m 
 
 BY 
 
 BENJAMIN B. WARFIELD 
 

 
 A THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 TZ GERALD BENSON. D. D. 
 
 EATHED BY HIM TO 
 4E LIBRARY OF 
 THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
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HYMNSS&&3 
 AND SOME 
 RELIGIOUS 
 VERSEStBY 
 BENJAMIN 
 
 WARFIELD 
 
 
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PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 THE WESTMINSTER PRESS 
 
 1910 
 
THE LOVE OF GOD ALMIGHTY. 
 
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 Rev. B. F. ALLEMAN, D. D. 
 
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 the love of God Al - might - y, 
 
 His cease - less love 1 
 
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 Pierc - ing thro' the depths be - neath us, Through the heights a - bove ; 
 
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 Wid - er than the bound-less spac 
 
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 Where the stars 
 
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 do dwell ; 
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 Kind - ling heav - en with its bright - ness, Reach - ing down to 
 
 hell; 
 
 - ling heav - en with its bright - ness, 
 
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 Reach - ing down to 
 
 hell. 
 
 Yea, out mother may forget us ; 
 
 Yea, our father fail ; 
 Yea, the bridegroom may grow careless,- 
 
 Other thoughts prevail: 
 We may change, and all the whiteness 
 
 Of our souls may blot: 
 the love of God Almighty, 
 
 Lo, it changes not. 
 
 Holy is the Lord Almighty, 
 
 Righteous past compare: 
 We are sinners, — who among us 
 
 Can His vengeance bear? 
 Lo the Cross ! and One upon it 
 
 Coming from above ! 
 O the love of God Almighty, 
 
 His Saving love! 
 
LORD GOD OF ALL THE AGES! 
 
 (ST. GEORGE'S, BOLTON.) 
 
 JAMES WALCH, 1875. 
 
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 Lord God of all the a - ges, Lord of our age as well, Thou sittest in Thy heavens, 
 
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 We on the earth do dwell ; Help us to trust Thee whol-ly, To count Thee ev- er 
 
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 true, And all that Thou command-est, In read - y faith to do. A - men. 
 
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 We hear the heathen raging, the world's rebellious roar, — 
 Thy bands they cast off from them, Thy sceptre own no more; 
 Yet still Thy voice is calling to all who will but hear; 
 Still through the murky darkness Thy light is shining clear. 
 
 This shadow that we dwell in, it too shall pass away, 
 As more and more dawns on us the splendor of Thy day ; 
 help us in our weakness Thine empire to confess, 
 And fill our hearts with courage to trust Thy faithfulness. 
 
 Lord God of all the ages, the future as the past, 
 
 And of these times of evil in which our lot is cast, 
 
 Help us to hear with trembling, the while our hearts rejoice, 
 
 The thunders of Thy marching, the whispers of Thy voice. 
 
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HOW GLORIOUS ART THOU, O OUR GOD! 
 
 (ST. ANNE.) 
 
 WILLIAM CROFT, 1708. 
 
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 How glo - nous art Thou, 
 
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 Who dwell-est in Thy people's praise, On Thine e - ter - nal throne. A-men. 
 
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 How many voices, diff'ring tongues, 
 
 Harmonious, join to raise 
 To Thee, O Rock of Israel, 
 
 Accumulating praise ! 
 
 From Charran and Chaldean Ur, 
 
 The River's banks along, 
 From Canaan's heights and Egypt's sands, 
 
 Ascends the constant song, — 
 
 From all the towns that stud the hills 
 
 Of teeming Galilee, 
 From marts of Greece and misty lands 
 
 Beyond the Western Sea. 
 
 Fain would we catch the accents strange, 
 
 Fain train our ears to hear 
 The notes that hymn Thee through the years, 
 
 O Israel's Hope and Fear! 
 
 'Twas Thou didst teach Thy Sons of old 
 
 Thy varied laud to sing, 
 School Thou our hearts that we may too 
 
 Our hallelujahs bring. 
 
 How glorious art Thou, our God! 
 
 How mighty past compare ! 
 Thou dwellest in Thy people's praise, — 
 
 Accept the praise we bear. 
 
HYMN FOR THE OPENING OF THE SEMINARY. 
 
 ( SARUM.) 
 
 Sir JOSEPH BARXBY, 1869. 
 
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 to year more green, — Lord, we thank Thee, Lord, we thank Thee. A-men. 
 
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 'Twas Thou didst raise these walls: and Thou didst give 
 Thy saints Thy truth to teach, Thy truth to live; 
 They wrought their work, and Thou didst it receive, — 
 Lord, we thank Thee. 
 
 Unto their feet Thou gatheredst of Thy Sons, — 
 The love of Thee waxed fire within their bones, 
 The world has heard their voice, — its huts, its thrones, — 
 Lord, we thank Thee. 
 
 God of our fathers, still pour out Thy grace 
 In plenteous streams upon this hallowed place, 
 Still show it all Thy glorious faithfulness, 
 Lord, we pray Thee. 
 
 And as the flood of years rolls ever by, 
 Build here Thy holy house each year more high, 
 Establish here Thy truth unchangeably, — 
 Lord, we pray Thee. 
 
 And every year send forth a sacred host, 
 Taught of thy Christ, filled with the Holy Ghost, 
 The cross their only theme, their only boast, 
 Lord, we pray Thee. 
 
THE ADVENT 
 
 HTHE Lord has come into His world! 
 
 "Nay, nay, that cannot be: 
 The world is full of noisomeness 
 
 And all iniquity; 
 The Lord — thrice holy is His name — 
 He cannot touch this thing of shame." 
 
 The Lord has come into His world! 
 
 "Ah, then, He comes in might, 
 The sword of fury in His hands, 
 
 With vengeance all bedight! 
 O wretched world ! thine end draws near, 
 Prepare to meet thy God, in fear!" 
 
 The Lord has come into His world! 
 
 "What! in that baby sweet? 
 That broken man, acquaint with grief? 
 
 Those bleeding hands and feet? 
 He is the Lord of all the earth, 
 How can He stoop to human birth?" 
 
 The Lord has come into His world! 
 
 "A slaughtered Lamb I see, 
 A smoking altar, on which burns 
 
 A sacrifice for me ! 
 He comes — He comes — O blessed day! — 
 He comes to take my sin away !" 
 
THE MOWER 
 
 A MOWER went forth to mow, 
 
 And crooned his workman's song: — 
 "Swing, swing, O mower, thy goodly scythe, 
 Make the swath both wide and long." 
 
 Gaily the grasses grow, 
 
 And fling their heads in pride : — 
 "Swing, swing, O mower, thy goodly scythe, 
 
 Make the swath both long and wide." 
 
 Quiet they lie behind, 
 
 Each by his neighbor's side : — 
 "Swing, swing, O mower, thy goodly scythe, 
 
 Make the swath both long and wide." 
 
 Though every spear of them all 
 Be a man in right or in wrong: — 
 
 "Swing, swing, O mower, thy goodly scythe, 
 Make the swath both wide and long." 
 
AUGUSTINE'S PHILOSOPHY 
 
 "HTHERE is a place for everything, 
 
 In earth or sky or sea, 
 Where it may find its proper use 
 And of advantage be," 
 
 Quoth Augustine, the saint. 
 
 The mocker quick, with curling lip : — 
 "Then there's a place for vice!" 
 
 "Yea, fitly 'neath our trampling feet, 
 May lie the cockatrice," 
 
 Quoth Augustine, the saint. 
 
 "Our very vices, great and foul, 
 When in the earth they're trod, 
 
 May haply lofty ladders build 
 On which to climb to God," 
 
 Quoth Augustine, the saint. 
 
PRAYER AND WORK 
 
 CAID one, one day: "My cause is good, 
 
 The Lord will prosper it." 
 Said Luther: "Take it to Him, then; 
 That were provision fit. 
 
 "Trust in the Lord, not in thy cause, 
 
 However good it be ; 
 Take it forthwith in faithful hands 
 
 And lay it on His knee. 
 
 "The best of causes go amiss ; 
 
 The Lord will never fail: 
 Commit thy ways into His care, 
 
 And then — shake out thy sail." 
 
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WANTED-A SAMARITAN 
 
 pRONE in the road he lay, 
 
 Wounded and sore bested ; 
 Priests, Levites, passed that way, 
 And turned aside the head. 
 
 They were not hardened men 
 
 In human service slack: 
 His need was great: but then, 
 
 His face, you see, was black. 
 
 II 
 
TRUSTING IN THE DARK 
 
 CAID Robert Leighton, holy man, 
 Intent a flickering faith to fan 
 Into a steady blaze: — 
 "Behold yon floweret to the sun, 
 As he his daily course doth run, 
 Turn undeclining gaze. 
 
 "E'en when the clouds obscure his face, 
 And only faith discerns the place 
 
 Where in the heavens he soars, 
 This floweret still, with constant eye, 
 The secret places of the sky 
 
 Untiringly explores. 
 
 "Look up, my soul! What can this be 
 But Nature's parable to thee? 
 
 Look up, with courage bright! 
 The clouds press on thee, dense and black, 
 Thy Sun shines ever at their back — 
 
 Look up and see His light !" 
 
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THE BLOOD OF THE LAMB 
 
 f DREAMED a dream on yesternight:— 
 
 A charnel house rose on my sight, 
 Vast, crowded, horrible. Untold 
 In numbers, in the gathered mould 
 Of untold numbers more, the dead 
 Lay heaped, each frame, each ghastly head 
 Oozing corruption. Suddenly 
 A great voice sounded, crying, See ! 
 And lo ! a Lamb amid these dead, 
 With wounded feet and wounded head, 
 And wounded side, wherefrom the blood 
 Surged in a never-ceasing flood. 
 Again the voice cried, See ! And lo ! 
 The Lamb was moving on with slow 
 Calm steps, the serried ranks to thread; 
 And, passing, lo! there were no dead, 
 But in their place a gathering train 
 Hymning the Lamb which had been slain. 
 
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IN THE THEATRE— THIRD CENTURY 
 
 "WES, Rome hath many mimes of skill, but yet 
 But one Genesius. For who but he 
 Hath power to make us roar with frantic glee 
 The while, in Galilean wise, all wet 
 With 'sacred water,' sore with blows and th' fret 
 
 Of chains well-merited, he skulks . . . But see ! 
 He comes! Hear how they greet him! Note how free, 
 How sure his play! The very thing! I'll get 
 The cramps from laughter! . . . Bah! what ails him 
 now? 
 The baptizing scene's his best, — and there all white 
 He stands, and trembling! 111? Nay, what says he? 
 'A Christian ! Christ the Lord hath set him free !' 
 To the lions with the booby! . . . Yet, somehow, 
 I doubt . . . What makes the fellow's face so 
 bright?" 
 
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IN THE WORLD-TWENTIETH CENTURY 
 
 /TENESIUS on the stage of Rome, what time 
 The heathens' rage imagined vanity, 
 Made sport of Christ, until the all-seeing eye 
 Observed and pitied the deluded mime. 
 At once the scales fell from him ; and sublime 
 In holy courage, as his blasphemy 
 E'en so his faith he published openly, — 
 Wherefor he died before the winter's rime. 
 
 Dear Lord, how oft do we on narrower stage 
 Like him deny Thee, if but we may win 
 
 Applauding smiles from those who love Thee not? 
 O grant us too to hate the world's mad din, 
 
 That clamors 'gainst Thee, and, our shame forgot, 
 On heart and lips to bear Thy name from age to age. 
 
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OUT OF THE NIGHT-WATCHES 
 
 JDEACE! peace! the night will pass! No, no, not yet 
 The robin's call awakes the drowsy day. 
 Nay, 'tis the robin ! and from far away 
 An oriole's whistle ! How the sparrows fret, 
 A noisier Babel in my hedge-row set ; 
 
 They quarrel with the dawn! And hark, that bay 
 Of dog! And now a footfall on the way! 
 'Tis morning beating at my lattice-net! 
 
 Great God, the light is Thine : nay, Thou art light ! 
 O that this restless longing of my heart 
 Might pipe me warning of Thy rising rays! 
 So would my fretting thoughts of yesternight 
 Cease their complaining, and employ their art 
 To drown the darkness in their iterant praise. 
 
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APOCALYPTICS 
 
 TN His own time, in His own way, He came, 
 The Hope of Israel: not in such guise 
 As flared before the anger-smarting eyes 
 Of those old watchers, who, in stolen name 
 Of seer or sibyl (heedless of their shame), 
 Would drown in glory present infamies, — 
 Prophets of hope, but prophets too of lies, 
 With vengeful passion, not with love, aflame. 
 God's ways are not as ours : the sun shall cease 
 Before His glory when He comes again; 
 As when He came at first, all thoughts of men, 
 Their dreams of unfound joys, of untried peace, 
 Their hopes of succor in their bitter ruth, 
 Stood all abashed before the unimagined truth. 
 
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