and I LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 8 wju/t. -pfUnifl =m* c i 7 £ UNITED STATES OP AMERICA, f London . Frederick "Warne k Co. Bedford. Street ,Covent Garden SONGS: SACRED AND DEVOTIONAL. EDITED AND SELECTED BY J. K CARPENTER, AUTHOR OF "DEVOTIONAL MELODIES," " SABBATH RECREATIONS "WHAT ARE THE WILD WAVES SAYING V ETC. LONDON: FREDERICK WARNE & CO, BEDFORD STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1866. J To &fj"e fHetnfltg of My Dear Son, Joseph Marshall Carpenter, in the faith that he has realised his dying words, "I believe that there is a tangible heaven" 1 Educate the following pages. J. E. CARPENTER. PREFACE. 'TPHE Sacred and Devotional Song Book will be found to differ from most other compilations of sacred verse, inasmuch as it will comprise, with but few exceptions, only such pieces as have been set to original music, or are capable of being sung -to well-known and approved tunes. Where the airs are original, the names of the composers are given ; in the other instances, the selection of the tune is left to the judgment of the reader — a task of no great difficulty with those who are in the habit of selecting hymn tunes. As a matter of convenience, the work is divided into two parts, — the first is composed of songs of a moral and religious tendency, inculcating some religious truth or- illustrating some one of the Christian 'virtues ; the second, or devotional section, comprises only songs of a strictly religious character, in the popular acceptation of this term ; these are arranged as nearly as possible as their subjects relate to the "rites and ceremonies of the Church," as set forth in the calendar attached to the Book of Common Prayer. The hymns selected repre- sent all the best writers in this class of literature, ancient vi Preface. and modern, and it is. confidently hoped that, while the sources from whence they sprung may be many and varied, it will be found that the stream is pure, and the doctrine they inculcate that founded on the broad principles of Christian faith. To those high dignitaries of the Church, those reve- rend divines, and others, as well as to the publishers, owners of the copyright of many of the songs and hymns contained in the following pages, who have so generously granted the compiler permission to include them here, he begs to* tender his most grateful acknowledgments, and to express a hope that the good seed he has thus been enabled to scatter may spring up in the hearts of his readers and bear fruit abundantly. Notting Hill, August 1865. LIST OF AUTHORS REFERRED TO IN THE FOLLOWING PAGES. ( The dates in parentheses denote the time of original publication. ) ^utfjors ©eceasetJ. Addison, Joseph Akenside, Mark Austin, John, (1668) Austice, Professor Joseph, (1836) 1 Burns, Robert Bathurst, William Hiley, (1831) Bayly, Thomas Haynes . Barbauld, Anna Letitia, Mrs Brooks, Maria, Mrs Bowles, Rev. William Lisle Browne, Rev. Simon Bakewell, John, (1760) . Bowdler, John, (1814) Berridge, John, (1785) . Byron, Lord Bruce, Michael . Beddome, Benjamin, (18 18) Collyer, William Bengo, (1812) Campbell, Thomas Crashaw, Richard BORN 1672 1721 DIED 1719 I770 1759 J 796 1797 1839 1743 1825 1795 1845 1762 1850 — 1732 1788 1824 1746 1767 1777 1844 1615 1652 Vlll L ist of A uthors. Cotton, Nathaniel, M.D Cowper, William Chatterton, Thomas Coleridge, Samuel Taylor Cunningham, Allan Clubbe, Rev. W. Cotterill, Rev. Thomas, (1810) Cawood, John, (1816) Dryden, John Doddridge. Rev. Philip, D.D. Elliott, Ebenezer Erskine, Ralph, (1734) . Edmeston, James, (1820) Gibbons, Thomas, (1784) Grant, Sir R., (1806) Gurney, The Rev. John Hampton, (1851) Hawkeswortb, John, LL.D. Herrick, Robert . Hemans, Felicia, Mrs Heber, Bishop Reginald Herbert, George . Hood, Thomas . Hogg, James Hume, A., (16th century) Hammond, William, (1745) Hill, Rev. Rowland Home, Bishop Hum, Rev. William, (181 3) Jefferys, Charles . Jonson, Ben Kennick, John, (1742) . Ken, Bishop Thomas Kelly, Thomas, (1804) . BORN DIED 1707 1788 1731 l8(XJ 1752 I770 1772 1834 1784 I842 l8l4 I63I I700 I702 1751 1781 1715 1773 1591 1661 1793 1835 1783 1826 1593 1633 1798 1845 1782 1835 1744 1833 1730 1792 1808 1865 1574 1637 '■637 1711 L ist of A uthors. IX Logan, John, (1770) Lyte, Rev. Henry Francis, (1832) Mason, John Moore, Thomas . Moore, Henry, (1806) Marvel, Andrew . More, Hannah, Mrs Mayho, Sarah E., Miss Maclean, Mrs, "L. E. L Montgomery, James Milton, John Morrison, John, (1770) Medly, Samuel, (1798) Morley, Samuel, (1800) Marriott, John, (181 6) Mason, Rev. William Newton, Rev. John Proctor, Adelaide A., Miss Pope, Alexander . Pearson, Rev. Edward, (1806) Richardson, Charlotte, Mrs, {1806) Richards, Samuel; (1825) Roberts, Rev. R., (1806) Ryland, John Shakespeare, William Shirley, James Sigourney, Mrs L. H. Staite, W. Edwards Southwell, Robert Southey, Caroline, Mrs Scott, Sir Walter . Seagrave, Robert, (1748) Skelton, Rev. Phillip Swain, Joseph, (1792) 706 1763 7.80 1852 620 1678 745 1833 819 1848 S02 1838 77i 1854 608 1674 1725 1797 1725 1807 1834 1688 1864 1744 1792 1564 1616 1594 1666 1 791 1865 1852 1560 1595 1787 1854 1771 1832 1707 I7S7 List of Authors. BORN DIED Thompson, James I 700 1748 Tate, Nahum I652 Toplady, Rev. Augustus Montagu e, . . 1740 1778 Waller, Edmund . 1603 1687 Wordsworth, William 1770 I85O Wilson, John , 1785 I854 White, H. Kirke. . . 1785 I806 Wither, George . 1588 I667 Wotton, Sir Henry . 1568 1639 Watts, Isaac, D.D. 1674 1748 Worthington, Jane T., Mrs 1847 Wesley, Rev. Charles 1708 1788 Williams, William, (1772) Young, Edward 1697 1765 3Li&mg ^utfjors. Adams, S. F. Alexander, Mrs Cecil Frances, Alford, The Very Rev. Henry, Dean of Canterbury Baker, Rev. Sir Henry, Bart Banks, George L. Banks, Mrs G. L. Bennett, William C. Bellamy, W. H. Blackwell, Anna Bonar, Rev. Flora tius, D.D. Brooks, Mrs Maria Browne, T. B. Bruton, James Carey, Phcebe Carpenter, Joseph Edwards Chandler, Rev. John List of Authors, xi Cornwall, Barry (W. B. Proctor) Conder, Josiah Cook, Miss Eliza Craig, Miss Isa De Vere, Aubery Dix, William C. Dowton, Henry Duff, John Elliott, Miss Charlotte Embury, Mrs Emma C. Faber, Frederick W. Friswell, J. Hain Gould, Hannah F. Grigg, J. . Grinfield, Thomas Hibberd, James Shirley Howitt, Mrs Mary Houghton, Lord Howe, Mrs Julia Ward Howe, William Walsham Hunt, John Keble, Rev. John Kingsley, Rev. Charles Littlewood, W. C. Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth Lynch, Miss Ann C. Lowell, J. R. Mant, Bishop Richard Mackay, Charles, LL.D. Massey, Gerald Macarthy, D. F. Mayho, Miss Sarah E. x i i List of A utkors. Marchmont, Rev. Henry May, Miss Caroline Milman, Very Rev. H. H., Dean of St Paul's Mills, Susan L. MonselL Rev. John S. B., D.D. Neale, Rev. John Mason Noel, Hon. and Rev. Baptist Osgood, Mrs Frances S. Palgrave, Francis Turnei Prince, John Critchley Russell, Rev. Arthur To.5er Roberts, Elizabeth P. Sargeant, Anna Maria Stanley, Very Rev. A. P., Dean of Westminster Trench, The Most Rev. R. C, Archbishop of Dublin Tennyson. Alfred, D.C.L., P.L. Watmough, Ernest Whittier, J. G. Willard, Mrs Wilberforce, The Right Rev. Samuel, Bishop of Oxford Williams, Rev. Isaac Worthington, Mrs Jane T. CONTENTS ^ PUBLISHERS. PAGE Abide with Me, Rivington, 280 A Child's Hymn, Blackie and Son, 128 A Child at Prayer, Purday, IOI A Death Scene, ■ 40 Advent Hymn, Novello, 246 Affliction, . 1 88 A Hundred Years, J. Chafi??icui, 90 Almighty God, Addison and Co. , 121 A Mother's Fears, A Morning Hymn, . 1 10 357 Anticipations of Heaven, F. Warne and Co. , 380 Angels' Visits, ■ . J. Williams, 120 Angel of Charity, Addison and Co. , 47 An Evening Hymn, Rivington, 366 A Prayer in Sickness, Moxon and Co., 106 A Prayer hi Prospect of Death, D^Almaine and Co . , 106 A Sunday Hymn, Novello, 37o As down in the Sunless Retreats, Addison and Co., 9 Awake, arise, thy Light is come, Addison and Co., 159 Baptismal Hymn, Macmillan, 372 Babylon, . Cramer and Co., 95 Beautiful Cloud, R. Cocks and Co., 43 Beautiful Dove, J. Blockley, 99 Bearing the Cross, Novello, 296 Before Jehovah's awful Throne, Novello, 242 Behold the Sun, Addison and Co., 207 XIV Contents. PUBLISHERS. PAGE Be not Afraid, 'tis I, . R. Cocks and Co., 138 Beneath the Cross, 293 Blessed are the Pure in Spirit, Metzler and Co., 169 Blessed are the Dead, Metzler and Co., 197 Blessed are those who Fear the Lord, Duff and Co., 355 Boatman's Hymn, Moxon and Co., 38 Brightest and Best, Jeffays, 220 Bubbles under Ice, Moxon and Co., 36 Burial Anthem, Murray, 210 By the Rivers of Babylon, Lonsdale, 131 Calm, . 'Johnstone and Co., 273 Calvary, . Novello, 289 Christ Crucified, Murray, 288 Christ Risen, A T ovello, 308 Christ the Lord is Born to-day, Novello, 249 Christ the Lord is Risen to-day, Novello, 310 Christ's Followers, Novello, 35i (^ In r i c: f- ' c A QppnQirin 1 T T Christmas, . J 11 88 Christmas Day, 247 Christmas Hymn, . Novello, 252 Christmas Morn, Moxon and Co., 170 Christian Coui-age, Rivington, 3i Children Praising Christ, F. Warne and Co. 377 Charity, . Jefferys, 140 Church Music, F. Warne and Co. , 9 Come, ye Disconsolate, Addison and Co., H Come not, Lord, Addison and Co., 213 Come to Me, . L. Booth, 322 Communion Hymn, . 372 Consider the Ravens, J. Williams, 51 Cradle Song, Routledge, 135 Death's Final Conquest, Cramer and Co. , 30 Death of a Christian, Longman and Co., 47 Delight in the Lord, . 284 Different Minds, Parker, 190 Earth and Heaven, Macmillan, 85 Contents. xv PUBLISHERS. PAGE Epiphany Hymn, Novello 259 Eternal Source of every Joy, . Novello 345 Evening Prayer, Duff and Co., 82 Evening, Parker, 206 Eventide, J. Chapman, 367 Fallen is thy Throne, Addison and Co., 177 Faith, Jefferys, 138 Fear not, but Trust in Providence, Brewer and Co., 32 Forgive, bless'd Shade, D 1 Ahnaine and Co , 27 For Ever, J. Blockley, *°5 For the Morning of the Sabbath, F. Warne and Co., 368 Footsteps of Angels, . Brewer and Co., 18 Friend after Friend Departs, . Jefferys, 123 From Greenland's icy Mountains, D ^ Almaine and Co ,382 Funeral Hymn, . , Novello, 16 God Incarnate, * 300 God the Spirit, F. Warne and Co., 332 God's Acre, F. Warne and Co., 54 Go when the Morning Shineth, Jefferys, 122 Going Out and Coming In, Duff and Co., 161 Good Friday, . Murray, 286 Great God ! what do I See and Hear ? Novello, 290 Gratitude to God, J. Taylor, 285 Guardian Angels, Ollivier, 93 Hallowed be Thy Name, J. Williams, 272 Have Faith in Him, . R, Cocks and Co., 154 Hail to the Lord's Anointed, . Novello, 254 Harvest Hymn, Rivingion, 336 Harvest Hymn, 339 Harvest Home, 338 Heaven, , 71 Hear me, God, Parker, 265 He shall Feed His Flock, Novello, 282 He Changes not, R. Cocks and Co., 201 His Will be Done, Purday, 142 Ho ! every One that Thirsteth, R, Cocks and Co., 155 XVI Contents. PUBLISHERS. PAGE Holy Ground, Routledge, 175 Holy Matrimony, Rivington, 375 Hope in Sorrow, J. Chapman, 215 Hope and Love, . 53 Hope, .... Jefferys, 139 Hosanna in the Highest, Novello, 3i3 Hymn for a Child, Rivington, 378 Hymn for Trinity Sunday, Novello, 334 Hymn of the Moravian Nuns of Bethlehem , R. Cocks and Co., 223 Hymn of the Hebrew Maid, . Caddell, 118 Hymn on the Nativity, Parker, 251 Hymn of Praise, F. War ne and Co., 330 Hymn to the Night, . Jefferys, 5 Hymn to the Holy Spirit, 329 Hymn to the Seasons, Novello, 344 If that High World, . Lonsdale, 123 Invitation to the Sacrament, . ■- 373 In the Prospect of Death, F. Warne and Co., 70 In Thee, Lord, we put our Trust, . S. Clarke, 275 Is this All? .... Johnstone, 115 I Sought the Lord, J Williams, 142 Is there an Unbeliever ? Bentley, 178 Jephthah's Daughter, Jefferi s, 156 Jerusalem, my Happy Home, Novello, 35o Jerusalem, the Golden, Blockley, 4 Jesus ! Hear and Save, Novello, 270 Jesus shall Reign, Novello, 314 Kind Words, .... Duff and Co., 60 Lazarus, .... Moxon and Co., 221 Lady Mary, .... Macmillan, 149 Leaning on Jesus, Macmillan, 306 Let not the Sun go Down On your Wrath , R. Cocks and Co., 189 Let me Rest, .... L. Booth, 61 Little Sins, .... Rivington, 8 Contents. xvi 1 Like Morning, when her early Breeze Light Eternal, Litany to our Lord, Litany to the Saviour, Litany to the Holy Spirit, Lo, He comes with Clouds Descending, Look Up, . . Look Round, . Longing to be with Christ, Lord of the Harvest, . Lord of the Harvest, . Lord ! unto Thee we Cry, Lord ! who shall bear that Day ? Man Honoured above Angels, . Magdalen's Hymn during the Plague, Mariner's Hymn, Mercy, Meekness, Morn, . Morning Prayer, Moonlight on the Grave, Mountain Prayer, Morning Light, Music, . My Cross, My God and King, My Psalm, Nature and Heaven, Nearer, my God, to Thee, Never hold Malice, New Year's-day, Not to Myself Alone, . O Fair, O Purest, Oh ! had I Jubal's Lyre, O happy Saints, Oh, Help us, Lord, PUBLISHERS. Addison and Co. Macmillan, Murray, Novello, Novello, L. Booth, J. Williams, Addison and Co. y. Taylor, Blackwood, 194 283 304 301 331 260 65 96 356 337 342 264 64 299 195 214 146 145 359 65 103 119 359 204 291 242 73 46 279 29 258 48 Addison and Co., 57 D Almaine and Co., 16 Novello, 349 Murray, 272 b Jsfferys, Jefferys, Novello, Duff and Co., Moss and Co., Macmillan, Rivington, F. Warne and Co. Novello, Brewer and Co. Roulledge, J. Taylor, XV111 Contents. O Thou who dry'st the Mourner's Tear, Oh, Teach Me to Love Thee, . Oh, Weep for Those, . On Jordan's Bank, On Going to Labour, . PUBLISHERS. Addison and Co., Addison and Co., Jefferys, Lonsdale. PAGE 143 170 360 Passing Away, . Peace, .... Pleading for Pardon, . Praise the King of Heaven, Praise the Lord, Praise the Lord of Heaven, Praise, oh, praise our God and King, Prayer, Prayer, Prayer is the Soul's Desire, Prayer at Midnight, Praying Together, Prayer for Children, Psalm of Life, . Psalm cxlviii., . Resignation, Resignation, . Resignation, Rock'd in the Cradle of the Deep, Rock of Ages, Ruth and Naomi, Blockley, Jefferys, Rivington, Rivington, Rivington, Novello, Routledge, Moxon and Co., Novello, J. Taylor, Jefferys, Parker, R. Cocks and Co., Duff and Co., Novello, R. Cocks and Co. . 7 146 271 319 35i 241 236 55 108 261 187 267 277 127 245 125 181 190 36 297 166 Sabbath Morn, Sabbath Eve, . Sabbath Bells, Saving Help . Saints in Heaven, Seed-Time and Harvest, Seeds of Light, Since First Thy Word, Sire of the Universe, . Sleep, J. Blockley, J. Blockley, Duff and Co., Macmillan, F. War tie and Co., Rivington, Addison and Co.. Routledge, 198 199 85 45 347 67 3i 98 226 60 Contents. xix Sleep, Baby, Sleep, Sleep, Song of Praise, Songs of Praise, Song after Labour, Sound the Loud Timbrel, Sovereign Ruler, Sorrow, Soon and For Ever, Speak Gently, Spring, Star of Morn and Even, Suspiria Strong Faith and Perfect Love Submission Submission, Sunny Days in Winter, Sunday, Te Deum Laudamus, . Thanks for a Summer's Day The All-Seeing, , . The Ascension, The Beatitudes, The Better Land. The Beginning and the End, The Bird Let Loose, . The Bow in the Cloud, The Builders, The Christian Graces, The Charities of the Poor, The Child and the Dew-Drops The Child and the Stars, The Child's Evening Hymn, The Child's Grave, The Child, The Childhood of Christ, The Christian's Progress, The Cloud-Capp'd Towers, PUBLISHERS. Parker, PAGE 162 176 Brewer and Co., 182 Warne and Co., 320 Moxon and Co. , 141 Addison and Co., 383 Novello, 243 Jefferys, 144 Rivington, 183 R. Cocks and Co. , 45 Macmillan, 4 1 358 F. Warne and Co., 14 Brewer and Co., 185 J. Taylor, 267 Rivington, 354 Bouge, 340 F. Warne and Co., 369 Novello, 235 211 234 Novello, Macmillan, 323 Jefferys, 144 J. Blockley, 3 238 Addison and Co., 198 S. Clarke, 147 F. Warne and Co., 43 Jefferys, 138 Moxon and Co., 68 Ransford and Son, 205 R. Cocks and Co., 216 Moxon, 137 200 J. Taylor, 376 Novello, 379 229 & Almaine and Co., 26 XX Contents. PUBLISHERS. PAGE The Creator, D 'Almaine and Co. > 233 The Day of Rest, Metzler and Co., 371 The Death of a Christian, Longman, 47 The Death-Bed, Blockley, 132 The Destruction of the Assyrians, Jffferys, 225 The Dial of Flowers, . Blackwood and Co. 218 The Dove's Departure, Murray, 92 Trip "DnTYiVi r^rpnfinn 179 381 The Dying Christian to his Soul, Metzler and Co., The Dying Christian, Melzler and Co., 195 The Easter Hymn, Novello, 307 The Emigrant's Song, Parker, 37 The Evening Hymn, . Metzler and Co., 3 6 4 The Fashion of this World Passeth A way, Bentley, 186 The Glory of Heaven, Novello, 355 The Happy Life, 263 The Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swe ot, Lonsdale, 165 HTViP TTparl''^ TTnmf* i5 172 The Heart's Longing, . The Home of Rest, Novello, 353 The Holy Trinity, Novello, 327 The Hope Beyond the Grave, S. Clarke, 213 The Humble State, The Incarnation of Christ, 281 35 Murray, The Kingliest Kings, . D. Bouge, 52 The Land of Promise, . Duff and Co., 160 The Law of Love, Parker, 219 The Last Trump, Parker, 28 The Lark, Brewer and Co., 207 The Leaf, 345 The Lesson of the Cross, J. Taylor, 298 The Light of Stars, . . . F. Warne and Co., 153 The Lighthouse, . . , Duff and Co., 113 The Little Evangelist, J. Williams, 86 The Longest Day, . . Moxon, 173 The Lord's Prayer, . 278 The Lost Day, 6 The Mariner's Evening Hymn, Moss and Co., 25 The Marriage Portion, Metzler and Co., 193 Contents. xxi The Moon upon the Spire, The Mother's Advice, The Morning Hymn, . The Nautilus, The New Year, The Old and New Year, The Orphan, The Orphan's Prayer, . The Parting Spirit, The Pilot, The Pilgrim, The Poor, The Prince of Peace, . The Promised Hour, . The Rainbow, The Reading Girl, The Reaper and the Flowers The Return of the Dove, The Return of the Spirit, The Resurrection, The Resurrection, The Robin Redbreast, The Sabbath of the Year, The Saints in Heaven, The Singers, The Sinner's Friend, . The Sleeper, The Slave Singing at Midnight The Sower, The Sparrow's Fall, The Spirit's Home, The Spirit's Home, The Spring of Life, The Spring-Tide Hour, The Storm, The Star of Bethlehem, The Supplication, The Three in One, The Treasures of the Deep, PUBLISHERS. PAGE 227 8l Metzler and Co., 361 Duff and Co., 167 Novello, 256 Deighton, 257 Longman, 134 R. Cocks and Co., 28 Duff 'and Co., 91 Duff and Co., 200 Longman, 157 97 ■ 250 Snoiv, 318 Moxon, 151 R. Cocks and Co. 203 R. Cocks and Co., 107 J. Williams, 58 Moss and Co., 11 F. Wartie and Co. 312 Novello, 315 12 208 Novello, 348 Blockley, Jj L. Booth, 295 Metzler and Co., 140 F. Warm and Co., 94 J. Taylor, 343 Duff and Co., 113 Campbell, 19 Duff and Co., 1S5 240 Rivington, 222 Addison and Co. 5^ D'Almaineand Co., 253 Williams, 84 Novello, 328 C happell and Co., 63 XX11 Contents. The Turf shall be my Fragrant Shrine, The Two Crowns, The Two Angels, The Two Voices, The Two Streams, The Use of the Flowers, The Unbeliever, The Unregarded Poor, The Vision of Belshazzar, The Voice of Praise, . The Voice of Jesus, The Way is Long and Dreary, The Wild Gazelle, . . . The Wind in an yEolian Harp, The Wilderness shall Blossom as the Rose, The Worth of Time, . There is a Bleak Desert There is a Book, There's Peace in Heaven, There is a Fountain Filled with Blood Thou art with me, Thou art, O God, Thou whose Almighty Word, Thou hast Sworn by Thy God, This World is not our Home, Thy Will be Done, Thy Kingdom Come, . Thy Will be Done, Thy Mercies are Great, To God in Sickness, . To Him sing Hallelujah, To a Child, . " . Too Late, Touta Nika, Toil and Rest, . Trust in God, . Trust in the Lord, Types of Heaven, PUBLISHERS. Addison and Co., Novello, F. Warne and Co., Lonsdale, Moxon and Co., Johnstone and Co. Lonsdale, Routledge, R. Cocks and Co., Brewer and Co., Addison and Co., Rivington, Duff and Co., J.' Taylor, R. Cocks and Co., Addison and Co., Blackie and Son, J. Williams, Routledge, Routledge, L. Booth, J. Williams, Parker, Deightoiiy J. Blockley, Routledge, Duff and Co., PAGE I02 316 82 79 5o 217 25 17 116 263 32c 303 24 21 192 174 124 22 IOI 302 288 148 333 75 26 87 130 265 269 12 3i7 8 8 133 236 112 27 99 Contents. xxm PUBLISHERS. Unrest, Veni Creator Spiritus, Watchman, What of the Night ? Were not the Sinful Mary's Tears, We Look to Thee, Weep, Children of Israel, Weeping Mary What are the Wild Waves Saying? Where are the Plains of Zion ? Where is your Dwelling, ye Sainted What shall I render ? Whitsunday, Whitsuntide Hymn, Wisdom, Winter, Why do the Flowers Bloom ? . Novello, PAGE 227 330 Novello, 10 Addison and Co., 168 Ollivier, 268 Addison and Co., 202 J. Taylor, 293 R. Cocks and Co., 33 R. Cocks and Co., 76 Addison and Co., 171 y. Taylor, 276 F. Warne and Co., 3 2 4 Rivington, 325 J. Taylor, 3S3 F. Warne and Co., 93 J. Williams, J 3 Youth and Age, Parker, 42 *** Where the Songs are published separately with the Music, it is the name of the Music Publisher that is given ; otherwise the Publisher of the Author's Collected Works. part JFtrst. SACRED SONGS A. SACRED SONGS. C&e Better Hanti* MRS Hemans.— Music by John Blockley. " T HEAR thee speak of the better land, J- Thou call' st its children a happy band ; Mother ! oh where is that radiant shore ? Shall we not seek it and weep no more ? Is it where the flower of the orange blows, And the fire- flies glance through the myrtle boughs ? " Not there, not there, my child . ! " " Is it where the feathery palm-trees rise, And the date grows ripe under sunny skies ? Or 'midst the green islands of glittering seas, Where fragrant forests perfume the breeze, And strange bright birds on their starry wings Bear the rich hues of all glorious things ?" " Not there, not there, my child ! " " Is it far away in some region old, Where the rivers wander o'er sands of gold ? Where the burning rays of the ruby shine, And the diamond lights up the sacred mine, And the pearl gleams forth from the coral strand ? Is it there, sweet mother ! that better land ?" " Not there, not there, my child ! Sacred Songs. " Eye hath not seen it, my gentle boy ! Ear hath not heard its deep songs of joy ; Dreams cannot picture a world so fair ; ' . Sorrow and death may not enter there ; Time doth not breathe on its fadeless bloom ; For beyond the clouds, and beyond the tomb, 'Tis there, 'tis there, my child ! " John Mason Neale. — Music by John Blockley. ERU SALEM the golden ! J With milk and honey blest ; Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice opprest. I know not, oh ! I know not What joys await us there ; What radiancy of glory, What bliss beyond compare. They stand, those halls of Sion, All jubilant with song, And bright with many an angel, And all the martyr throng : The Prince is ever in them, The daylight is serene ; The pastures of the blessed Are deck'd in glorious sheen. There is the throne of David ; And there, from care released, The shout of them that triumph, The song of them that feast ; Hymn to the Night And they, who with their Leader Have conquer'd in the fight, For ever and for ever Are clad in robes of white. ^pmtt to tlje IJigftt. Longfellow.— Music by S. Glover. I HEARD the trailing garments of the night Sweep through the marble halls ! I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light From the celestial walls ! I felt her presence, by its spell of might, Stoop o'er me from above : The calm majestic presence of the night, As of the one I love. I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight, The manifold soft chimes, That fill the haunted chambers of the night, Like some old poet's rhymes. From the cool cisterns of the midnight air My spirit drank repose ; The fountain of perpetual peace flows there, From those deep cisterns flows. O holy night ! from thee I learn to bear What man has borne before ! Thou lay'st thy finger on the lips of care, And they complain no more. Peace ! peace ! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer ! Descend, with broad-wing'd flight, The welcome, the thrice pray'd for, the most fair. The best beloved nisrht. Sacred Songs. %X)t ILogt 2Dap* Mrs L. H. Sigourney. LOST! lost! lost! A gem of countless price, Cut from the living rock, And graved in Paradise : Set round with three times eight Large diamonds, clear and bright, And each with sixty smaller ones, All changeful as the light. Lost — where the thoughtless throng In Fashion's mazes wind, Where trilleth folly's song, Leaving a sting behind. Yet to my hand 'twas given, A golden harp to buy, Such as the white-robed choir attune To deathless minstrelsy. Lost ! lost ! lost ! I feel all search is vain ; That gem of countless cost Can ne'er be mine again : I offer no reward — For till these heartstrings sever, I know that Heaven's entrusted gift Is reft away for ever. But when the sea and land, Like burning scroll have fled, I '11 see it in His hand, Who judgeth quick and dead , Passing A way. And when of scathe and loss That man can ne'er repair, The dread inquiry meets my soul, What shall it answer there ? 39ag0ittff £ftia£> Mrs HEMANS.— Music by John Blockley. IT is written on the rose, in its glory's full array, — Read what those buds disclose, — "Passing away!" It is written in the skies of the soft blue summer day; It is traced in sunset dyes,—" Passing away!" It is written on the trees, as their young leaves glittering play, And on brighter things than these, — " Passing away!" It is written on the brow where the spirit's ardent ray Lives, burns, and triumphs now. — " Passing away!" It is written on the heart, — alas ! that there decay Should claim from love a part, — " Passing away !" Friends — friends ! oh, shall we meet in a land of purer day, Where lovely things and sweet pass not away ? Shall we know each other's eyes, and the thoughts that in them lay, When we mingle sympathies, — " Passing away ?" Oh, if this may be so, speed, speed their closing day ! How blest from earth's vain show to pass away ! Sacred Songs. Rev. Charles Kingsley. MY fairest child, I have no song to give you ; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you For every day. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ; Do noble things — not dream them — all day long ; And so make life, death, and that vast for ever One grand sweet song. <3Eoo Hate ! Alfred Tennyson.— Music by John Blockley. LATE, late, so late ! and dark the night, and chill Late, late, so late ! but we can enter still. Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. No light had we, for that we do repent ; And, learning this, the Bridegroom will relent. Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. No light, so late, and dark and chill the night ; Oh, let us in that we may find the light ! Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. Have we not heard the Bridegroom is so sweet ? Oh, let us in, though late, to kiss His feet i No, no, too late ! ye cannot enter now. Church Music. &# 2Dotort in. tljz &unlz$$ l&etreat^ T. Moore.— Air, Haydn. AS down in the sunless retreats of the ocean, Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see So deep in my soul the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee, — My God ! silent to Thee ! Pure, warm, silent to Thee ! As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea; So, dark as I roam in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee, My God ! trembling to Thee, — True, fond, trembling to Thee ! John Milton. BUT let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters pale, And love the high embowed roof With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight Casting a dim religious light ; There let the pealing organ blow To the full-voiced choir below In service high, and anthem clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heaven before mine eyes. ro Sacred Songs. flHatcfjmtttt, fcr&at of tfje JfHflflt ? Anonymous. SAY, watchman, what of the night ? Do the dews of the morning fall ? Have the orient skies a border of light, Like the fringe of a funeral pall ? " The night is fast waning on high, And soon shall the darkness flee, And the morn shall spread o'er the blushing sky, And bright shall its glories be." But, watchman, what of the night, When sorrow and pain are mine, And the pleasures of life, so sweet ar.d bright, No longer around me shine ? " That night of sorrow thy soul May surely prepare to meet; But away shall the clouds of thy heaviness roll, And the morning of joy be sweet." But, watchman, what of the night When the arrow of death is sped, And the grave, which no glimmering star can light, Shall be my sleeping-bed? " That night is near, and the cheerless tomb Shall keep thy body in store, Till the morn of eternity rise on the gloom, And night shall be no more." The Return of the Spirit. %\)t Iftetttrn of tlje Spirit* J. E. Carpenter. — Music by S. Nelson. "And the spirit shall return to the God that made it.' RECITATIVE. TEN thousand thousand years, mankind may sway Nations that rise — and fall, and pass away ; But, as a dream in Time's mysterious span, The temples, thrones, and palaces of man, The world, and all within it, shall decay ! AIR. A moment, and the dream of life That millions of the human race With all its realms of peace and strife, Its phantasies of time and space, Have dreamt for ages, shall dissolve, And, all that seems the brightest now, To utter darkness shall revolve, Like that which fell on Adam's brow. A moment — and that fragile band Creation gave a vital birth, Shall meet corruption's ruthless hand, And wither with the silent earth ; But, though no living shapes remain To mingle with the clay-cold sod, The spirit shall return again Obedient to its maker — God. 1 2 Sacred Songs. %\i Eolun IBLeHbreasft. Bishop Doane. SWEET Robin, I have heard them say, That thou wert there upon the day That Christ was crown'd in cruel scorn : And bore away one bleeding thorn, That so, the blush upon thy breast, In shameful sorrow was imprest : And thence thy genial sympathy, With our redeem' d humanity. Bathed in my Saviour's blood, like thee ; Bear in my breast, whate'er the loss, The bleeding blazon of the cross ; Live ever, with thy loving mind, In fellowship with human kind ; And take my pattern still from thee, In gentleness and constancy. ^o (Bod in feicfene0& R. Herrick. WHAT though my harp and viol be Both hung upon the willow tree ? What though my bed be now my grave, And for my house I darkness have ? What though my healthful days are fled, And I lie number'd with the dead ? Yet I have hope, by Thy great power, To spring — though now a wither'd flower. Why do the Flowers Bloom ? 13 MMjp Do tfje jfiotoer£ Bloom ? J. E. Carpenter. — Music by John Burnett " T T 7HY do the flowers bloom, mother, V V Why do the sweet flowers bloom, And brightest those we rear'd, mother, Around my brother's tomb ? " " To fill the world with gladness, My child, were flowerets given, To crown the earth with beauty, And show the path to heaven ! " " Then wherefore do they fade, mother, Why do those sweet flowers fade, When winter's dreary clouds, mother, Earth's brighter scenes pervade ?" " My child, those flowers that wither Have seeds that still remain, That the sunshine and the summer Restore to life again ! " " And shall not those who die, mother, Come back to life once more, E'en as the rain and sun, mother, Those beauteous flowers restore ? " " Yes — yes, my child, such powers To human flowers are given, Here earth's frail buds may blossom,. But we may rise— IN Heaven." 14 Sacred Songs. H. W. Longfellow. TAKE them, O Death ! and bear away Whatever thou canst call thine own ! Thine image, stamp'd upon this clay, Doth give thee that, but that alone ! Take them, O Grave ! and let them lie Folded upon thy narrow shelves, As garments by the soul laid by, And precious only to ourselves ! Take them, O great Eternity ! Our little life is but a gust, That bends the branches of thy tree, And trails its blossoms in the dust ! Come, pe SDigccmsolate* T. Moore. — Air, German. COME, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, Come, at God's altar fervently kneel ; Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish- Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal. Joy of the desolate, Light of the straying, Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure, Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name saying — " Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure." Go, ask the infidel, what boon he brings us, What charm for ailing hearts he can reveal, Sweet as that heavenly promise Hope sings us — " Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal." The Heart's Home. rpljan'£ draper. J. E. Carpenter. — Music by Franz Abt. HEAVENLY Father ! King of might ! Place Thy guardian angels o'er me ; Once again from sleep restore me ; Guard me through the coming night ! None but Thee, O Lord ! can guide me, Earthly father is denied me ; Hear, oh hear, the orphan's prayer, Heavenly Father ! Heavenly Father ! King of kings ! Take my spirit to thy keeping ! O'er my couch while I am sleeping, Let thine angels spread their wings ; In the world a pilgrim lonely, Trusting to Thy goodness only ; Thou wilt hear the orphan's prayer, Heavenly Father ! John Dryden. AS grew the power of sacred lays, The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator's praise To all the bless' d above : So when the last and dreadful hour " This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And music shall untune the sky. Never hold Malice. 29 Setiec Solti Malice* Eliza Cook. OH ! never " hold malice ; " it poisons our life, With the gall-drop of hate and the nightshade of strife Let us scorn where we must, and despise where we may, But let anger like sunlight go down with the day. Our spirits in clashing may bear the hot spark, But no smouldering flame to break out in the dark ; 'Tis the narrowest heart that creation can make, Where our passion folds up like the coils of a snake. Oh ! never " hold malice ; " it cannot be good, For 'tis nobler to strike in the rush of hot blood Than to bitterly cherish the name of the foe, Wait to sharpen a weapon and measure the blow. The wild dog in hunger — the wolf in its spring — The shark of the waters — the asp with its sting — Are less to be fear'd than the vengeance of man, When it lieth in secret to wound when it can. Oh ! never "hold malice ;" dislike if you will, Yet remember humanity linketh us still ; We are all of us human, and all of us erring, And mercy within us should ever be stirring. Shall we dare to look up to the Father above, With petitions for pardon or pleading for love ? Shall we dare, while we pant for revenge on another, To ask from a God yet deny to a brother ? 30 Sacred Songs. 2Deatf)'0 final Conquest* James Shirley. — Music by Edward Coleman. THE glories of our birth and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate : Death lays his icy hands on kings. Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; But their strong nerves at last must yield — They tame but one another still. Early and late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow — Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon death's purple altar now, See where the victor-victim bleeds : All heads must come To the cold tomb ; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. Christian Courage. 31 &zm of TLitibu J. R. Lowell. GOD scatters love on every side freely among His children all, And always hearts are lying open wide Wherein some grains may fall. There is no wind but soweth seeds Of a more true and open life, Which burst, unlook'd for, into high-soul'd deeds, With wayside beauty rife. We find within these souls of ours Some wild germs of a higher birth, Which in the poet's tropic heart bear flowers Whose fragrance fills the earth. Within the hearts of all men lie Those promises of wider bliss, Which blossom into hopes that cannot die, In sunny hours like this. Cfjngtian Courap+ Rev. John Keble. OH, shame upon thee, listless heart, So sad a sigh to heave ; As if thy Saviour had no part In thoughts that make thee grieve. 32 Sacred Songs. As if along His lonesome way He had not borne for thee Sad languors through the summer day, Storms on the wintry sea. Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon ; The pure, calm hope be thine, Which brightens, like the eastern morn, As day's wild lights decline. fear iPot, but %vmt in $vobibzntz< Thomas Haynes Bayly. — Music by S. Nelson. " A H, pilot ! 'tis a fearful night, . ■^-*- There's danger on the deep ; I '11 come and pace the deck with thee, I do not dare to sleep." " Go down ! " the sailor cried, " go down r This is no place for thee ; Fear not, but trust in Providence, Wherever thou mayst be." "Ah, pilot ! dangers often met, We all are apt to slight ; And thou hast known the raging waves But to subdue their might." " It is not apathy," he cried, " That gives this strength to me ; Fear not, but trust in Providence, Wherever thou mayst be. What are the Wild Waves Saying? 33 " In such a night, the sea ingulf d My father's lifeless form ; My only brother's boat went down, In just so wild a storm. And such, perhaps, may be ?7iy fate — But still I say to thee, Fear not, but trust in Providence, Wherever thou mavst be." M^at avz tlje SjOXIID (LHafieg Paging? DUET. I want to know what it says, — the sea. What is it that it keeps on sayin| —Charles Dickens. J. E. Carpenter. — Music by Stephen Glover. PAUL. WHAT are the wild waves saying, Sister, the whole day long, That ever, amid our playing, % I hear but their low lone song ? Not by the sea-side only, There it sounds wild and free ; But at night, when 'tis dark and lonely, In dreams it is still with me ! FLORENCE. Brother, I hear no singing ; 'Tis but the rolling wave, Ever its lone course winging Over some ocean cave : 34 Sacred Songs. 'Tis but the noise of water Dashing against the shore, And the wind from some bleaker quarter Mingling with its roar. DUET. No ! it is something greater That speaks to the heart alone ; The voice of the great Creator Dwells in that mighty tone ! PAUL. Yes ! but the waves seem ever Singing the same sad thing; And vain is my weak endeavour To guess what the surges sing. What is that voice repeating Ever by night and day ? Is it a friendly greeting, Or a warning that calls away ? FLORENCE. Brother, the inland mountain, Hath it not voice and sound ? Speaks not the dripping fountain, As it bedews the ground ? E'en by the household ingle, Curtain' d, and closed, and warm ; Do not our voices mingle With those of the distant storm ? DUET. Yes ! but there 's something greater That speaks to the heart alone ; The voice of the great Creator Dwells in that mighty tone ! The Incarnation of Christ. 3 5 %%z Incarnation of Cfjrtet* Dean H. H. Milman. FOR Thou wert born of woman; Thou didst come, O Holiest, to this world of sin and gloom, Not in Thy dread omnipotent array ; And not by thunders strew'd Was Thy tempestuous road ; Nor indignation burn'd before Thee on Thy way. But Thee, a soft and naked child, Thy mother undefiled In the rude manger laid to rest From off her virgin breast. The heavens were not commanded to prepare A gorgeous canopy of golden air ; Nor stoop' d their lamps the enthroned fires on high, — A single silent star Came wandering from afar, Gliding uncheck'd and calm along the liquid sky, The Eastern sages leading on As at a kingly throne, To lay their gold and odours sweet Before Thy infant feet. The earth and ocean were not hush'd to hear Bright harmony from every starry sphere ; Nor at Thy presence broke the voice of song From all the cherub choirs And seraphs' burning lyres Pour'd through the host of heaven the charmed clouds along. One angel troop the strain began, Of all the race of man By simple shepherds heard alone, That soft Hosanna tone. 36 Sacred Songs. l&ocfc'ti in tlje Creole of tlje 2De*p* Mrs Willard. — Music by J. P. Knight. ROCK'D in the cradle of the deep, I lay me down in peace to sleep ; Secure I rest upon the wave, For Thou, O Lord, hast power to save. I know Thou wilt not slight my call, For Thou dost mark the sparrow's fall, And calm and peaceful shall I sleep, Rock'd in the cradle of the deep. And such the trust that still were mine, Though stormy winds sweep o'er the brine, Or though the tempest's fiery breath Roused me from slumber to wreck and death ! In ocean cave, still safe with Thee, The germ of immortality ! And calm and peaceful shall I sleep, Rock'd in the cradle of the deep. 3ubhlz$ tm&er gee* W. Wordsworth. HAST thou seen, with flash incessant, Bubbles gliding under ice, Bodied forth, and evanescent, No one knows by what device ? Such are thoughts, — a wind-swept meadow Mimicking a troubled sea ; Such is life ; and death a shadow From the rock Eternity. The Emigrant's Song. 37 %\)t dfoniffcant'g »>ong;, Andrew Marvel.- WHERE the remote Bermudas ride In ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat that row'd along, The listening winds received their song. " What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze, Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own ? " Where He the huge sea-monsters racks, That lift the deep upon their backs ; He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storm's and tyrant's rage. " He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels everything, And sends the fowls, to us in care, On daily visits through the air. "He hangs in shades the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a gieen night, And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound His name. " Oh, let our voice His praise exalt Till it arrive at heaven's vault, Which then, perhaps, rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexique bay." Thus sang they in the English boat, A holy and a cheerful note, And all the way, to guide their chime, W T ith falling oars they kept the time. 38 Sacred Songs. For the Boatmen as they approach the Rapids by Heidelberg. W. Wordsworth. JESU ! bless our slender boat, By the current swept along ; Loud its threatenings, — let them not Drown the music of a song Breathed Thy mercy to implore, Where these troubled waters roar. Saviour, for our warning, seen Bleeding on that precious rood ; If, while through the meadows green Gently wound the peaceful flood, We forgot Thee, do not Thou Disregard Thy suppliants now ! Hither, like yon ancient tower Watching o'er the river's bed, Fling the shadow of Thy power, Else we sleep among the dead ; Thou who trod'st the billowy sea, Shield us in our jeopardy! Guide our bark among the waves ; Through the rocks our passage smooth ; Where the whirlpool frets and raves, Let Thy love its anger soothe : All our hope is placed in Thee ; Miserere Domine ! The Storm. 39 %\z »>torm< Adelaide A. Proctor. — Music by John Hullah. THE tempest rages wild, and high The waves lift up their voice, and cry Fierce answers to the angry sky, — Miserere Domine. Through the black night, and driving rain, A ship is struggling, all in vain, To live upon the stormy main ; — Miserere Domine. The thunders roar, the lightnings glare, Vain is it now to strive or dare ; A cry goes up of great despair, — Miserere Domine. The stormy voices of the main, The moaning wind and melting rain Beat on the nursery window pane: — Miserere Domine. Warm curtain' d was the little bed, Soft pillow'd was the little head, " The storm will wake the child," they said :- Miserere Domine. Cowering among his pillows white, He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright, " Father, save those at sea to-night ! " Miserere Domine. The morning shone, all clear and gay, On a ship at anchor in the bay, And on a little child at play. — Gloria tibi Domine ! 40 Sacred Songs. & 2Deat?) »>cetu* Phoebe Carey. DYING, still slowly dying, As the hours of night rode by, She had lain since the light of sunset Was red on the evening sky : Till after the middle watches, As we softly near her trod, When her soul from its prison fetters Was loosed by the hand of God. One moment her pale lips trembled With the triumph she might not tell, As the sight of the life immortal On her spirit's vision fell ; Then the look of rapture faded, And the beautiful smile was faint, As that, in some convent picture, On the face of a dying saint. And we felt in the lonesome midnight, As we sat by the silent dead, What a light on the path going downward The feet of the righteous shed. Then we thought how, with faith unshrinking, She came to the Jordan's tide, And, taking the hand of the Saviour, Went up on the heavenly side. Spring. 41 spring* A. De Vere. ONCE more, through God's high will and grace, Of hours that each its task fulfils, Heart-healing Spring resumes its place The valley through, and scales the hills. Who knows not Spring ? who doubts when blows Her breath, that Spring is come indeed ? The swallow doubts not ; nor the rose That stirs, but wakes not ; nor the weed. Once more the cuckoo's call I hear ; I know, in many a glen profound, The earliest violets of the year Rise up like water from the ground. The thorn, I know, once more is white ; And far down many a forest dale, The anemones in dubious light Are trembling like a bridal veil. By streams released that surging flow From craggy shelf, through sylvan glades, The pale narcissus, well I know, Smiles hour by hour on greener shades. The honey'd cowslip tufts once more The golden slopes ; — with gradual ray The primrose stars the rock, and o'er The wood-path strews its milky way. 42 Sacred Songs. I see her not — I feel her near, As charioted in mildest airs She sails through yon empyreal sphere, And in her arms and bosom bears That urn of flowers, and lustral dews, Whose sacred balm, on all things shed, Revives the weak, the old renews, And crowns with votive wreaths the dead. gouttj anti #££♦ Edmund Waller. THE seas are quiet when the winds are o'er, So calm are we when passions are no more ! For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal'd that emptiness which age descries ; The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that time has made. Stronger by weakness wiser men become, As they draw near to their eternal home ; Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new. The Builders. 43 Beautiful Clouti. J. E. Carpenter.— Music by J. H. Thomas. BEAUTIFUL cloud in purest ether sleeping, Why should we sigh for a cloudless summer day ? But for the tears of heaven that thou art weeping, Should Ave have flowers to beautify our way ? Earth far beneath, the fadeless blue above thee, Throned 'mid the stars, still lowly was thy birth ; Not for thy beauty only do I love thee, Giver of blessings to the grateful earth. Beautiful cloud, all lovely shapes assuming, In thy embrace the white-wing'd angels sleep ; Why else the silvery light thy form illuming ? Sure there their watch our guardian angels keep. Thine is the land from mortal vision shrouded, Thou, lovely dream, the cloud-wall of the skies, Hidest alone the million spirits crowded Round the bright throne thou shrin'st from human eyes. em Bishop Heber. I PRAISED the earth, in beauty seen With garlands gay of various green ; I praised the sea, whose ample field Shone glorious as a silver shield ; And earth and ocean seem'd to say, " Our beauties are but for a day." I praised the sun, whose chariot roll'd On wheels of amber, and of gold ; A ngel of Charity. 4? I praised the moon, whose softer eye Gleam'd sweetly through the summer sky ; And moon, and sun, in answer said, " Our days of light are numbered." O God ! O good beyond compare ! If thus Thy meaner works are fair, If thus Thy bounties gild the span Of ruin'd earth, and sinful man, How glorious must the mansion be, Where Thy redeem'd shall dwell with Thee ! SDeatlj of a C&risftian. Felicia Hemans. CALM on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now ! E'en while with ours thy footsteps trod ? His seal was on thy brow. Dust, to its narrow house beneath ! Soul, to its place on high ! They that have seen thy look in death No more may fear to die. &npl of CJacftg* ANGEL of Charity, who, from above, Comest to dwell a pilgrim here, Thy voice is music, thy smile is love, And Pity's soul is in thy tear. 48 Sacred Songs. When on the shrine of God were laid First-fruits of all most good and fair That ever bloom' d in Eden's shade, Thine was the holiest offering there. Hope and her sister, Faith, were given But as our guides to yonder sky ; Soon as they reach the verge of heaven, There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.* But long as Love, Almighty Love, Shall on His throne of thrones abide, Thou, Charity, shall dwell above, Smiling for ever by His side ! N il^ot to ®$v$ttf £lone* S. W. Partridge. OT to myself alone," The little opening flower transported cries, " Not to myself alone I bud and bloom ; With fragrant breath the breezes I perfume, And gladden all things with my rainbow dyes : The bee comes sipping every eventide His dainty fill ; The butterfly within my cup doth hide From threatening ill." " There Faith shall fail, and holy Hope shall die, One lost in certainty, and one in perfect joy." — Prior. Not to Myself Alone. 49 " Not to myself alone," The circling star with honest pride doth boast, — " Not to myself alone I rise and set ; I write upon night's coronal of jet, His power and skill who form'd our myriad host : A friendly beacon at heaven's open gate, I gem the sky, That man might ne'er forget, in every fate, His home on high." " Not to myself alone," The heavy-laden bee doth murmuring hum, — " Not to myself alone from flower to flower I rove the wood, the garden, and the bower, And to the hive at evening weary come : For man, for man the luscious food I pile With busy care, Content if this repay my ceaseless toil — A scanty share." " Not to myself alone," The soaring bird, with lusty pinion, sings, — " Not to myself alone I raise the song : I cheer the drooping with my warbling tongue, And bear the mourner on my viewless wings ; I bid the hymnless churl my anthem learn, And God adore ; I call the worldling from his dross to turn, And sing and soar." " Not to myself alone," The streamlet whispers on its pebbly way, — " Not to myself alone I sparkling glide : I scatter life and health on every side, And strew the fields with herb and floweret gay ; D 50 Sacred Songs. I sing unto the common, bleak and bare. My gladsome tune ; I sweeten and refresh the languid air In droughty June." " Not to myself alone," O man, forget not thou, earth's honour'd priest ! Its tongue, its soul, its life, its pulse, its heart, In earth's great chorus to sustain thy part : Chiefest of guests at Love's ungrudging feast, Play not the niggard, spurn thy native clod, And self disown.; Live to thy neighbour, live unto thy God, Not to thyself alone ! James Shirley Hibberd. UPON a leafy mountain height two streams came gushing forth, One bubbled from the sunny south, the other from the north ; One leap'd and sparkled joyously as clear as summer sky, The purple flood the other roll'd went slowly creeping by. Beside the one green rushes grew, and blushing buds and flowers, Beside the other, men were chain'd in poison-breathing bowers ; One welcomed sweet wild birds to sing their hymns of praise and joy, The other breathed the breath of sin and tempted to destroy. Consider the Ravens. 5 1 The one went sparkling cheerily beneath the noonday sun, And spread around life, health, and peace, where'er it chanced to run ; The other was the stream of death with sorrow on its tide, And whoso stoop'd to drink therein must Satan's curse abide. The stream which gave such joy to all leap'd from a rocky well ; The vineyard sent the other forth to work a deathlike spell ; They both have flow'd for countless years adown the steeps of time ; One spreading grief and wickedness, the other bliss sublime. Conner tlje Iftafcengf* (Luke xii. 27, 28.) DUET. J. E. Carpenter. child. TELL me, O mother ! if I should store This precious piece of the earth's bright ore ? Say is it good to hoard and save, And sleep, at last, in a rich man's grave ? MOTHER. Consider the ravens, my gentle boy, They sow not, nor reap, yet they employ The tenderest care of the bounteous hand That scatters their food o'er the barren land. 52 Sacred Songs. BOTH It is not good to hoard and save ; The covetous man has no honour'd grave. 'Tis better to part with the precious ore, Than cling in pride to a useless store. CHILD. Is it not well to treasure up Gold that will fill the mantling cup ? Wealth that will food and raiment give, And bring the honours for which men live % MOTHER. Consider the lilies, my darling child, They toil not nor spin in the greenwood wild ; And what is thy glory to one of these, To God who clothes both the fields and trees ? BOTH. Life is more precious than hoarded gold, Or the food and raiment that 's bought and sold, But our lives on earth must so order'd be That they '11 lead to a bright eternity. %\t Itfngltegt Hfng;& Gerald Massey. HO ! ye who in a noble work Win scorn, as flames draw air. And, in the way where lions lurk, God's image bravely bear, Though trouble-tried and torture-torn, The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn. Hope mid L ove. 5 3 Life's glory, like the bow in heaven, Still springeth from the cloud ! And soul ne'er soard the starry seven But Pain's fire-chariot rode ; They 've battled best who 've boldliest borne : The kingliest Kings are crown' d with thorn. The martyr's fire-crown on the brow Doth into glory burn : And tears that from Love's torn heart flow To pearls of spirit turn ! And dear heart-hopes in pangs are born ; The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn. As Beauty in Death's cerement shrouds, And stars bejewel night, God's splendour lives in dim heart-clouds, And suffering nurseth might ; The murkiest hour brings forth the morn : The kingliest Kings are crown'd with thorn. Anonymous. HEART ! take courage, upward strive, Higher still, and higher ; Faint not, blanch not, shrink not now, Heaven is ever nigher! Higher aims, and higher hopes, Be our great endeavour. See ! the glorious guerdon's near, Love enduring ever ! 54 Sacred Songs. On ! and reck not of the toil, Nor of burthen mind thee ; Look up ! its shadow let the sun For ever cast behind thee. Angels beckon, saints applaud, N obly have we striven ; Triumph now ! the prize is gain'd Of endless Love in Heaven. H. W. Longfellow. 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 garner'd 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. 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 bloom'd on earth. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow ! Prayer. 5 5 prayer* Eliza Cook. HOW purely true, how deeply warm, The inly-breathed appeal may be, Though adoration wears no form, In upraised hand or bended knee ! One Spirit fills all boundless space, No limit to the when or where ; And little recks the time or place That leads the soul to praise and prayer. Father above, Almighty One, Creator, is that worship vain That hails each mountain as Thy throne. And finds a universal fane ? When shining stars, or spangled sod, Call forth devotion, who shall dare To blame, or tell me that a God Will never deign to hear such prayer ? Oh, prayer is good, when many pour Their voices in one solemn tone ; Conning their sacred lessons o'er, Or yielding thanks for mercies shown. 4 'Tis good to see the quiet train Forget their worldly joy and care, While loud response and choral strain Re-echo in the house of prayer. But often have I stood to mark The setting sun and closing flower ; When silence and the gathering dark Shed holy calmness o'er the hour. 56 Sacred Songs. Lone on the hills, my soul confess'd More rapt and burning homage there, And served the Maker it address'd With stronger zeal and closer prayer. When watching those we love and prize Till all of life and hope be fled ; When we have gazed on sightless eyes, And gently stay'd the falling head ; Then what can soothe the stricken heart, What solace overcome despair ; What earthly breathing can impart Such healing balm as lonely prayer ? When fears and perils thicken fast, And many dangers gather round ; When human aid is vain and past, No mortal refuge to be found ; Then can we firmly lean on Heaven, And gather strength to meet and bear ; No matter where the storm has driven, A saving anchor lives in prayer. O God ! how beautiful the thought, How merciful the bless'd decree, That Grace can e'er be found when sought, And naught shut out the soul from Thee. The cell may cramp, the fetters gall, The flame may scorch, the rack may tear, But torture-stake, or prison-wall, Can be endured with Faith and Prayer. In desert wilds, in midnight gloom ; In grateful joy, in trying pain ; In laughing youth, or nigh the tomb ; Oh, when is prayer unheard or vain ? Fair ! O Purest ! 57 The Infinite, the King of kings, Will never heed the when or where ; He'll ne'er reject the heart that brings The offering of fervent prayer. DUET. J. E. Carpenter. — Music by Sir H. R. Bishop. SISTER. WHERE are the plains of Zion — Where is the promised land ? Where angel footsteps wander, 1 long to join their band ; Look, where the glassy waters Glow 'neath the golden sky, Is that the spirit region We go to when we die ? BROTHER. Yes, where the clouds are floating, That look like gates of pearl, Beyond those radiant portals, 'Tis there, my gentle girl ; There is the realm of freedom, Where we for evermore May dwell, when angels bear us To that celestial shore. BOTH. Yes, there are the plains of Zion — There is the promised land Where angel footsteps wander Upon the golden strand. The Si?igers. yy SISTER. I 've seen those angels near me, They come to me in sleep, They often sit beside me, When I my vigils keep ; And then I dream they v\ aft me, The silent air along, And I, ere long, am going To join the angel throng. BROTHER. Yes, where those golden portals Shut out the realms of day, I know the white-robed angels Will bear thy soul away ; E'en now they 're hovering o'er thee, Their glitterings wings I see ; The earth they only visit To wait for such as thee. BOTH. Yes, there are, &c. H. W. Longfellow.— Music by J. Biockley. GOD sent His singers upon earth With songs of sadness and of mirth, That they might touch the hearts of men, And bring them back to heaven again. 7 8 Sacred Songs. The first, a youth with soul of fire, Held, in his hand a golden lyre ; Through groves he wander' d, and by streams, Playing the music of our dreams. The second, with a bearded face, Stood singing in the market-place, And stirr'd with accents deep and loud The hearts of all the listening crowd. A gray old man, the third and last, Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, While the majestic organ roll'd Contrition from its mouths of gold. And those who heard the singers three Disputed which the best might be ; For still their music seem'd to start Discordant echoes in each heart. Eut the great Master said, " I see No best in kind, but in degree ; I gave a various gift to each, To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. " These are the three great chords of night, And he whose ear is tuned aright Will hear no discord in the three, But the most perfect harmony." The Two Voices. 79 die Cloo Foicejaf* Ernest Watmough. EVER are two voices speaking, With a solemn strain to me, And to them my heart is beating, Silently, responsively. Thus the first to me is telling, And its tones so low, so clear, Fall with slow and measured accent On my anxious listening ear. " Life away is swiftly fleeting ; Seize it while 'tis yet thine own ; Thou canst not recall a moment, When away from thee 'tis flown. " Why then should a load of sorrow Ever cloud thy brow with gloom ? When on earth awakes the morrow Thou mayst sleep within the tomb. " Taste of life while yet the- power To enjoy its charms are thine ; For to all must come an hour When life's sun no more will shine." But the second voice is breathing, Truly 'tis a " still small voice," And- its whispers softly wreathing, Bid my sinking soul rejoice. Ever hasting to the grave : Still it is a cause of greeting To the virtuously brave. 8o Sacred Songs. " Look not back upon the hours Which in youth and folly fled, For thou never canst recall them From the dim and shadowy dead. " Thou hast but the present moments Given to thee as thine own ; Use them, live, and act within them, That thou mourn'st not when they 're gone. " Manfully go meet the future, Though around dark clouds may lower ; Thou shalt conquer, if thy creed be In the word ' EXCELSIOR.' " Life is but a Field of Battle That to every man is given, Where he may, by fighting upwards, Win the path that leads to heaven." Hfttle %>in$. Rev. J. Keble. LOOK westward, pensive little one, How the bright hues together run, Around where late the waning sun Sank in his evening cloud. Or eastward turn thee, and admire How linger yet the showers of fire, Deep in each fold, high on each spire Of yonder mountain proud. The Mother 's A dvice. 8 1 Thou seest it not : an envious screen, A fluttering leaflet, floats between Thee and that fair mysterious scene, A veil too near thine eye. One finger's breadth at hand will mar A world of light in heaven afar, A mote eclipse a glorious star,. An eyelid hide the sky. J. E. Carpenter. TAKE your Bible with you, dear one, Come what will — till life shall end, Still be guided by its precepts, Then the Lord will be your friend : Mother's voice no more may cheer you, But our Father dwells above. In the hour of thy affliction Think how boundless is His love. Deep may be thy bitter anguish ; Christ who died our souls to save, He was scourged^ but suffer'd meekly, Now he 's risen from the grave : Win thy right to share redemption By thy faith in Jesus' love ; — There 's no toil, but endless freedom, In the boundless realms above. 82 Sacred Songs. (Etiening prager* John Duff. — Music by E. L. Hime. WHEN through the day we meet with care, And struggle on in this brief life, When oft we see fierce passions rise, And friends are mingled in the strife ; How sweet it is to look on high, To seek for consolation there, How blest the tranquil hour we feel When we invoke our evening prayer. 'Tis then the heart 's with sorrow press'd By trials that we meet with here, Forget their grief, and fondly hope For solace in a brighter sphere : We feel no more the heavy cloud That would have brought us to despair ; But calmly trust in Him on high, To whom we raise our evening prayer. H. W. Longfellow. TWO angels, one of Life, and one of Death, Pass'd o'er our village as the morning broke ; The dawn was on their faces, and beneath The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of smoke. Their attitude and aspect were the same, Alike their features and their robes of white ; But one was crown'd with amaranth, as with flame, And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. The Two Angels. 83 I saw them pause on their celestial way ; Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppress'd : " Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray The place where thy beloved are at rest ! " And he who wore the crown of asphodels, Descending, at my door began to knock, And my soul sank within me, as in wells The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. I recognised the nameless agony, The terror and the tremor and the pain, That oft before had fill'd or haunted me, And now return'd with threefold strength again. The door I open'd to my heavenly guest, And listen' d, for I thought I heard God's voice ; And, knowing whatsoe'er He sent was best, Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. Then with a smile, that fill'd. the house with light, " My errand is not Death, but Life," he said ; And ere I answer'd, passing out of sight, On his celestial embassy he sped. 'Twas at thy door, O friend ! and not at mine, The angel with the amaranthine wreath, Pausing, descended, and with voice divine, Whisper'd a word that had a sound like Death. Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, A shadow on those features fair and thin ; And softly, from that hush'd and darken'd room, Two angels issued, where but one went in. 84 Sacred Songs. All is of God ! if He but wave His hand, The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud, Till, with a smile of light on sea and land, Lo ! He looks back from the departing cloud. Angels of Life and Death alike are His ; Without His leave they pass no threshold o'er Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this, Against His messengers to shut the door ? %\)t &upplfcatioiu {In Temptation?) J. E. Carpenter. GOD above, look down upon me, Grant me strength this grief to bear Well I know Thy Son, my Saviour, Cried aloud in His despair ; There is no one nigh to aid me, Here no blessed light may shine, They would blight the soul within me, Let the victory be mine. God above ! the} 7 told me, vainly It would be on Thee to call, But I know Thou 'It not desert me — Then indeed 'twere darkness all ; Distant though the light is burning, Still I see it dimly shine, I can bear this great temptation, So the victory be mine. Earth and Heaven. 85 feabtmtf) %z\\$+ W. E. Staite. — Music by C. Hodgson. BLEST Sabbath bells, blest Sabbath bells, How sadly sweet your music swells, Like echoes from a distant sphere, Those Sabbath chimes salute the ear ; Sweet breathing bells, oh ! not in vain Ye waft your soft and soothing strain ; To drooping age ye seem to say, " Wipe, child of earth, those tears away ! " We love the tale your music tells Of happier climes, sweet Sabbath bells. Sleep, pilgrim, sleep ! Those bells may play, Where coldly rests the mould'ring clay ; In vain their tuneful notes they pour, Those Sabbath chimes are heard no more ! Sweet breathing bells, yet not in vain, Ye waft your soft and soothing strain ; To weeping friends ye seem to say, " Wipe, child of earth, those tears away ! " We love the tale your music tells Of happier climes, sweet Sabbath bells. (Eartf) emti ^tatinu Mrs C. F. Alexander. THE roseate hues of early dawn, The brightness of the day, The crimson of the sunset sky, How fast they fade away ! 86 Sacred Songs. Oh for the pearly gates of heaven ! Oh for the golden floor ! Oh for the Sun of Righteousness, That setteth nevermore ! The highest hopes we cherish here, How fast they tire and faint ; How many a spot defiles the robe That wraps an earthly saint ! Oh for a heart that never sins ! Oh for a soul wash'd white ! Oh for a voice to praise our King, Nor weary day nor night. Here faith is ours, and heavenly hope, And grace to lead us higher ; But there are perfectness, and peace, Beyond our best desire. Oh, by Thy love, and anguish, LORD, And by Thy life laid down, Grant that we fall not from Thy grace, Nor cast away our crown. J. E. Carpenter. — Music by Henry Farmer. The scene on which this song is founded is comprised in the twenty-fifth and twenty-sixth chapters of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" — the length of which precludes extract, but which will be familiar to every reader of Mrs Stowe's admirable work. LET them bring them to my chamber, Let them bring those flowers to me, For the sunny spots they grew in I never more may see ; " Thy Will be Doner 8? They know how well I love them, And what have they to give, Save those sweet flowers that, like your child, Have little time to live ! For my sake do not blame them, Do not chide them, mother dear ; If my life would buy their freedom I 'd not wish to linger here. But I pray my fleeting senses Yet a little time may hold,- That I may bring this stricken flock Within the Shepherd's fold. 'Tis vain — my time is coming, Bid them stand before me now, And, mother, take these shining locks, And cut them from my brow ; I '11 give a parting tress to each, That when my soul shall flee, They'll think of little Eva's words, And still remember me. " %\% Mill tz 2Done." Eliza Cook. LET the scholar and divine Tell us how to pray aright ; Let the truths of Gospel shine With their precious hallow'd light ; But the prayer a mother taught Is to me a matchless one ; Eloquent and spirit-fraught Are the words — " Thy will be done." SS Sacred Songs. Though not fairly understood, Still those words, at evening hour, Imply some Being great and good, Of mercy, majesty, and power. Bending low on infant knee, And gazing on the setting sun, I thought that orb His home must be, To whom I said — " Thy will be done." I have search'd the sacred page, I have heard the godly speech, But the lore of saint or sage Nothing holier can teach. Pain has wrung my spirit sore, But my soul the triumph won, When the anguish that I bore Only breathed — " Thy will be done." They have served in pressing need, Have nerved my heart in every task, And howsoe'er my breast may bleed, . No other balm of prayer I ask. When my whiten'd lips declare Life's last sands have almost run, May the dying breath they bear Murmur forth—" Thy will be done." John Critchley Prince. ONE cannot choose but love the bells, With their harmonious din — Those speaking bells, whose falls and swells Ring merry Christmas in : Christmas. 89 They sound like angel voices sent From some serener sphere, Singing from out the firmament — " The Prince of Peace is here." " Good-will fulfil, fulfil good- will," Their glad lips seem to say — " The best ye can for brother man," Goes on the peaceful lay ; And shall we scorn such fancy-songs, If fancy songs they be — Which lift us up from woes and wrongs, And bid our hearts be free ? No ! rouse to life the laughing blaze, Draw round it every one ; Away, sad thoughts of former days, Cares of to-day, begone ; Ah, now ye wear a cheerful look, A bright and earnest grace, Even the old clock in the nook Trims up its burnish'd face. Now for an anthem, such as rung In halls and homes of old, Let every soul to joy be strung, Each voice flow free and bold ; Lo ! as ye sing, each gentle thing Stirs at the tuneful call, For the berries that blush 'mid the holly bush Are trembling upon the wall. Dear Christmas days, how fair ye seem, Calm, holy, and sublime ! Footprints of angels, how ye gleam Along the path of Time ! 90 Sacred Songs. Footprints whereon sweet heart-flowers blow, By worldly storms unriven, That we may mark them as we go, And find our way to Heaven. Anna Blackwell. A HUNDRED years, and still and low Will lie my sleeping head ; A hundred years, and grass will grow Above my dreamless bed. The grass will grow ; the brook will run ; Life still as fresh and fair Will spring in beauty 'neath the sun ; Where will my place be ? where ? A hundred years ! some briefer space My life perchance had spann'd ; But ere they lapse my feet must pass Within the silent land. While on the plains, the lasting hills, In shadow and in shine, Still dial Time's slow chronicles ; What record will be mine ? A hundred years ! O yearning heart ! O spirit true and brave ! With Doubt and Death thou hast no part, No kindred with the grave ! For we shall last as lasts the Earth, And live as lives the Sun ; And we shall know that Death is Birth Ere a hundred years have run ! The Parting Spirit. 91 CI), %zu\) 9$z to ^otJC %%w+ T. MOORE.— Air, Haydn. OH, teach me to love Thee, to feel what Thou art, Till, filPd with the one sacred image, my heart Shall all other passions disown ; Like some pure temple that shines apart, Reserved for Thy worship alone. In joy and sorrow, through praise and through blame, Thus still let me, living or dying the same, In Thy service bloom and decay, Like some lone altar, whose votive flame In holiness wasteth away. Though born in this desert, and doom'd by my birth To pain and affliction, to darkness and death, On Thee let my spirit rely — Like some rude dial, that fix'd on earth Still looks for its light from the sky. <3nje Patting spirit* W. E. Staite.— Music by IV. 31. Rooke. FAREWELL ! oh, farewell ! Though in secret ye weep Dark tears o'er the grave Where in silence I sleep. The night breeze that murmurs My soul's parting knell, Shall waft me from sorrow — Farewell Sacred Songs. I go to the isles Where the golden light gleams I go the land Ye have pictured in dreams ; I soar to the realms Where the bright spirits dwell, Where hearts know no sorrow — Farewell ! oh, farewell ! Wqz SDotie'0 2Departure* Rev. William Lisle Bowles. GO, beautiful and gentle dove, And greet the morning ray ; For lo ! the sun shines bright above, And night and storm are pass'd away : No longer drooping, here confined, In this cold prison dwell ; Go, free to sunshine and to wind, Sweet bird, go forth, and fare thee well. O beautiful and gentle dove, Thy welcome sad will be, When thou shalt hear no voice of love In murmurs from the leafy tree : Yet freedom, freedom shalt thou find, From this cold prison's cell : Go, then, to sunshine and the wind, [O forth, and fare thee welL Winter. 93 (Bttartitati &nplg> J. E. Carpenter. GUARDIAN angels ! do we doubt them ? Night by night, and day by day, Could we guide our steps without them, Where would wavering fancy stray ? Every noble thought that 's spoken, Every smile, and every sigh, Are they not a sign — a token That some guardian angel's by? Guardian angels, hovering o'er us, Keep the soul, in mercy, pure ; Had we not bright hope before us, Could we this frail world endure ? Then, be sure, that ever near us Voices come from forms unseen, Breathed by angels sent to cheer us — Watching earth and heaven between ! (IHmter. Robert Burns. THE wintry west extends his blast, And hail and rain does blaw ; Or the stormy north sends driving forth The blinding sleet and snaw : While tumbling brown, the burn comes down And roars frae bank to brae ; And bird and beast in covert rest, And pass the heartless day. 94 Sacred Songs. " The sweeping blast, the sky o'ercast," The joyless winter day Let others fear, to me more dear Than all the pride of May : The tempest's howl, it soothes my soul, My griefs it seems to join : The leafless trees my fancy please, Their fate resembles mine. Thou Power Supreme, whose mighty scheme These woes of mine fulfil, Here, firm, I rest, they must be best, Because they are Thy Will ! Then all I want, (oh, do Thou grant This one request of mine !) Since to enjoy Thou must deny, Assist me to resign. H. W. Longfellow. OUD he sang the Psalm of David ! L' He, a negro and enslaved, Sang of Israel's victory, Sang of Zion, bright and free. In that hour when night is calmest, Sang he from the Hebrew Psalmist, In a voice so sweet and clear, That I could not choose but hear, Songs of triumph, and ascriptions, Such as reach'd the swart Egyptians, When upon the Red Sea coast Perish'd Pharaoh and his host. Babylon. 95 P And the voice of his devotion Fill'd my soul with strange emotion ; For its tones by turns were glad, Sweetly solemn, wildly sad. Paul and Silas, in their prison, Sang of Christ the Lord arisen, And an earthquake's arm of might Broke their dungeon-gates at night. But, alas ! what holy angel Brings the slave this glad evangel ? And what earthquake's arm of might Breaks his dungeon-gates at night ? Barry Cornwall.— Music by Henry Phillips. {Recitative}) AUSE in this desert ! Here, men say, of old Belshazzar reign' d, and drank from cups of gold; Here, to his hideous idols, bow'd the slave, And here — God struck him dead ! Where lies his grave ? 'Tis lost ! — His brazen gates ? His soaring towers, From whose dark tops men watch'd the starry hours ? All to the dust gone down ! The desert bare Scarce yields an echo when we question Where? The lonely herdsman seeks in vain the spot ; And the black wandering Arab knows it not. No brick, nor fragment now remains, to tell Where Babylon, mighty city, rose — and fell ! 96 Sacred Songs. {Air) O City, vast and old ! Where, where is thy grandeur fled ? The stream that round thee roll'd, Still rolls in its ancient bed ! But where, oh, where art Thou gone? O Babylon ! O Babylon ! The giant, when lie dies, Still leaveth his bones behind, To shrink in the winter skies, And whiten beneath the wind ! But where, oh, where, &c. Thou liv'st ! — for thy name still glows, A light in the desert skies ; As the fame of the hero grows Thrice trebled because he dies ! O Babylon! O Babylon! Hook l&otmti* Anna Maria Sargeant. OOK round ! look round ! L Within the precincts of thy native land ; See, there are many drooping ones who stand In need of a kind word — a helping hand. Look round ! look round ! Look back ! look back ! For surely it is wise for us to cast At times a thoughtful glance upon the past — Each bygone action has a moral vast : Look back ! look back ! The Poor. 97 Look in ! look in ! Thy heart requires a keen and earnest gaze, For 'tis deceitful. Search its hidden ways — Such scrutiny the labour well repays. Look in ! look in ! Look on ! look on ! Yes, though thy future may be dim or dark, A light may kindle from a tiny spark : Then trust and fear not — press on toward the mark, Look on ! look on ! Look up ! look up ! A Father's loving eye o'erlooketh all ; Nay, more — He all upholds, however small, Unknown to Him a sparrow cannot fall. Look up ! look up ! %\)t poor* Mrs Jane T. Worthington. HAVE pity on them ! for their life Is full of grief and care ; You do not know one half the woe The very poor must bear ; You do not see the silent tears By many a mother shed, As childhood offers up the prayer, " Give us our daily bread." Their lot is made of misery More hopeless day by day, And through the long cold winter nights Nor light nor fire have they ; G Sacred Songs. But little children, shivering, crouch Around the cheerless hearth, Their young hearts weary with the want That drags the soul to earth. Deal gently with these wretched ones, Whatever wrought their woe ; The poor have much to tempt and test That you can never know ; Then judge them not, for hard indeed Is their dark lot of care ; Let Heaven condemn, but human hearts With human faults should bear. fe>mce fir^t Ww JfliorD. T. Moore. — Ait, Nicholas Freeman. SINCE first Thy Word awaked my heart, Like new life dawning o'er me, Where'er I turn mine eyes Thou art, All light and love before me. Naught else I feel, or hear, or see, — All bonds of earth I sever, Thee, O God, and only Thee, I live for now and ever. Like him whose fetters dropp'd away When light shone o'er his prison,* My spirit, touch'd by mercy's ray, Hath from her chains arisen. And shall a soul Thou bidd'st be free Return to bondage ? — never ! Thee, O God, and only Thee, I live for now and ever. * Acts xii. 7. Types of Heaven. 99 IBeauttful SDofce. Charles Mackay, LL.D.— Music by Henry West. THERE was Hope in the ark at the dawn of the day, When o'er the wide waters the dove flew away ; But when, ere the night, she came wearily back With the leaf she had pluck'd on her desolate track, The children of Noah knelt down and adored, And utter d in anthems their praise to the Lord — ■ " O bird of glad tidings ! O joy in our pain ! Beautiful dove ! thou art welcome again ! " When peace has departed the care-stricken breast, And the feet of the weary one languish for rest ; When the world is a wide-spreading ocean of grief, Plow blest the return of the bird and the leaf! Reliance on God is the dove to our ark, And peace is the olive she plucks in the dark. The deluge abates, there is sun after rain — Beautiful dove ! thou art welcome again ! I^peg of ^eatien. Miss Sarah E. Mayo. WHY love I the lily bell Swinging in the scented dell ? Why love I the woodnotes wild, Where the sun hath faintly smiled ? Daisies, in their beds secure, Gazing out so meek and pure ? roo Sacred Songs. Why love I the evening dew In the violet's bell of blue ? Why love I the vesper star, Trembling in its shrine afar ? Why love I the summer night Softly weeping drops of light ? Why to me do woodland springs Whisper sweet and holy things ? Why does every bed of moss Tell me of my Saviour's cross ? Why in every dimpled wave Smiles the light from o'er the grave ? Why do rainbows, seen at even, Seem the glorious paths to heaven ? Why are gushing streamlets fraught With the notes from angels caught ? Can ye tell me why the wind Bringeth seraphs to my mind ? Is it not that faith hath bound Beauties of all form and sound To the dreams that have been given Of the holy things in heaven ? Are they not bright links that bind Sinful souls to sinless mind ? From the lowly violet sod, Links are lengthen'd unto God. All are holy — stainless — sweet — That on earth we hear or meet, Are but types of that pure love Brightly realised above ! o There 's Peace in Heaven. 101 C^fltJ at draper* JAMES Brutox. — Music by Dr Rimbaidt. H ! is it not a holy sight To see a fair child kneel, Lift up his little hands, and make His innocent appeal ? To watch his tiny pleading eyes Shed tears like blessed rain ? — Tears that above, for human love, Were never shed in vain ! And is it not a holy sound To hear a fair child pray ? To mark his little rosebud lips The lisping blessings say ? Oh, may those prayers in heaven be Put by, like hoarded gold ; And pardon win for after-sin, When he is gray and old ! 'JOjere'g $tace fit Hjeafceiu W. E. STAITE.— Music by C. E. Horn. SAY, where may Peace be found ; I would the secret know. Tell me, ye winds of heaven, That round my pathway blow ; Ye winged clouds, ye clouds of rain, And thou eternal sea, Tell me, thou solid land, If Peace be found in thee. But winds, and clouds, and stormy sea, And earth, all answer, " Not in me !' ? 102 Sacred Songs. Tell me, ye birds that soar To heaven on sparkling wing, Ye golden flowers that shed New glories on the spring ; Tell me, thou glittering arch, Thou bow of mighty span, If Peace, sweet Peace, on earth May e'er be found by man. But bird, and flower, and bow can say No more than this — " We pass away ! " Tell me, ye mystic lights That glance along the sky, Ye lightnings as ye flash, Ye meteors as ye fly, Ye stars that blaze and burn In ether's purple plains ; Thou moon, the secret tell Ere yet thy lustre wanes. Hark ! hark ! the sweet response is given, " There 's Peace, there 's Peace in heaven. ^atlje %vxl srtjall be mp frapant fejjrfne« T. MOORE. — Air, Stevenson. 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 homewards to their caves, Or where the stillness of the sea, Even more than music, breathes of Thee ! Moonlight on the Grave. 103 I '11 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 '11 read Thy anger in the rack That clouds a while the daybeams' 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. flgoftntfjftt ri.n tlje (Braiie. Mrs Jane T. Worthington. IT shineth on the quiet graves Where weary ones have gone, It watcheth with angelic gaze Where the dead are left alone : 104 Sacred Songs. And not a sound of busy life To the still graveyard comes, But peacefully the sleepers lie Down in their silent homes. All silently and solemnly It throweth shadows round, And every gravestone hath a trace In darkness on the ground ; It looketh on the tiny mound Where a little child is laid, And it lighteth up the marble»pile Which human pride hath made. It falleth with unalter'd ray On the simple and the stern, And it showeth with a solemn light The sorrows we must learn ; It telleth of divided ties On which its beam hath shone, It whispereth of heavy hearts Which, brokenly, live on. It gleameth where devoted ones Are sleeping side by side, It looketh where the maiden rests Who in her beauty died. There is no grave in all the earth That moonlight hath not seen ; It gazeth on the passionless, Where agony hath been. Yet it is well : that changeless ray A deeper thought should throw, When mortal love pours forth the tide Of unavailing woe ; For Ever. I0 ! It teacheth us no shade of grief Can touch the starry sky, That all our sorrow liveth here — The glory is on high ! JFor dbzt. J. E. Carpenter. — Music by John Blockley. FOR ever ! it is written on The soft blue skies above, 'Tis read in all the silent stars That shine in peace and love ; 'Tis whisper'd by the mountain wind, 'Tis murmur'd by the sea, By all earth's brightest, fairest things, The stream, the flower, the tree. For ever ! 'tis a lovely dream, That haunts me like a spell, That tells of that bright happy land Where angels love to dwell ! For ever ! and for ever ! For ever ! — 'tis the sweetest sound That memory oft recalls ; For ever ! — 'tis the saddest tone That o'er the spirit falls : Sad, when it tells some cherish 1 d one From time has pass'd away ; Sweet, that it lives for ever, where The soul knows no decay. For ever ! 'tis a lovely dream, kc. 1 06 Sacred Songs. & prapeu tit feicfcnegg. Barry Cornwall. SEND down Thy winged angel, God ! Amidst this night so wild ; And bid him come where now we watch, And breathe upon our child ! She lies upon her pillow, pale, And moans within her sleep, Or wakeneth with a patient smile, And striveth not to weep ! How gentle and how good a child She is, we know too well, And dearer to her parents' hearts Than our weak words can tell. We love— we watch throughout the night, To aid, when need may be, We hope — and have despair' d, at times ; But now we turn to Thee ! Send down Thy sweet-soul'd angel, God ! Amidst the darkness wild, And bid him soothe our souls to-night, And heal our gentle child ! Si draper IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. Robert Burns. — Music by T. Purday. OTHOU unknown, Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear, In whose dread presence, ere an hour, Perhaps I must appear ! The Reaper and tJie Flowers. If I have wander'd in those paths Of life I ought to shun ; As something loudly in my breast Remonstrates I have done, Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me With passions wild and strong ; And list'ning to their witching voice Has often led me wrong. Where human weakness has come short, Ox frailty stept aside, Do Thou, All-Good^ for such Thou art, In shades of darkness hide. Where with intention I have err'd, No other plea I have, But — Thou art good ; and goodness still Delighteth to forgive. %ty Eeaper anti tfjc jflotoettf. W. H. Longfellow.— Music by J. W. Hobbs. THERE is a reaper whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. " Shall I have nought that is fair ? " saith he — " Have nought but the bearded grain ? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me I will give them all back again." io8 Sacred Songs. He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kiss'd their drooping leaves; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. " My Lord hath need of these flowerets gay," The reaper said, and smiled ; " Dear tokens of the earth are they, Where He was once a child. " They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by His care, And saints, upon their garments white, These sacred blossoms wear." And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love ; She knew she should find them all again In the fields of light above. Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The reaper came that day ; 'Twas an angel visited the green earth, And took the flowers away. grayer* J. Hain Friswell. I PR AY at morning ere the sun 's awake, Or when the morn 's beginning, — Under Thy wings, O gracious Lord, me take, And keep my soul from sinning. Prayer. 109 I pray at noon, or ere a task's begun, With prompt ejaculation, Keep me, O Father, Holy Spirit, Son, From evil perturbation. When on my board is spread a frugal store, Thankful I bow my head ; Thou feed'st me, Lord, oh, gracious evermore, While some for want lie dead. What difference, Lord, seest Thou 'twixt them and me ? I 'm fed while they 're denied ; Not more from sin than they am I, Lord, free : Let this abate my pride. When soars the lark into the summer sky, Pouring full-throated praise, I sing like him, and, Lord, like him I try Towards Thee my soul to raise. When golden fires are twinkling in the sky, And birds their' even song Begin,' while nature's hush'd, in praise do I Seek, too, to add my song. Not only on Thy sacred day of rest, Within our church's portals, Seek I in prayer my full thoughts to invest For self and other mortals : But every day and hour to Thee I tend, Or seek to, Lord, in earnest : Raise Thou my thoughts, my inclinations bend ; He's stable whom Thou turnest. 1 1 o Sacred Songs. I pray, for some, dear to me, very dear, Oh, bless them, Lord, and save ; And shouldst Thou take them, be to me, Lord, near, Kneeling beside their grave. I pray for all who, living, daily tread Upon this land of graves ; Or who upon the sea are onwards sped, Driven by wind and waves. Nor men alone : let all Thy creatures share Their fellows' benediction : Since Thou hast made them, they to me are dear, Without one faint restriction. And prayer is mighty, comforting and sweet, And strengthens day by day ; It shields us in each danger that we meet : Lord ! teach us how to pray. Mrs Julia Ward Howe. I AM one who holds a treasure, A gem of wondrous cost ; But I mar my heart's deep pleasure With the fear it may be lost. God gives not many mothers So fair a child as thou, And those He gives to others In death are oft laid low. A Mother 's Fears. 1 1 1 I, too, might know that sorrow, To stand by thy dying bed, And wish each weary morrow Only that I were dead. Oh ! would that I could bear thee, As I bore thee 'neath my heart, And every sorrow spare thee, And bid each pain depart ! Tell rne some act of merit By which I may deserve To held the angel spirit, And its sweet life preserve. When I watch the little creature, If tears of rapture flow — If I worship each fair feature — All mothers would do so. And if I fain would shield her From suffering, on my breast, Strive every joy to yield her, 'Tis thus that I am blest. Oh for some heavenly token By which I may be sure The vase shall not be broken — Dispersed the essence pure ! Then spake the angel of mothers To me, in gentle tone, — " Be kind to the children of others, And thus deserve thine own." 1 1 2 Sacred Songs. %x\x$t fn d5o&. Eliza Cook. THEY tell us that the deep sea hath More dangers than the shore ; They whisper tales of ocean wrath, And breakers' deadly roar. How oft the ruddy cheek will pale To leave the earth behind ! , How oft the glowing heart will quail Before the tempest wind ! We fear the billows' dash, but why ? •There 's One to guard and save ; There 's One whose wide and watchful eye Sleeps not above the wave. Why should the soul withdraw its trust Upon the foamy track ? He who gave life, all wise and just, Knows when to ask it back. Though death were nigh, I would not shrink My faith, my hope, should rest Upon a Maker's will, and think Whate'er He will'd the best. I 'd ever trust the ruling hand, Howe'er the storm might rave, For He who watches o'er the land Sleeps not above the wave. The L ighthouse. 113 C&e feparroto'js ifall. W. E. STAITE.— Music by J. P. Knight THE turf may be my lowly bed, Heaven's arch the roof that decks my head, God's stars the only eyes that keep Their night watch o'er me while I sleep ; Yet He who hears the raven's cry Will ne'er forsake me where I lie ; He '11 guard me still, He'll hear my call, Who marks the poorest sparrow's fall What though " the cruse" and " meal" be low, His hand will all good things bestow ; The bounteous hand which feeds and fills The cattle on a thousand hills ; And when on death's cold pillow cast, I '11 lay me down in peace at last ; For well I know He'll hear my call, Who marks the poorest sparrow's fall. W$z Sfgrljtijouge. W. H. Bellamy.— Music by J. L. Hatton. A MAN once built a lighthouse, And he built it on a rock, And he boasted it should bear unscathed The storm's severest shock. " Of engineers I '11 be," quoth he, " The proudest and the first ; There stands my work, and it shall stand,- The waves may do their worst." H 114 Sacred Songs. And stand it did, amid the sea, Amid the shifting sand, A fairer work to look upon Ne'er came from mortal hand. Forth went the word ! the winds arose, The waves came thundering on, At sundown it was standing, The day broke — it was gone. Another engineer then came, A wiser, humbler man, One who revered his Maker's word, And loved His works to scan ; He stood before a forest oak, And mark'd its structure well, He saw its slowly tapering height, Its bold descending swell. He gave it thought, he gather' d hope, And like a brave man there, Felt it no shame to bow his heart In thankfulness and prayer. To work he went, and this he graved Upon the first laid stone, " Man may build up, the strength to stand Must come from God alone." Slow rose the work, but safely slow, Firm as the rooted oak ; Day after day, storm after storm, Above that lighthouse broke ; At last came one, and seamen said, While yet they saw it loom, " If it stand this, why, it will stand Until the day of doom." Is this all f 1 1 The storm pass'd on, long years are gone, The engineer sleeps well, And still around that lighthouse towers, The eddying billows swell ; And many a tar, from many a land, Through many a stormy night, Still breathes a prayer for him that rear'd That heaven-protected light. 3|0 tljte all ? Rev. Horatius Bonar, D.D. SOMETIMES I catch sweet glimpses of His face, But that is all. Sometimes He looks on me, and seems to smile, But that is all. Sometimes He speaks a passing word of peace, But that is all. Sometimes I think I hear His loving voice Upon me call. And is this all He meant when thus He spoke — " Come unto me ?" Is there no deeper, more enduring rest, In Him for thee ? " Is there no steadier light for thee in Him ? Oh, come and see ! Oh, come and see ! oh, look, and look again ; All shall be right ; Oh, taste His love, and see that it is good, Thou child of night. Oh, trust Him, trust Him in His grace and power. Then all is bright. 1 1 6 Sacred Songs. Nay, do not wrong Him by thy heavy thoughts, But love His love. Do thou full justice to His tenderness, His mercy prove ; Take Him for what He is ; oh, take Him all, And look above ! Then shall thy tossing soul find anchorage, And stedfast peace ; Thy love shall rest on His ; thy weary doubts For ever cease. Thy heart shall find in Him, and in His grace. Its rest and bliss. Christ and His love shall be thy blessed all For evermore ! Christ and His light shall shine on all thy ways For evermore ! Christ and His peace shall keep thy troubled soul For evermore ! ■ C&e Fteion of ffirfgfianar* Lord Byron. — Music by J. Nathan. THE king was on his throne, The satraps throng'd the hall ; A thousand bright lamps shone O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold — In Judah deem'd divine, Jehovah's vessels — hold The godless heathen's wine. The Vision of Belshazzar. WJ In that same hour and hall, The finger of a hand Came forth against the wall And wrote as if on sand : The finger of a man ; . A solitary hand Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wand. The monarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice ; All bloodless wax'd his look, • And tremulous his 'voice. " Let the men of lore appear, The wisest of the earth, And expound the words of fear Which mar our royal mirth. 1 ' Chaldea's seers are good, But here they had no skill ; And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age Are wise and deep in lore ; But now they were not sage, They saw — but knew no more. A captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, He heard the king's command, He saw the writing's truth. The lamps around were bright, The prophecy in view ; He read it on that night, — The morrow proved it true. 1 1 8 Sacred Songs. " Belshazzar's grave is ma.de, His kingdom pass'd away, He, in the balance weigh'd, Is light and worthless clay. The shroud his robe of state, His canopy the stone : The Mede is at his gate ! The Persian on his throne ! %mtt of tlje !£eiireto 9£ato* Sir Walter Scott. WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out of the land of bondage came, Her father's God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonish' d lands The cloudy pillar glided slow ; By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands Return'd the fiery column's glow. There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answer' d keen ; And Zion's daughters pour'd their lays, With priest 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. Bat present still, though now unseen ! When brightly shines the prosp'rous day, Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen To temper the deceitful ray. Mountain Prayer. 119 And oh, when stoops on Judah's paths, In shade and storm, the frequent night, Be Thou long-suff'ring, 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, harp, 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." fountain draper* J. E. Carpenter. — Music by S. Nelson. " He went up into a mountain apart, to pray." AMIDST the ancient mountains, where the eagle made his nest, An aged man went up to pray, to bare his wearied breast ; For the spirit of the solitude reign' d solemnly on high, And there, unmark'd, his soul could hold communion with the sky. Apart from all of human kind, where stillness ever dwells, The pure and holy fount of prayer sheds forth its holy spells ; 'Twas there He went, the blessed one, in the vast and silent day — Oh, shun ye not the mountain path, but seek it — there to • pray ! 120 Sacred Songs. And thus, amid the mountains, where the Son of Man hath trod, The patriarch went up to pray — to commune with his God ; He breathed his fervent plaint alone amid the upper air, Then sought the lesser world, but left his calm, pure spirit there 1 J. E. Carpenter.— Music by N. J. Sporh, ANGELS' visits" may, they tell us, Seldom here on earth be seen, E'er since sin and doubt befell us, " Few" they are " and far between ;" Yet we have a shadowy gleaming Of their forms so pure and bright, Round our pillows softly beaming, In the silent hours of night ! Angels' visits ! would we see them, We must not expect them here ; Doubters ! Angels always flee them, They are not of this dull sphere : But, if faith to us be given Not God's wisdom to forego, In the starry realms of heaven Angels' visits we may know ! Almighty God ! 121 £lmiijtjtP (SoD Chorus of Priests. \ LMIGHTY God ! when round Thy shrine x *- The palm-tree's heavenly branch we twine,* (Emblem of Life's eternal ray, And Love that " fadeth not away,") We bless the flowers, expanded all ; t We bless the leaves that never fall, And trembling say, — " In Eden thus The Tree of Life may flower for us." When round Thy cherubs, smiling calm, — Without their flames, — we wreathe the palm, O God ! we feel the emblem true : Thy mercy is eternal too. Those cherubs, with their smiling eyes, That crown of palm, which never dies, Are but the types of Thee above, — Eternal Life, and Peace, and Love ! * " The Scriptures having declared that the temple of Jerusalem was a type of the Messiah, it is natural to conclude that the palms, which were made so conspicuous a figure in that structure, represented that life and immortality which were brought to light by the gospel."— Observations on the Palm as a Sacred Emblem, by IF. Tigke. t 1 Kings vi. 29. 122 Sacred Songs. (Bo toljeix tje Scorning; »>ljmetij. Anonymous. — Music by Stephen Glover. GO when the morning shineth, Go when the moon is bright, Go when the day declineth, Go in the hush of night ; Go with pure mind and feeling, Fling earthly thoughts away, And in thy chamber kneeling, Do thou in secret pray. Remember all who love thee, All who are loved by thee ; Pray, too, for those who hate thee, If any such there be ; Then for thyself, in meekness, A blessing humbly claim, And link with each petition Thy great Redeemer's name. Or if 'tis e'er denied thee In solitude to pray, Should holy thoughts come o'er thee When friends are round thy way; Even then the silent breathing Of thy spirit raised above, Will reach His throne of glory Who is mercy, truth, and love ! Oh ! not a joy or blessing With this we can compare, The power that He hath given us To pour our souls in prayer ! Friend after Friend Departs. 123 Whene'er thou pinest in sadness, Before His footstool fall, And remember, in thy gladness, His grace who gives thee all. I 3 f tfmt miffs aaiorln. Lord Byron. — Music by J. Nathan. F that high world, which lies beyond Our own, surviving love endears ; If there the cherish'd heart be fond, The eye the same, except in tears — How welcome those untrodden spheres ! How sweet this very hour to die ! To soar from earth, and find all fears Lost in thy light — eternity ! It must be so ; 'tis not for self That we so tremble at the brink, And striving to o'erleap the gulf Yet cling to Being's severing link. Oh ! in that future let us think To hold each heart the heart that shares With them the immortal waters drink, And soul in soul grow deathless theirs ! Jfn'enH ator jfnenti &epart& James Montgomery. — Music by Stephen Glover. FRIEND after friend departs ; Who has not lost a friend ? There is no union here of hearts, That finds not here an end : 124 Sacred Songs. Were this frail world our only rest, Living or dying, none were blest. Beyond the flight of time, Beyond this vale of death, There surely is some blessed clime, Where life is not a breath, Nor life's affections transient fire, Whose sparks fly upwards to expire. There is a world above, Where parting is unknown ; A whole eternity of love, Form'd for the good alone : And faith beholds the dying here Translated to that happier sphere. Thus star by star declines Till all are pass'd away, As morning high, and higher shines To pure and perfect day ; Nor sink those stars in empty night ; They hide themselves in heaven's own light. Ijere te a Bleak SDetfect, THERE is a bleak desert, where daylight grows weary Of wasting its smile on a region so dreary — What may that desert be ? 'Tis life, cheerless life, where the few joys that come Are lost, like that daylight, for 'tis not their home. Resignation. 125 There is a lone pilgrim before whose faint eyes The water he pants for but sparkles and flies — Who may that pilgrim be ? : Tis man, hapless man, through this life tempted on By fair shining hopes, that in shining are gone. There is a bright fountain through that desert stealing, To pure bliss alone its refreshment revealing — What may that fountain be ? 'Tis truth, holy truth, that, like springs under ground, By the gifted of heaven alone can be found.* There is a fair spirit, whose wand hath the spell To point where those waters in secrecy dwell — Who may that spirit be ? 'Tis faith, humble faith, who hath learn'd that where'er Her wand bends to worship, the truth must be there. l&cgfjynatiom Thomas Chatterton. O Whose eye this atom globe surveys ; To Thee, my only Rock, I fly, Thy mercy and Thy justice praise. The mystic mazes of Thy will, The shadows of celestial light, Are past the power of human skill — But what th' Eternal acts is right. In singing, the following line had better be adopted : — " Can but by the gifted of heaven be found." 126 Sacred Songs. 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. But ah ! my breast is human still ; The rising sigh, the falling tear, My languid vitals' feeble rill The sickness of my soul declare. But yet, with fortitude resign'd, I '11 thank th' inflictor of the blow, Forbid the sigh, compose my mind, Nor let the gush of misery flow. The gloomy mantle of the night, W T hich on my sinking spirit steals, Will vanish at the morning light Which God, my East, my Sun, reveals. Psalm of Life. 127 pgalm of JLitz. H. W. Longfellow.— Music by S. Glover. T ELL me not in mournful numbers " Life is but an empty dream !" For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real ! life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal : " Dust thou art; to dust returncst," Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way ; But to act, that each to-morrow Finds us further than to-day. Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave. Still like muffled drums are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of life, Be not like dumb driven cattle — Be a hero in the strife ! Trust no future, howe'er pleasant ; Let the dead past bury its dead ; Act, act in the living present, Heart within, and God o'erhead .' 128 Sacred Songs. Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time. Footprints that, perhaps, another Sailing o'er life's solemn main, Some forlorn and shipwreck' d brother. Seeing, shall take heart again Let us then be up and doing, With a heart for any fate ; Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labour and to wait. James Hogg. {For the close of the week.) BEFORE Thy footstool, God of truth, A humble child bows down, To thank Thee for the joys of earth, And errors all to own. I know Thou art the fountain-head Whence all my blessings flow ; But all Thy glory and Thy good I dare not seek to know : Whether Thy way is on the wind, Thy pathway on the storm ; Or on the waste of waters wide, Which rolling waves deform ; A Child's Hymn. 129 But this I know, by flood or wild, Thou seest me night and day, And grievest o'er the wayward child That goes from Thee astray. Through all this week Thy kindly sway Has round me been for good, — At task or play, by night or day, In wilderness or wood. And when I lay me down to sleep, Thy guardian shield be spread : And angels of Thy presence keep A watch around my bed. Oh, teach me to adore Thy name, For all Thy love to me ; Thy guardian goodness to proclaim, Thy truth and verity. And through the darkness of the night Watch o'er my thoughts that stray, And lift mine eyes upon the light Of a new Sabbath-day. And in a holy frame employ Thy day, new praise to give To Him who wept that I might joy, And died that I mis:ht live : That sinful ones like me Might glory in redeeming love, To all eternity. 1 30 Sacred Songs. For all Thy blessings shower'd around My kindred and my race, I bless Thee, Lord, but most of all, For riches of Thy grace. For peace of mind, for health of frame, And joys— a mighty store, Accept my thanks, and to Thy name Be glory evermore. "C&p Smg:tiom Come*" Eliza Cook. ,r_ piS human lot to meet and bear -*- The common ills of human life ; There 's not a breast but hath its share Of bitter pain and vexing strife. The peasant in his lowly shed, The noble 'neath a gilded dome, Each will at some time bow his head, And ask and hope, " Thy kingdom come ! " When some deep sorrow, surely slow, Despoils the cheek and eats the heart, Laying our busy projects low, And bidding all earth's dreams depart — Do we not smile, and calmly turn From the wide world's tumultuous hum, And feel the immortal essence yearn, Rich with the thought, " Thy kingdom come ? By the Rivers of Babylon. 1 3 1 The waves of Care may darkly bound And buffet, till, our strength outworn, We stagger as they gather round, All shatter' d, weak, and tempest-torn : But there's a lighthouse for the soul, That beacons to a stormless home ; It safely guides through roughest tides — It shines, it saves ! " Thy kingdom come ! w To gaze upon the loved in death, To mark the closing beamless eye, To press dear lips, and find no breath — This, this is life's worst agony ! But God, too merciful, too wise To leave the lorn one in despair, Whispers, while snatching those we prize, " My kingdom come ! — Ye '11 meet them there ! " %l tlje IRfterg of ffiabglon* LORD Byron. — Music by J. Nathan. WE sate down and wept by the waters Of Babel, and thought of the day When our foe, in the love of his slaughters, Made Salem's high places his prey ; And ye, oh, her desolate daughters ! Were scatter d, all weeping, away. While sadly we gazed on the river Which rolFd on in freedom below, They demanded the song ; but, oh, never That triumph the stranger shall know ! May this right hand be wither'd for ever Ere it string our high harp for the foe. 132 Sacred Songs. On the willow that harp is suspended, O Salem ! its sound should be free ; And the hour when thy glories were ended But left me that token of thee : And ne'er shall its soft tones be blended With the voice of the spoiler by me ! Thomas Hood. — Music by John Blocklcy. WE watch'd her breathing through the night, Her breathing soft and low, As in her breast the wave of life Kept heaving to and fro. So silently we seem'd to speak, So slowly moved about, As we had lent her half our powers To eke her living out. Our very hopes belied our fears, Our fears our hopes belied ; We thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died. For when the morn came dim and sad, And chill with early showers, Her quiet eyelids closed, — she had Another morn than ours. Touta Nika. 133 Couta jpifou Mrs G. Linnaeus Banks. WE read on the historic page, The monarch Constantine, Whilst marching 'gainst a Pagan foe, Invoked the Power Divine, In choice of a religious creed To lead his steps aright, To grant him knowledge of the truth, And aid him in the fight. When in the dusky evening sky Appear'd the Christian's sign : The Cross, in unimagined light, And bore these words divine, — " In this overcome." The startled monarch stood amazed, Own'd the God-given guide, Uprear'd the standard of the Cross, And fought, faith-fortified. For, trusting not in human strength, He sought help from on high, And, ever in the cause of truth, March' d but to victory. Still far and wide his conquests spread In temple, council, field; And wheresoe'er the Cross was rear'd, And God in Christ reveal' d, " In this overcome." And so the Christian, whensoe'er Assail'd by doubts or fears, Should turn the inner eye above, And, lo ! the Cross appears ! 134 Sacred Songs. A promise to the fainting heart, A guide in doubt's thick shade, A refuge to the penitent, In cheering light array'd. Or if his soul is e'er assail'd By foes without, within, Raise but the standard of the Cross, And quell the hosts of sin, — " In this overcome." dje ADrpIjam Mrs Maclean — Letitia Elizabeth Landon. ALONE, alone ! — No other face Wqars kindred smile, or kindred line ; And yet they say my mother's eyes — They say my father's brow — is mine ; And either had rejoiced to see The other's likeness in my face ; But now it is a stranger's eye That finds some long-forgotten trace. I heard them name my father's death, His home and tomb alike the wave ; And I was early taught to weep Beside my youthful mother's grave. I wish I could recall one look, — But only one familiar tone ; If I had aught of memory, I should not feel so all alone. Cradle Song. 135 My heart is gone beyond the grave In search of love I cannot find, Till I could fancy soothing words Are whisper'd by the evening wind. I gaze upon the watching stars, So clear, so beautiful above, Till I could dream they look at me With something of an answering love. My mother ! does thy gentle eye Look from those distant stars on me ? Or does the wind at evening bear A message to thy child from thee ? Dost thou pine for me as I pine Again a parent' s love to share ? I often kneel beside thy grave, And pray to be a sleeper there. The vesper-bell ! — 'Tis eventide, I will not weep, but I will pray : God of the fatherless, 'tis Thou Alone canst be the orphan's stay ! Earth's meanest flower, heaven's mightiest star, Are equal to their Maker's love; And I can say, " Thy will be done," With eyes that fix their hopes above. Cratile ^on^ William C. Bennett. LULLABY, lullaby, baby dear ! Take thy rest without a fear Quiet sleep, for mother is here, Ever wakeful, ever near. Lullaby ! 136 Sacred Songs. Lullaby, lullaby ! gone is the light, Yet let not darkness my baby fright ; Mother is with her amid the night, Then softly sleep, my heart's delight. Lullaby ! May thy small dreams no ill things see. Kind Heaven keep watch, my baby, o'er thee, Kind angels bright thy guardians be, And give thee smiling to-day and me. Lullaby ! Sleep on, sleep on ! thy rest is deep ; But, ah ! what wild thoughts on rne creep,— As by thy side my watch I keep, — To think how like to death is sleep Lullaby ! But God, our Father, will hear my prayer, And have thee, dear one, in His care ; Thee, little one, soft breathing there, To me the Lord's dear love will spare, Lullaby ! Sleep on ! sleep on ! till glad day break, And with the sunshine gladly wake, Thy mother's day, how blest to make ! Her life, what joy ! through thy dear sake, Lullaby ! The Child's Evening Hymn, 137 %\z Cljiitrs flRjemng; l£pmtn Samuel Taylor Coleridge.— Air, Evening Hymn. ERE on my bed my limbs I lay, God grant me grace my prayers to say ! O God, preserve my mother dear In health and strength for many a year. And, oh ; preserve my father too, And may I pay him reverence due ; And may I my best thoughts employ To be my parents' hope and joy. My sisters and my brothers both From evil guard, and save from sloth, And may we always love each other, Our friends, our father, and our mother. [For that dear brother gone from earth, Who soothed my woe, who shared my mirth Oh, teach me, Father, Thee to love, That we may meet in realms above.] * And still, O Lord, to me impart A contrite, pure, and grateful heart, That after my last sleep I may Awake to Thy eternal day. Amen. * The fourth verse is introduced by the Editor. 138 Sacred Songs. "Be not afratti ; 'ZCte %" Matt. xiv. G. LiNN^US Banks. — Music by Edwin Flood. BE not afraid ; 'tis I " Who walk the mighty deep ; Who bid the storm pass by, Or rock the waves to sleep : Though mountain billows swell, And thunders shake the sky, A breath of mine can quell — " Be not afraid ; 'tis I." " Be not afraid ; 'tis I:" But have ye ought to fear ? Can danger e'er be nigh, And God, too, not be near ? "Oh, ye of little faith," Who raise the feeble cry To Him who ever saith — " Be not afraid : 'tis I." %\z C&ttettan <$vatz$. No. 1.— FAITH. Rev. J. R. Wreford.— Music by Stephen Glover. LORD, I believe : Thy power I own, Thy word I would obey ; I wander comfortless and lone, When from Thy truth I stray. The Christian Graces. 139 Lord, I believe : but gloomy fears Sometimes bedim my sight ; I look to Thee with prayers and tears, And cry for strength and light. Lord, I believe : but Thou dost know My faith is cold and weak ; Pity my frailty, and bestow The confidence I seek. Yes ! I believe ; and only Thou Canst give my soul relief ; Lord ! to Thy truth my spirit bow ; Help Thou my unbelief. No. 2.— HOPE. Charles Jefferys. — Music by Stephen Glover. MOURNER, why this fruitless sorrow? Let me soothe thee with my lay, Darkest night hath brightest morrow, So shall sadness pass away. Heavy is thy heart with anguish, Sorely are thy thoughts oppress'd, Mourner, wherefore dost thou languish ? I am here to give thee rest. My blest mission is from heaven, Thither let thy thoughts ascend ; Free thy heart from earthly leaven ; Thou shalt know me as thy friend : Be thy prayers and adorations Made unto that bright abode, I will lead thy aspirations To the temple of thy God ! 140 Sacred Songs. No. 3.— CHARITY. Charles Jefferys. — Music by Stephen Glover. MEEK and lowly, pure and holy, Chief among the " blessed three," Turning sadness into gladness, Heaven-born art thou, Charity ! Pity dwelleth in thy bosom ; Kindness reigneth o'er thy heart, Gentle thoughts alone can sway thee, Judgment hath in thee no part. Hoping ever, failing never, Though deceived, believing still ; Long abiding, all confiding, In thy heavenly Father's will. Never weary of well-doing, Never fearful of the end : Claiming ail mankind as brothers, Thou dost all alike befriend. %^t Sleeper* J. E. Carpenter. — Music by F. Wallerstein. I HAD a vision in the night ; — An infant tired with play, While o'er it bent two angels bright, As there it sleeping lay : I knew that they were Death and Sleep, But which I could not name, Nor why that both should vigil keep, Why pictured both the same. Song after L abour. 1 4 1 Since then I 've seen life's last light fade, And pass its latest breath ; Then knew I why my vision made Sleep so akin to Death. Between the white-wing'd angels stood A form, — " 'twas Time," I said ; My vision, in a happy mood, Thus hope and comfort shed : For sleep knows two awakings, — one Where sweet bells gaily chime, And one, life's pilgrimage begun, That's only known to Time. And well it is for our repose, When bound in slumber deep, That Time alone the future knows, The hour for Death or Sleep. ^>ong; after labour* Barry Cornwall. LABOUR'S strong and merry children, Comrades of the rising sun, Let us sing some songs together, Now our toil is done. No desponding, no repining ! Leisure must by toil be bought. Never yet was good accomplished, Without hand and thought. Even God's all holy labour Framed the air, the stars, the sun ; Built our earth on deep foundations ; And — the World was won ! 142 Sacred Songs. 31 0oug:6t tfje Hortu J. E. Carpenter. — Music by N. J. Sporle. I SOUGHT the Lord — He heard my voice, The hour of sorrow pass'd away ; He bade my trembling soul rejoice, And smooth'd the paths where now I stray : I look back to the past where never My footsteps shall return again, For, in His path I '11 walk for ever, And steadfast in my faith remain ! I sought the Lord — and me He heard, He let my prayers to heaven ascend ; And, trusting in His holy word, I knew no other hope or friend ; And now with meek and chasten'd spirit I pray my sins may be forgiven, That I, hereafter, may inherit A rest above — a home in heaven. !£i'0 MWl ht SDone! James Bruton.— Music by Dr Rhnbault MOTHER ! it is hard to die o When all is glad around ; When smiling stars light up the sky, And flowers begem the ground ! When bee and bird abroad are heard, And summer just begun : But, mother ! I will not complain — For let His will be done ! O Thou who Dryst the Mourner s Tear. 143 mother ! it is hard to die, When e'en but yesternight, My cheek was red, and in my eyes Hope lit its cheating light ! 1 hear the noise of playmate boys In search of pleasure run : But, mother ! I will not complain — For let His will be done ! And leave you here to weep, With none to dry your tears when I Shall sleep the long deep sleep ! My pillow raise, and let me gaze On yonder setting sun, Which I may never see again — ■ But let His will be done ! d> UJou Voljo 2Drg'0t tfje flpournec'sf ^ear, Psalm cxlvii. 3. T. Moore.— A ir^ Haydn. o Thou who dry' st the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be, We could not fly to thee. 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. 144 Sacred Songs. But Thou wilt heal that 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 the hope that threw A moment's sparkle o'er our tears Is dimm'd and vanish'd too, Oh, who would bear life's stormy doom, Did not Thy Wing of Love. Come, brightly wafting through the gloom Our peace-branch from above ! Then sorrow, touch'd by Thee, grows bright With more than rapture's ray ; As darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day ! %^z ©eatftutie0. No. i.— SORROW. Blessed are they that mourn : for they shall be comforted."— Matt. v. 4 CHARLES JEFFERYS— Music by Stephen Glover. IN this world abideth sorrow ; Rich and poor, and high and low, Wearied age and early childhood Must the pangs of sorrow know : But when earthly griefs are keenest, Hark what cheering words are said : They that mourn are blessed ; — blessed, For they shall be comforted. The Beatitudes. 145 If we seek our only solace In the one pure source above, Happy is the heart that's chasten'd By the Father's hand of love. He who is the Lord of Glory, Had not where to lay His head — Thus He sorrow' d, thus He suffer' d, That we might be comforted. No. 2.— MEEKNESS. Blessed are the meek : for they shall inherit the earth." — Matt. Charles Jefferys. — Music by Stephen Gtover. BE meek, be patient : oh, how blest is he Whose heart is ever ready to forgive ; Who knows, 'mid unresented injury, That unresisted anger cannot live. A little spark may rouse a raging fire, The more opposed, the more will anger burn ; But feed it not, the spark will soon expire ; So Strife, provoked not, will to Peace return. Of Adam born, there never lived but One Who needed not forgiveness, and yet He Was scorn'd, despised, rejected, left alone To bear the burden of His misery. By man betray'd, how tender was the prayer, In dying whispers, breathed by lips divine : May we such Patience learn ; like Him forbear, Confide in promised joys, and ne'er repine. 146 Sacred Songs. No. 3.— MERCY. '•'Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy." — Matt. v. 7. Charles Jefferys. — Music by Stephen Glover. BE merciful, for they are blessed Who the gifts of Mercy show ; In their need, they shall find that mercy Which on others they bestow. To help the friendless, save the erring,' Raise the fallen, cheer the lone, To win the wayward back to duty, This, sweet Mercy, is thine own. Be ever merciful in judging ; Be not cold to Want's appeal — 'Tis better we should err in kindness, Than let Pity's fount congeal. If here on earth thou wouldst be happy, Know that man is nearest heaven When he freely grants forgiveness, As he hopes to be forgiven. No. 4.— PEACE. " Elessed are the peacemakers : for they shall be called the children of God." — Matt. v. 9. Charles Jefferys. — Music by Stephen Glover. " HPO God be glory in the highest, ■*■ Peace on earth, good-will to man" — Thus sang on high the Herald Angels When Redemption's work began : — The Bow in the Cloud. 147 Go forth, proclaim it to the nations, Hence let strife and warfare cease ; For best of all the Earth's oblations Are the offerings of Peace. Peacemakers, ye on earth are blessed, Children of the Holy One : — That ye the kingdom shall inherit, Was the promise of the Son. Then go, proclaim it to the nations, Hence let strife and warfare cease ; For purest of all Earth's oblations, Are the offerings of Peace. lie Boto fn tije cloun; I do set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be for a token of a covenant between me and the earth." — Gen. ix. 13. j. E. Carpenter. — Music by Stephen Glover. EVER complain, though thy sorrows be many ; N What are thy sufferings, mortal, to any He who died for us consented to share ? He whom He loveth He chasteneth, and sorrow May, for the moment, thy pathway o'ershroud ! Trembler ! look up — there is hope for thy morrow, For has not the Lord set His bow in the cloud? Sign of His goodness and type of His glory, Token and promise of peace upon earth, — Covenant, giving the young and the hoary, Hope of, hereafter, a holier birth ; 148 Sacred Songs. Blessed on earth be His name who from heaven Has, in the fulness of goodness, allow' d Hope for the past — for the future has given The token of promise — the bow in the cloud! %%ou art, flD CSoD ! Psalm lxxiv. 16, 17. T. Moore. — Air, unknown. THOU art, O God, the life and light Of all this, wondrous world we see, Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from Thee. Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are Thine ! When day, with farewell beams, delays Among the opening clouds of even, And we can almost think we gaze Through golden vistas into heaven — Those hues, that make the sun's decline So soft, so radiant, Lord ! are Thine. When night, with wings of starry gloom, O'ershadows all the earth and skies, Like some dark beauteous bird, whose plume Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes — That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless, Lord ! are Thine. Lady Mary. 149 When youthful Spring around us breathes, Thy spirit warms her fragrant sigh ; And every flower the Summer wreathes Is born beneath that kindling eye. Where'er we turn, Thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are Thine. Rev. H. Alford, D.D., Dean of Canterbury. THOU wert fair, Lady Mary, As the lily in the sun ; And fairer yet thou mightest be, Thy youth was but begun : Thine eye was soft and glancing, Of the deep bright blue ; And on the heart thy gentle words Fell lighter than the dew. They found thee, Lady Mary, With thy palms upon thy breast, Even as thou hadst been praying At thy hour of rest : The cold pale moon was shining On thy cold pale cheek ; And the morn of the Nativity Had just begun to break. They carved thee, Lady Mary, All of pure white stone, With thy palms upon thy breast, In the chancel all alone : 150 Sacred Songs. And I saw thee when the winter moon Shone on thy marble cheek, When the morn of the Nativity Had just begun to break. But thou kneelest, Lady Mary, With thy palms upon thy breast, Among the perfect spirits In the land of rest : Thou art even as they took thee At thine hour of prayer, Save the glory that is on thee From the Sun that shineth there. We shall see thee, Lady Mary, On that shore unknown, A pure and happy angel In the presence of the Throne ; We shall see thee when the light divine Plays freshly on thy cheek, And the Resurrection morning Hath just begun to break. flDJ ! ftftieep for %\m. Lord Byron. — Music by Stephen Glover. OH ! weep for those that wept by Babul's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land 's a dream Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell ; Mourn — where their God hath dwelt, the godless dwell. And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet ? And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet ? The Rainbow. 1 5 1 And Judah's melody once more rejoice The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice ? Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, How shall ye flee away and be at rest ! The wild dove hath her nest, the fox his cave, Mankind their country — Israel but the grave ! %\)t Bafnboto* Thomas Campbell. TRIUMPHAL arch, that fill'st the sky When storms prepare to part, I ask not proud philosophy To teach me what thou art. Still seem as to my childhood's sight, , A midway station given, For happy spirits to alight Betwixt the earth and heaven. Can all that optics teach, unfold Thy form to please me so As when I dreamt of gems and gold Hid in thy radiant bow ? When Science from Creation's face Enchantment's veil withdraws, W T hat lovely visions yield their place To cold material laws ! And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams, But words of the Most High, Have told why first thy robe of beams Was woven in the sky. Sacred Songs. When o'er the green undeluged earth Heaven's covenant thou didst shine, How came the world's gray fathers forth To watch thy sacred sign ! And when its yellow lustre smiled On mountains yet untrod, Each mother held aloft her child, To bless the bow of God. Methinks thy jubilee to keep The first-made anthem rang On earth deliver' d from the deep, And the first poet sang. Nor ever shall the Muse's eye Unraptured greet thy beam ; Theme of primeval prophecy, Be still the poet's theme. The earth to thee its incense yields, The lark thy welcome sings, When glittering in the freshen'd fields The snowy mushroom springs. How glorious is thy girdle cast O'er mountain, tower, and town, Or mirror'd in the ocean vast, A thousand fathoms down. As fresh in yon horizon dark, As young thy beauties seem, As when the eagle from the ark First sported in thy beam. The L ight of Stars. 1 5 3 For faithful to its sacred page, Heaven still rebuilds thy span, Nor lets the type grow pale with age That first spoke peace to man. %\z Hffffjt of &tar& W. H. Longfellow. THE night is come, but not too soon And sinking silently, All silently, the little moon Drops down behind the sky. There is no light in earth or heaven, But the cold light of stars ; And the first watch of night is given To the red planet Mars : Is it the tender star cf love ? The star of love and dreams ? Oh no ! from that blue tent above, A hero's armour gleams. And earnest thoughts within me rise, When I behold afar, Suspended in the evening skies, The shield of that red star. O star of strength ! I see thee stand And smile upon my pain ; Thou beckonest with thy mailed hand, And I am strong; again. 154 Sacred Songs. Within my breast there is no light, But the cold light of stars ; I give the first watch of the night To the red planet Mars. The star of the unconquer'd will, He rises in my breast, Serene, and resolute, and still, And calm, and self-possess' d. And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art, That readest this brief psalm, As one by one thy hopes depart, Be resolute and calm. Oh, fear not, in a world like this. And thou shalt know, ere long, Know how sublime a thing it is To suffer, and be strong. 3£at>e faitl) in ^utl J. E. Carpenter. — Music by J. W. Cherry. HAVE faith in Him who rules the deep And stills the angry wave, At whose dread word the surges sweep O'er many an ocean grave ; Whose hand is in the storm and calm To succour or destroy : He is thy shield 'gainst every harm, — To Him sing songs of joy ! Have faith in Him ; 'tis not for man To judge His wond'rous ways, He can thy every action scan, — To Him sing songs of praise ! Ho ! Every One that TJiirsteth. 1 5 5 Have faith in Him who rules the world, Whose eye can compass all ; The rocks from their foundation hurl'd, And marks the sparrow's fall : Whose voice is in the evening breeze, ' And in the tempest's roar ; Who rules the heaven, the earth, the sea, And can the dead restore. Have faith in Him ; be not afraid To walk within His ways ; Think in His image ye are made, — To Him sing songs of praise ! l£o! (Ctjcrj flDne tijat %\\z$m\. DUET. J. E. Carpenter. — Music by Stephen Glover. O ! every one that thirsteth, Drink at the living well, Within whose source the streams of life And joy eternal dwell ; Come ye, the poor, no worldly gift The sacred draught can buy ; Pure, deep, and sweet, and without price, The sacred waters lie. H Come ye in faith, incline your ear, And so your soul shall live, Strengthen'd for ever by the draught The well of truth can give : And God, yea, even God, whose words Alone are just and true, Will hear and make an everlasting Covenant with you. i$6 Sacred Songs. Come ye in faith, and ye shall then Go out with joy — be led forth free As the high mountains and the hills, That seem to sing in glee ! And that shall be a sign to thee That He hath heard thy voice ; And ye who walk within His ways May evermore rejoice ! lepljttja'g 2Dauo;!)ter> Lord Byron. — Music by Stephen Glover. SINCE our country, our God, O my sire ! Demand that thy daughter expire ; Since thy triumph was bought by thy vow — Strike the bosom that's bared for thee now. And the voice of my mourning is o'er, And the mountains behold me no more : If the hand that I love lay me low, There cannot be pain in the blow. And of this, O my father ! be sure — That the blood of thy child is as pure As the blessing I beg ere it flow, And the last thought that soothes me below. Though the virgins of Salem lament, Be the judge and the hero unbent ! I have won the great battle for thee, And my father and country are free. The Pilgrim. 1 5 7 When this blood of thy giving hath gush'd, When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd, Let my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died ! C&e pilgrim. Mrs Maclean, " L. E. L." VAIN folly of another age, His wandering over earth, To find the peace by some dark sin Banish'd our household hearth. On Lebanon the dark green pines Wave over sacred ground ; And Carmel's consecrated rose Springs from a hallow'd mound. Glorious the truth they testify, And blessed is their name ; But even in such a sacred spot Are sin and woe the same. O pilgrim ! vain each toilsome step, Vain every weary day ; There is no charm in toil or shrine To wash thy guilt away. Return, with prayer and tear, return To those who weep at home ; To dry their tears will more avail Than o'er a world to roam. 1 5 8 Sacred Songs. There's hope for one who leaves with shame The guilt that lured before ; Remember, He who said, " Repent," Said also, " Sin no more." Return, and in thy daily round Of duty and of love, Thou best will find that patient faith Which lifts the soul above. In every innocent prayer each child Lisps at his father's knee, If thine has been to teach that prayer, There will be hope for thee. There is a small white church which stands Beside thy father's grave, There kneel and pour those earnest prayers That sanctify and save. And, with a chasten' d mind, In meek well-doing seek that peace No wandering will find. In charity and penitence Thy sin will be forgiven ; Pilgrim, the heart is the true shrine Whence prayers ascend, to heaven. Azvake, Arise, thy Light is Come. 159 gtoafce, &ri0e, tj)p Htgijt 10 Come* Isaiah lx T. Moore — Air, Stevenson. AWAKE, arise, thy light is come ; The nations that before outshone thee, . Now at thy feet lie dark and dumb — The glory of the Lord is on thee ! Arise — the Gentiles to thy ray, From every nook of earth shall cluster ; And kings and princes haste to pay Their homage to thy rising lustre. Lift up thine eyes around, and see, O'er foreign fields, o'er farthest waters, Thy exiled sons return to thee, To thee return thy home-sick daughters. And camels rich, from Midian's tents, Shall lay their treasures down before thee ; And Saba bring her gold and scents, To fill thy air, and sparkle o'er thee. See, who are these that, like a cloud, Are gathering from all earth's dominions, Like doves, long absent, when allow'd Homeward to shoot their trembling pinions ? Surely the isles shall wait for me, The ships of Tarshish round will hover, To bring thy sons across the sea, And waft their gold and silver over. 160 Sacred Songs. And Lebanon thy pomp shall grace — The fir, the pine, the palm victorious, Shall beautify our holy place, And make the ground I tread on glorious. No more shall Discord haunt thy ways, Nor ruin waste thy cheerless nation ; But thou shalt call thy portals Praise, And thou shalt name thy walls Salvation. The sun no more shall make thee bright, No more shall lend her lustre to thee ; But God himself shall be thy light, And flash eternal glory through thee. Thy sun shall never more go down ; A ray from heaven itself descended Shall light thy everlasting crown — Thy days of mourning all are ended. My own elect and righteous land ! The Branch, for ever green and vernal, Which I have planted with this hand, Live thou shalt in life eternal. %ty Hand of promts W. E. Staite.-— Music by Dr E. F. Rimbault. WEARY wand'rer through the Desert, Trav'ller through this vale of tears, Bent with age, and worn with sorrow, Cheer thy heart and calm thy fears. Going Out and Coming In. 161 O'er yon sunny hills of gladness, Pilgrim, turn your weeping eyes ; Lo, behold the land of promise, See the glorious prospect rise. Weary wanderer through the desert, Traveller through this vale of tears, Bent with age, and worn with sorrow, Cheer thy heart and calm thy fears. Rest thee, now thy toils are ended ; Weep no more, the desert's past ; ' Ne'er again shall pain or sadness O'er thy heart a shadow cast. See yon bright and shining river, Pilgrim, drink, the stream's divine ; Thither lies the land of promise, Enter, pilgrim, all is thine. Weary wanderer through the desert, Travellers through this vale of tears, Bent with age, and worn with sorrow, Cheer thy heart, and calm thy fears. (Botttg; flDut anti Coming; 3m Isa Craig. — Music by J. W. Hobbs. IN that home was joy and sorrow Where an infant first drew breath, While an aged sire was drawing Near unto the gate of death : His feeble pulse was failing, And his eye was growing dim, He was standing on the threshold When they brought the babe to him ; L 62 Sacred Songs. While to murmur forth a blessing On the little one he tried, In his trembling arms he raised it, Press'd it to his lips, and died ; An awful darkness resteth On the path they both begin, Who thus met upon the threshold — Going out and coming in. Going out unto the triumph, Coming in unto the fight ; Coming in unto the darkness, Going out unto the light ; Although the shadow deepen'd In the moment of eclipse, When he pass'd through the dread portal With the blessing on his lips ; — And to him who bravely conquers, As he conquer'd in the strife, Life is but the way of dying, Death is but the gate of life. Yet awful darkness resteth On the path we all begin, Where we meet upon the threshold — Going out and coming in. £tep, Babj, Step ! George Wither. SLEEP, baby, sleep ! what ails my dear, What ails my darling thus to cry ? Be still, my child, and lend thine ear, To hear me sing thy lullaby. Sleep, Baby, Sleep! 163 My pretty lamb, forbear to weep ; Be still, my dear ; sweet baby, sleep. Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear ? What thing to thee can mischief do ? Thy God is now thy father dear, His holy Spouse, thy mother too. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. Though thy conception was in sin, A sacred bathing thou hast had ; And though thy birth unclean hath been, A blameless babe thou now art made. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my dear ; sweet baby, sleep. While thus thy lullaby I sing, For thee great blessings ripening be ; Thine Eldest Brother is a King, And hath a kingdom bought for thee. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear ; For whosoever thee offends By thy protector threaten'd are, And God and angels are thy friends. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. When God with us was dwelling here, In little babes He took delight ; Such innocents as thou, my dear, Are ever precious in His sight. 164 Sacred Songs Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. A little infant once was He ; And strength in weakness then was laid Upon His virgin mother's knee, That power to thee might be convey'd. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. In this thy frailty and thy need He friends and helpers doth prepare. Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed, For of thy weal they tender are. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. The King of kings, when He was born, Had not so much for outward ease ; By Him such dressings were not worn, Nor such-like swaddling-clothes as these. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. Within a manger lodged thy Lord, Where oxen lay, and asses fed : Warm rooms we do to thee afford, An easy cradle or a bed. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. The wants that He did then sustain Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee And by His torments and his pain Thy rest and ease secured be. 1 he Harp the Monarch Minstrel Swept. 165 My baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this, A promise and an earnest got Of gaining everlasting bliss, Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not ; Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. T Lord Byron. — Music by Isaac Nathan. HE harp the monarch minstrel swept, The king of men, the loved of Heaven, Which Music hallow'd while she wept O'er tones her heart of hearts had given, Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven ! It soften'd men of iron mould, It gave them virtues not their own ; No ear so dull, no soul so cold That felt not, fired not to the tone, Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne ! It told the triumphs of our king, It wafted glory to our God ; It made our gladden'd valleys ring, The cedars bow, the mountains nod ; Its sound aspired to Heaven and their abode ! Since then, though heard on earth no more, Devotion, and her daughter, Love, Still bid the bursting spirit soar To sounds that seem as from above, In dreams that day's broad light cannot remove. 1 66 Sacred Songs. DUET J. E. Carpenter. — Music by Stephen Glover. NAOMI. GO forth ! my hearth is desolate, I 'm old and childless now ; God's wrath falls at the widow's gate, ~His hand is on her brow ; But thou, my well-beloved Ruth, Earth's blessings may command ; Back in thy beauty and thy youth, Back to thine own bright land ! RUTH. Nay, mother — still my mother dear, For was not he, thy son, Now call'd away from earth's dull sphere, Mine own beloved one ? Mother, I still will cleave to thee, A blessing in thine age, A guide, a help, if such may be, Through thy lone pilgrimage. BOTH. The dead have pass'd the widow's gate, The loved ones all are flown : Oh ! who remain so desolate As they who mourn alone ? NAOMI. Beloved, amid Judea's band My kindred dwell, but thine Are distant from that holy land, Nor pray at Judah's shrine : The Nautilus. 167 Yet, kindly as ye dealt with him, The dead — so deal with me, And till these aged eyes grow dim I will remember thee. RUTH. Ask me no more to leave thy side, Intreat me not to go, For wheresoe'er thou may'st abide., There will I dwell also ; And I will bend the suppliant knee With thee at Judah's shrine ; Thy people shall my people be, And thy God shall be mine- BOTH. And we will bend the suppliant knee At Judah's holy shrine ; Thy people shall my people be, And thy God shall be mine. W. E. Staite. — Music by C. Hodgson. FAR o'er the wave when the winds are asleep, And hush'd is the cry of the sea-bird's wild note, And the sunshine of heaven plays over the deep, There the Nautilus glides in her beautiful boat ; How she spreads her broad sail, how she speeds on her flight All alone on the billow she feels no alarm, A vision of beauty, a creature of light ; She dreams not of danger, she dreads not the storm ; 1 68 Sacred Songs. Should a tempest arise, swiftly furl'd is the sail, One moment she lingers, we see her no more ; She is gone where she hears not the blast of the gale, To sleep till the storm and the tempest are o'er. In that beautiful creature an emblem I see Of a spirit redeem'd, of a soul that 's at rest, Embark' d on the waves of life's treacherous sea, While the sunshine of glory plays over her breast. All unfurl' d is the sail, for the breathings of love Waft her sweetly away from the troubles of time ; She fears not the billows while gazing above, As she steers her frail bark to heaven's beautiful clime Should the storm roll around, should the waters prevail, She flies to the haven of safety and peace, In the depths of His mercy she hides from the gale, And sleeps till the storm and the tempest shall cease. Wizvz not tjje Sinful 9®avp& 1*ar& T. Moore. — Air, Stevenson. WERE not the sinful Mary's tears An offering worthy Heaven, When o'er the faults of former years She v/ept — and was forgiven. When bringing every balmy sweet Her day of luxury stored, She o'er her Saviour's hallow'd feet The precious odours pour'd. And wiped them with that golden hair, Where once the diamond shone, Though now those gems of grief were there Which shine for God alone ! Blessed are the Pure in Spirit. Were not those sweets, so humbly shed- That hair — those weeping eyes — And the sunk heart, that inly bled, Heaven's noblest sacrifice ? Thou that hast slept in error's sleep, Oh, wouldst thou wake in heaven, Like Mary kneel, like Mary weep, " Love much," * and be forgiven ! £!*££*& are t\z $uvz in Spirit* J. E. Carpenter. — Music by Pohlenz. BLESSED are the pure in spirit, Who all worldly joys despise, Seeking only to inherit Purer mansions in the skies ; They whose hope in heaven is centred, Trusting to His word alone, Who the righteous path have enter'd That shall lead them to His throne. Blessed are the poor, whose treasure Is the worth that passeth show, Whom our heavenly Lord shall measure By their good deeds here below ; Though no earthly princes heed them, They shall see their Maker's face, When the last great day shall lead them To His heavenly throne of grace. * Luke vii. 47. j 70 Sacred Songs. Cfjrigtmag S^orru Alfred Tennyson. THE time draws near the birth of Christ The moon is hid ; the night is still ; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist. Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Swell out and fail, as if a door Were shut between me and the sound. Each voice four changes on the wind, That now dilate, and now decrease, Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace, Peace and goodwill to all mankind. Rise, happy morn ! rise, holy morn ! Draw forth the cheerful day from night : O Father ! touch the east, and light The light that shone when Hope was born. flDtt 3Ioriiatt*0 JBanfc* Lord Byron.— Music by J. Braham. ON Jordan's bank the Arab's camels stray, On Sion's hill the false one's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's steep — Yet there — even there — O God ! Thy thunders sleep. Where is your Dwelling, ye Sainted ? 171 There — where Thy finger scorch'd the tablet-stone ! There — where Thy shadow to Thy people shone ! Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire ; Thyself — none living see and not expire. Oh ! in the lightning let Thy glance appear, Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spear : How long by tyrants shall Thy land be trod ? How long Thy temple worshipless, O God ? (LSifjere te pour 2Dtoellfng;, pt feamteti T. Moore.— A ir, Hasse. WHERE is your dwelling, ye sainted ? Through what Elysium more bright Than fancy or hope ever painted, Walk ye in glory and light ? Who the same kingdom inherits ? Breathes there a soul that may dare Look to that world of spirits, Or hope to dwell with you there ? Sages ! who, even in exploring Nature through all her bright ways, Went, like the seraphs adoring, And veil'd your eyes in the blaze, — Martyrs ! who left for our reaping Truths you had sown in your blood, — Sinners ! whom long years of weeping Chasten'd from evil to good, — 172 Sacred Songs. Maidens ! who, like the young crescent, Turning away your pale brows From earth, and the light of the present, Look'd to your Heavenly Spouse, — Say, through what region enchanted Walk ye, in heaven's sweet air ? Say to what spirit 'tis granted, Bright souls, to dwell with you there. fje ^eart'0 Hon gins* F. W. Faber. O PARADISE! O Paradise! Who doth not crave for rest ? Who doth not seek the happy land Where they that loved are blest ? Where loyal hearts and true Stand ever in the light, All rapture through and through, In God's most holy sight. O Paradise ! O Paradise ! 'Tis weary waiting here : We long to be where Jesus is, To feel, to see Him near ; Where loyal hearts and true Stand ever in the light, All rapture through and through, In God's most holy sight. The L ongest Day. 173 O Paradise ! O Paradise ! We want to sin no more ; We want to be as pure on earth As on thy spotless shore ; Where loyal hearts and true Stand ever in the light, All rapture through and through, In God's most holy sight. William Wordsworth. LET us quit the leafy arbour, And the torrent murmuring by : For the sun is in his harbour, W T eary of the open sky. Evening now unbinds the fetters Fashion'd by the glowing light ; All that breathe are thankful debtors To the harbinger of night. Yet by some grave thoughts attended Eve renews her calm career ; For the day that now is ended, Is the longest of the year. Summer ebbs ; each day that follows Is a reflux from on high, Tending to the darksome hollows Where the frosts of winter lie. 174 Sacred Songs, He who governs the creation, In His providence, assign'd Such a gradual declination To the life of human kind. Yet we mark it not ; fruits redden, Fresh flowers blow, as flowers have blown, And the heart is loath to deaden Hopes that she so long hath known. Be thou wiser, youthful maiden ! And, when thy decline shall come, Let not flowers, or bough fruit-laden, Hide the knowledge of thy doom. Now, e'en now, ere wrapp'd in slumber, Fix thine eyes upon the sea That absorbs time, space, and number — Look thou to eternity ! %ty flfllortf) of %imz+ J. E. Carpenter.— Music by E. Perry. AN old man and a little child Together went their way, Amid the blossoms of the wild The child oft paused to play ; " Ah ! trifle not amid the flowers," The gray-hair' d teacher said, " For precious are the passing hours, And mourn'd as soon as fled." Holy Ground. 175 The old man took the little child And led him by the hand, But still where'er a blossom smiled The boy contrived to stand ; " Ah ! linger not, although the flowers To thee a joy may bring, They but remind me of the hours I lost in my life's spring." The child went on — the old man fled, But ne'er the boy forgot The words that gray-hair'd teacher said Through all his future lot : And wisely are his children taught When in some olden rhyme He tells them how he first was brought To know the worth of time* ^olp (0rounti. J. E. Carpenter. IV J OT alone by the old gray towers, -L ^ Where the dim cathedral shadow lowers ; Not alone where the line they trace Points to the " consecrated place ; " Not alone where the churchman kneels, Nor where the solemn organ peals, Nor where the anthem's echoes sound, — There are other spots call'd— holy ground ! Where heroes fallen in battle sleep, Where the sailor lies 'neath the surging deep, 176 Sacred Songs. Where the emigrant, in the forest wild, Leaves the corse of his darling child. Far away on the sun-burnt sod, Where the exiled Christian kneels to God, Distant far from the city's sound ; These spots are hallow'd, and — holy ground ! Not alone where the willow waves O'er sculptured urns and trophied graves ; Not alone where the sunbeams smile Through the colour'd panes of the cloister'd aisle 'Tis a sacred spot where, in solemn prayer, The mother kneels with her children fair, — A spot 'neath the humblest roof-tree found ; " There tread lightly," 'tis — holy ground. Mrs Jane T. Worthington. IT visiteth the desolate, Who hath no friend beside, And bringeth peace to sadden'd souls Whose hope, deferr'd, had died : It layeth its caressing hand Upon the brow of care, And calleth to the faded lips The smile they used to wear. And lovely is the angel light Of a little child's repose, The holiest and the sweetest rest Our human nature knows. Fallen is thy Throne. IJJ Such rest as cannot close the eyes, Grown old with many tears, That never soothes the pilgrim path Of life's dejected years. " He giveth His beloved sleep ! " And thanks for such a boon, And thanks, too, for the deeper sleep, That will be with us soon — From which our long o'erladen hearts Shall wake to pain no more, But find fulfill'd the fairest thoughts They only dream'd before. fallen is tfip %t\vmz+ T. Moore. — Air, Martini. FALLEN is thy throne, O Israel ! Silence is o'er thy plains ; Thy dwellings all lie desolate, Thy children weep in chains. Where are the dews that fed thee On Etham's barren shore ? That fire from heaven which led thee, N ow lights thy path no more. Lord ! Thou didst love Jerusalem — Once she was all Thine own ; Her love Thy fairest heritage,* Her power Thy glory's throne. t Till evil came and blighted Thy long-loved olive-tree,J And Salem's shrines were lighted For other gods than Thee. Jer. xii. 7. •}• Jer. xiv. 21. \ Jer. xi. 16. M 178 Sacred Songs. Then sunk the star of Solyma — Then pass'd her glory's day, Like heath that in the wilderness * The wild winds whirl away. Silent and waste her bowers, Where once the mighty trod, And sunk those guilty towers, Where Baal reign' d as God. " Go" — said the Lord— "ye conquerors !" " Steep in her blood your swords, And raze to earth her battlements, + For they are not the Lord's. Till Zion's mournful daughter % O'er kindred's bones shall tread, And Hinnom's vale of slaughter Shall hide but half her dead ! " 3|£ tfjere an flttnfcelfrtier ? Thomas Haynes Bayly.— Music by Bayly. IS there an unbeliever ! One man who walks the earth, And madly doubts that Providence Watch'd o'er him at his birth ? He robs mankind for ever Of hope beyond the tomb ; What gives he as a recompense ? — The brute's unhallow'd doom. ' Jer. xvii. 6. f Jer. v. 10. % Jer. vtf. 32. The Dumb Creation. 1 79 In manhood's loftiest hour, In health, in strength, and pride, Oh ! lead his steps through alleys green, Where rills 'mid cowslips glide ; Climb nature's granite tower, Where man hath rarely trod, And will he then, in such a scene, Deny there is a God ? Yes, — the proud heart will ever Prompt the false tongue's, reply, — An Omnipotent Providence Still madly he '11 deny. But see the unbeliever Sinking in death's decay, And hear the cry of penitence ; — He never learnt to pray ! %A)Z SDumI) Creation. Miss Anne C. Lynch. T^VEAL kindly with those speechless ones *-S That throng our gladsome earth ; Say not the bounteous gift of life Alone is nothing worth. What though with mournful memories They sigh not for the past ? What though their ever-joyous now No future overcast ? No aspirations fill their breast With longings undefined ; They live, they love, and they are blest, For what they seek and find. 8o Sacred Songs. They see no mystery in the stars, No wonder in the plain, And life's enigma wakes in them No questions dark and vain. To them earth is a final home, A bright and blest abode ; Their lives unconsciously flow on In harmony with God. To this fair world our human hearts Their hopes and longings bring, And o'er its beauty and its bloom Their own dark shadows fling. Between the future and the past In wild unrest we stand, And ever as our feet advance, Retreats the promised land. But though Love, Fame, and Wealth, and Power, Bind in their gilded band, We pine to grasp the unattaind — The something still beyond. And, beating on their prison bars, Our spirits ask more room, And with unanswer'd questionings, They pierce beyond the tomb. Then say thou not, oh ! doubtful heart ! There is no life to come : That in some tearless, cloudless land Thou shalt not find thy home ! Resignation. 1 8 1 IBLegfjytiatfoiu E. Young. IS Resignation's lesson hard ? Examine, we shall find That duty gives up little more Than anguish of the mind. Grief's most inglorious coward tears From brutal eyes have ran ; Smiles, incommunicable smiles, Are radiant marks of man. They cast a sudden glory round The illumined human face ; And light in sons of honest joy Some beams of Moses' face. Resign, and all the load of life That moment you remove ; Its heavy tax, ten thousand cares Devolve on One above ; Who bids us lay our burden down On His Almighty hand ; Softens our duty to relief, To blessing, His command. For joy what cause ? how every sense Is courted from above ! The year around with presents rich, The growth of endless love ! But most o'erlook the blessings pour'd, Forget the wonders done, And terminate, wrapt up in sense, Their prospect at the sun. 1 82 Sacred Songs. From that, their final point of view, From that, their radiant goal, On travel infinite of thought Sets out the nobler soul — Broke loose from time's tenacious ties And earth's involving gloom, To range at last its vast domain, And talk with worlds to come. Who would not with a heart at ease, Bright eye, unclouded brow, Wisdom and goodness at the helm, The roughest ocean plough ? Thy will is welcome, let it wear Its most tremendous form ; Roar waves ! rage winds ! I know that Thou Canst save me in a storm. For what is Resignation ? 'tis Man's weakness understood ; And wisdom grasping with a hand Far stronger, every good. feonn; of pcafct* Psalm cxiv. 10. J. E. Carpenter. — Music by Stephen Glover. COME, let's sing in tuneful numbers Songs of triumph, songs of praise; All creation hymns His glory, Let us then our voices raise. " Soon — and for Ever ! " 183 Every hill and vale rejoices, Every flower that decks the sward, All that lives and moves around us, Sing the praises of the Lord. Hallelujah ! let us sing Praise unto our Heavenly King. Heaven is now the earth arraying In its robe of summer sheen, Flowers their brightness are displaying On its mantle rich and green ; Up to heaven the lark ascending Sings his carols to the sky ; Winds and waves, in music blending, — All His greatness glorify. Hallelujah ! let us sing Praise unto our Heavenly King. I u £>oon— anti for