company And ever where the Master is, Shall His bless'd servants be. Jane Borthwick ST MATTHEW SO Matthew left his golden gains, At the great Master's call ; His soul the love of Christ constrains Freely to give up all. The tide of life was at its flow, Rose higher day by day ; But he a higher life would know Than that which round him lay. Nor Fortune, bright with fav'ring smile, Can tempt him with her store ; Too long she did his heart beguile, He will be hers no more. To one sweet Voice his soul doth list, And, at its " Follow Me," Apostle, and Evangelist Henceforth for Christ is he. O Saviour ! when prosperity Makes this world hard to leave, And all its pomps and vanity Their meshes round us weave : ST MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS 413 When Mammon with its subtle chain, Fair, because forged in gold, The soul, which up to Heaven would strain In captive thrall doth hold : When life with all its balmiest hours In sunshine round us lies ; And bee-like, 'mid a thousand flowers Fond fickle fancy flies : Oh grant us grace that to Thy call We may obedient be ; And, cheerfully forsaking all. May follow only Thee. John S. B. Monsell ST MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS THERE is no night in Heaven— In that blest world above Work never can bring weariness, For work itself is love. There is no night in Heaven ! Yet nightly round each bed Of every Christian slumberer Faith hears an Angel tread. There is no grief vol Heaven ! There all is " perfect day " ; There tears are 'mid those " former things " Which all " have passed away." 414 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG There is no grief in Heaven! Yet Angels from on high Glide down on golden pinions, — The Christian's tears to dry. There is no wanf in Heaven ! The Lamb of God supplies Life's Tree of twelve-fold fruitage — Life's Spring which never dries. There is no wanf in Heaven ! Yet in a desert land The fainting Prophet was sustained E'en by an Angel's hand. There is no sin in Heaven ! Amid that blessed throng ; All-holy is their spotless robe, All-holy is their song. There is no sin in Heaven ! Here who from sin is free ? Yet Angels aid us in our strife For Christ's own liberty. There is no dea^k in Heaven ! For they who gain that shore Have won their immortality, And " they can die no more." There is no death in Heaven ! But when the Christian dies (Made thus co-heirs with Angels), They waft him to the skies. F. M. Knollis SAINT SIMON AND SAINT JUDE 415 ST LUKE LIFT high the song of praise For him whose holy pen Gave down the hymns of other days To glad the sons of men. Glory to God on high, And peace upon the earth, Goodwill to men be now proclaimed, As at the Saviour's birth. The Lord to magnify, Be lifted every voice, And in our God and Saviour Let every soul rejoice. With benedictions high Let Israel's God be praised : Who hath salvation's mighty horn Up for His people raised. And when around our path The call of Death is heard, Lord, let Thou us depart in peace. According to Thy word. Henry Alford SAINT SIMON AND SAINT JUDE WHAT mighty name did the whole earth adore? Tiberius, throned on Capri's pleasant isle ! His very whisper spread from shore to shore ; His frown was terror and his faintest smile 4i6 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Joy to a world ! Lo, pompous priests implore His deity — half blinded, half in guile ! What humble names did the whole earth despise ? The fishers on the Lake of Galilee ! Few were the noble or the rich or wise — Few were the poor, whose minds were purged and free To know the Almighty's liegemen and to prize The worth of those rough toilers on the sea ! Who names the Caesar now ? Why, here and there, A student pondering o'er a learned tome ! He marks the date when John began to wear The rough prophetic garb, but even Rome Has quite forgot the long foreboding care Wherewith she watched the tyrant's island home. Who names the Apostles now? Who names them not? Their sound is gone into each distant land. And O how glorious is their present lot ! For every year revolving sees them stand Amid the Church's praises unforgot, Descried by love upon the heavenly strand ! Then who will murmur, if perchance his name Receive no portion of the world's renown ? With Jude and Simon seek we nobler fame : At the Lord's feet lay gross ambition down : On selfless love and duty build our claim And win like them an everlasting crown ! G. T. S. Farquhar ALL SAINTS' DAY 417 ALL SAINTS' DAY THERE'S many a happy household band Brought up around one Father's knee, And fed by the same Mother's hand Through all their happy infancy ; But years roll on, the world is wide. And seas perchance and lands divide The brothers that played side by side, The sisters loved so tenderly. Yet faithful still, though far apart, They wear their childhood's early chain ; Still truly thrills each kindred heart To other's joy, for other's pain ; And if one lonely pilgrim dies The tears fall down from many eyes, And still their home's old sympathies Will sometimes wake again. There is a holy household, bound In closer bond than ties of home Or kindred claim ; the wide earth round. Those children of One Father roam. Space cannot mar their unison, For still their hopes and joys are one, In town, and plain, and desert lone, And far isles girt with foam. And time, that wears each other bond, Breaks not that holy brotherhood ; The patriarchal days beyond, Beyond the old destroying flood. 4i8 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG It clasps dim ages far away, It hold the true of every day Who love the Lord and choose His way, The faithful, wise, and good. Nor even death dissolves the charm With her cold touch so stern and chill ; The love that braved all other harm Shrinks trembling from that last worst ill, And men seal up the fading eye, They seek no more for sympathy From lips that cannot frame reply ; But saints look further still. For them the dead can never die, With them the living strive and pray ; Oh ! happy commune, pure and high, And happy all who feel its sway, Blest in their One Redeeming Lord, And blest by His own precious Word ; — Well may we linger to record Our brothers dear to-day, Tht gentle warriors bold and kind. With steadfast brow and solemn tone, The holy men of earnest mind, Whose prayers are mingling with our own, And they, for ever blest and bright, With robes in Christ's own Blood washed white. With palms in hand, and crowns of light. Who stand around His Throne. Cecil Frances Alexander INDEX Ah ! dearest Lord, I cannot pray Ah, what time wilt Thou come? when shall that cry Alas ! my torments ; my distracted fears . All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades . All hail, thou night, thou day more bright All round the rolling world, both night and day All things a prophecy contain . All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away And feel I, Death, no joy from thought of thee And is it so that Nature stints her praise . And though some impious wits do questions move An earnest, ardent will for good Arise, my soul, the morning sun As hart pants high for gushing rills . As men, for fear the stars should sleep and nod As one who, toiling up some lofty peak .\s travellers, when the twilight's come A thousand oracles divine . Autumn has come at last ; and Nature now Awake, glad soul ! awake ! awake , Awake, thou wintry earth . Away with sorrow's sigh . Because the world might not pretend Behold the sun from eastern gloom arise Be thou content : be still before Blessed Light of saints on high Blessed were they who, in the days of old Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's jo} Boast of thine honours, wealth, and power Breezes of spring, all earth to life awaking Carry me. Babe, to Bethlehem now . Charming flowers ! your day is come Christ had two several wrongs to bear Christian, did no one, thinkest thou, behold thee Christ is coming ! let creation . Christ, Who our weak flesh didst wear Clearly I see Come, Holy Spirit, from above. 2 D* PACK 300 23 176 30 188 223 64 314 371 333 337 56 358 131 127 388 309 152 IS4 38 22 357 73 238 398 356 "3 193 37 244 339 294 26 142 340 204 419 420 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG Come, Holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove Come, let us sound her praise abroad Come to our joyous marriage feast . Come, ye lofty ! come, ye lowly Contemplate all this work of Time . Count not the days that have idly flown Creator Spirit, by Whose aid . Crowned with immortal jubilee . Dark was my lot, and long it spurned Dayspring of Eternity Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her . Erst in Eden's happy garden Eternal Father ! God of peace . Eternal Truth, almighty, infinite Evermore their lauds the Angel hosts are singing Faith of our fathers ! living still Fall not out upon the way Father of nations ! what high thoughts endued Fear not, for He hath sworn Fire is not quench'd with fire, and wrath Fling out the banner ! let it float Fond heart, when learnest thou to say For message of the Written Word Fret not, poor soul : while doubt and fear From out all Nature is one common voice From princely walls, in Eastern pomp arrayed " Get thee hence, Satan ! " at His withering look Gird thy loins up, Christian soldier , Give us Thy blessed peace, God of all might God bless the calm and holy cheer . God called the nearest Angels who dwell with Him above God doth not leave His own " God is Love," the Heavens tell it . " God is my strength ! " — Be this my shield God might have made the earth bring forth God never meant that man should scale the heavens Good and great God ! Can I not think of Thee " Go thou thy way ! " It is thy Lord Who speaks Gracious Spirit, dwell with me .... Happy is he, who at each gift of grace Hark ! through the lonely waste Have mercy on me. Lord Heare me, O God ! Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate He grew in Wisdom ! who can weigh He is gone — we heard Him say He is risen, He is risen He leads us on INDEX 421 my rhymes " He loved His own unto the end " . Here must the Christian onward press His eye toward the promised land . " Holy of Holies," awful name . Holy Spirit, come, we pray Holy Spirit, Truth Divine .... Hours, and days, and months, and years . How beautiful is Truth ! she wins her way How blessed, from the bonds of sin . How happy is he born and taught How long and deep the shadows of our Lent How long, great God, how long must I . How long, O Lord, in weariness and sorrow How many a Grecian youth of old . How often on a morning bright How shall I follow Him I serve How should I praise Thee, Lord ! how should How sweet the ways of wisdom early gain'd Hushed was the evening hymn . I ask a perfect creed I bore with thee long weary days and nights If as a flower doth spread and die If hasty hand or bitter tongue . If Solomon for wisdom prayed . If thou art one whose cry is Liberty . If thou hast lost a friend .... If we scan I heard the voice of harpers, harping sweetly I hold a joy, with which I feel . I lately talked with one who strove . I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls Immortal Love, for ever full In every place, in every hour In silence mighty things are wrought In the Apocalypse sublime In the wound of Thy Right Hand In thorny thickets blow the sweetest roses Into some wave, which heedless night-winds rock Irresolute, I stand perplext I saw two women weeping by the tomb . I say to thee, do thou repeat I should not care how hard my fortunes were I sought for Wisdom in the morning time Is this a fast, to keep .... Is thy cruse of comfort wasting? haste its scanty drops to share I stood and watched my ships go out It came upon the midnight clear PAGE 182 133 201 141 210 208 42 246 4H 278 no 118 3 25 n 123 376 251 235 52 137 82 132 272 380 258 346 100 211 217 79 221 310 273 370 146 256 125 54 151 341 71 45 129 284 349 39 422 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG It happen'd on a solemn eventide I think if thou could'st know . It is not Heaven alone It is not heavy, agonizing woe . I walk as one who knows that he is treading I walked the fields at morning's prime I would not ask Thee that my days . Jairus knew it now .... Jerusalem, why are thy voices dumb. Jesus, gentle Sufferer, say . Jesus ! my loving Lord, I know Jesus, still lead on ... . Jesus, these eyes have never seen Jesu, the heart's own sweetness and true light Jesus, we rest in Thee Judge me, and plead my cause, O God Judge not ; the workings of his brain King of kings, and wilt Thou deign . Know well, my soul, God's hand controls Lead us aside, we would not ever stay Let me count my treasures Let thy gold be cast in the furnace Life, believe, is not a dream Life ! I know not what thou art Lift high the song of praise Light of the better morning Like Israel's King, oft have I too received Lo, Gabriel, leaving the bright realms on high Long have I view'd, long have I thought . " Look, Master ! See yon chariot all on fire Look up ; the rainy heavens withdraw Lord, canst Thou condescend indeed to dwell Lord ! come away Lord ! how oft shall I forgive . Lord, Thou art mine, and I am Thine Lord, through infinity, which lay outspread Lord, what am I? A worm, dust, vapour, nothing Lord, with what courage and delight " Love God, love truth, love virtue, and be happy" Love hath descended from His Throne on high Love hath taught me to obey .... Man hath a voice severe Man is a busy thing, and he ... . Meek to suffer, strong to save .... Me hath He called to love Him, me hath deign'd Mercy and Truth my song would be . Mercy, my Judge, mercy, I cry Most High and Holy Trinity .... INDEX 423 Mother ! with us the Lord doth bide My God, I thank Thee, Who hast made My God, to keep my heart My heart was glad to hear their call . My Maker ! of Thy power the trace < My soul is like a bird, my flesh the cage My soul once had its plenteous years Nay, but these are breezes bright 'Neath the full beamings of an orient sky " Night flies before the orient morning " Night turns to day when sullen darkness lowers Not afar from surf and wave Not as a fallen stone .... Not ashes on the head .... Not as He was, a houseless stranger Not here, not here ; not where the sparkling waters Nothing resting in its own completeness . Nought see we here as yet in full perfection Now are the days of humblest prayer Now take my heart and all that is in me . Now theirs was converse such as it behoves Now weary men are tending to their home O blessed Jesus ! when I see Thee bending O blessing, wearing semblance of a curse . O bright Ideals, how ye shine . Of God, to thy doings, a time there is sent Oft when of God we ask .... Of what an easy quick access . O God, Whose thunder shakes the sky O hallowed memories of the past Oh Book ! infinite sweetness ! let my heart Oh, bright and happy Olivet Oh, deem not they are blest alone . O Heaven ! sweet Heaven ! the home of the blest Oh for the peace which floweth as a river Oh, give thanks to Him that made . Oh ! help me, Lord, to seek Thy face Oh sweetest words that Jesus could have spoke Oh that, ere death shall close my eyes in sleep Oh ! Thou, that driest the mourner's tear Oh, weak are my best thoughts, and poor Oh, were I ever what I am sometimes Oh yet we trust that somehow good . O Lord, our Lord, in all the earth . O Nature ! all thy seasons please the eye One baptism, and one faith One by one the sands are flowing One in one hundred lost ! and ninety-nine PAGE 191 165 "5 2.S3 302 93 131 322 317 48 350 67 166 "3 85 241 174 99 108 50 159 352 148 95 225 394 234 70 372 186 9 373 243 173 177 63 232 326 397 362 178 366 395 169 266 332 248 239 424 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG On the Cross we saw Him dying O only source of all our light and life Open thyself and then look in . O Piety ! O heavenly Piety O Sacred Providence, Who from end to end O show me not my Saviour dying O Thou, the contrite sinner's Friend O Thou ! the Unseen, the All-seeing ! Thou Whose ' ' Our Father " — happy he that knows O worshipper, who at the break of morn . Prayer is omnipotence descending, when . Priests of the Lord — let Judas warn them well Rahel weeping for her children . Rise ! for the day is passing Saint James was in the path of toil . Saviour, sprinkle many nations . Say, from what unknown source, mysterious Nile See how yon little lark is borne See the rivers flowing .... See what unbounded zeal and love . Sent from the ark, the dove, with timid flight , September's woods are clothed in darker green Shall I, for fear of feeble man . . . , Show me the tears, the tears of tender love Silence ! though the flames arise and quiver Since o'er Thy footstool here below . Since trifles make the sum of human things Since without Thee we do no good . Skirting the azure of the summer sky Sleep, Holy Babe Soldier, go — but not to claim So Matthew left his golden gains Sore was the famine throughout all the bounds Sorrow weeps Soul, when your flesh dissolves to dust Source of my life ! to Thee my grateful soul Sower Divine ...... Spirit Divine ! attend our prayers Spirit, exiled long from earth . Spirit of Christ ! Thy grace be given Spirit of God ! descend upon my heart Spirit, soul and body's union . Spring is but another birth " Stay, Master, stay upon this heavenly hill Still evermore for some great strength we pray Still young and fine ! but what is still in view Strive ; yet I do not promise Strong Son of God, immortal Love . ways INDEX 425 Sweet Hope is soveraigne comfort of ovir life . Swift o'er the desert plains the wild wind sweeps Swords of fire around us play . Teach me, my God and King . That early love of creatures, yet unmade . That which we dare invoke to bless . The blue Egean's countless waves in Sabbath sunlight smiled The child leans on its parent's breast The days of old were days of might . The flower that in the lowly vale The glorious Sun no man can see The God of Nature and of Grace Their bark is smoothly gliding o'er the sea The lopped tree in time may grow again . The Lord is King ! lift up thy voice . The Lord shall come in dead of night The more we live, more brief appear Then give Thy saints .... The Pharisee informed the Lord The pilot's skill how can we know . The Poet scanned with mighty awe . There are no little things on earth There are some hearts like wells, green-mossed and deep Therefore to Thee I musing turn There is a dwelling-place above There is a River, deep and broad There is a Sabbath won for us . There is a time to fast .... There is no night in Heaven There's many a happy household band The stately heavens, which glory doth array The sufferer had been heard to say . The sunset falls on Isaac's tent . The time is short ..... The Tree of Life in Eden stood The turf shall be my fragrant shrine . The voice of God was mighty, when it brake The waves, the winds of Circumstance The waving fields of yellow corn The Will Divine that woke a waiting time The wise men to Thy cradle-throne . The wish, that of the living whole The world is sick, and yet not unto death The world's a floor, whose swelling heaps retain They are all gone into the world of light . They came on . This Book, this holy Book — on every line . 31S 84 305 271 379 367 33 277 20 66 II 86 7 75 200 27 179 318 291 118 233 250 336 57 286 130 360 116 413 417 91 61 13 96 89 29s 389 74 399 44 396 18 184 343 324 10 426 CHURCHMAN'S TREASURY OF SONG This day the Church commemorates This did not once so trouble me This is true glory and renown, when God . Tho' nothing once, and born but yesterday Thou art the Way Thou bidd'st us " visit in distress Thoiigh clouds be dark and tempests brood around Though I am slow to trust Thee, Lord Thou, Lord of all, on earth hast dwelt Thousands completely fed .... Three worlds there are : — the first of Sense Through many a far and foreign land Throw wide the gate, my heart Thy neighbour ? it is he whom thou . Thy ways, O Lord, are unlike ours . Time is a prince whose resistless sway "Tired ! " Well, what of that .... 'Tis first the true and then the beautiful . 'Tis not the temple's shrine .... 'Tis not the whirlwind, o'er our fair fields sweeping To be thought ill of, worse than we deserve To Him Who for our sins was slain . To pray to God continually .... To Thy temple, Lord, or table. To weary hearts, to mourning homes True honour bides at home, and takes delight . Truth through the sacred volume hidden lies . Unanswered yet, the prayer your lips have pleaded Up to the hills I hft mine eyes .... View not forms with heedless scorn . Watcher, who watch'st by the bed of pain Watchman, what of the night .... We all are in one school We cannot stay, said the winter stars We do not dread the darkest night . Weighing the steadfastness and state Welcome, dear feast of Lent : who loves not thee We seek a land of more delight We see the leaves fall withered from the trees . We walk amid a world of beauteous things What and if the day is breaking "WTiat a world with all its sorrows What earth appeared to Angel eyes . What had I been if Thou wert not . What is Life, Father What joyful harvester did ere obtain What men call Nature is a Thought Divine What mighty name did the whole earth adore INDEX 427 What tears are these that flow so fast What though we bear a heavy load . What, what is tried in the fires of God When across the inward thought When darkness long has veil'd my mind When evening clouds hang clustering round the sun When first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul leave When God at first made man . When is Communion nearest . When Israel, of the Lord beloved When Jordan hushed his waters still When man to Godlike being sprung When prayer delights thee least, then learn to say W'hen Royal Truth, released from mortal throes When scorn, and hate, and bitter envious pride When up to nightly skies we gaze Wherefore shrink, and say, " 'Tis vain Where then shall hope and fear their objects find Who is this, with garments gory Who loves not knowledge? Who shall rail Who yonder on the desert heath Why art Thou not, O Saviour, here . Why dost thou heap up wealth which thou must quit Why for thy Lord dost thou thus weep and mourn Why should we vex our foolish minds Why throbs this breast ? Why heave these piteous sighs Wide the compass of the world Widely midst the slumbering nations Woman of pure and heaven-born fame Workman of God ! oh lose not heart Work while it is called to-day . Yea, watch and wait a little while Ye flaming Powers, and winged warriors bright Ye heavens, oh haste your dev.s to shed Ye quenchless stars ! so eloquently bright Yet if his majesty our sovereign lord . You say, but with no touch of scorn . PAGE 409 119 21 375 331 8 112 78 189 167 36 386 190 160 149 81 391 260 145 384 306 161 296 155 316 279 219 342 298 231 335 393 41 390 92 29 377 PRINTED BY TURNBULL AND SPEARS EDINBURGH Princeton Theological Seminary Libraries 1 1012 01210 8868 Date Due ' - ^, '" '%L ■ . ^