Imatges de pàgina
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5 Great God! to thee we consecrate

Our voices and our skill;
We bid the pealing organ wait

To speak alone thy will.
6 O teach its rich and swelling notes

To lift our souls on high ;
And while the music round us floats,

Let earth-born passion die.

L. M.

687.

J. Q. ADAMS.

Death of Children.

i Sure, to the mansions of the blest

When infant innocence ascends,
Some angel brighter than the rest

The spotless spirit's flight attends. 2 On wings of ecstasy they rise,

Beyond where worlds material roll,
Till some fair sister of the skies

Receives the unpolluted soul. 3 There, at the Almighty Father's hand,

Nearest the throne of living light,
The choirs of infant seraphs stand,

And dazzling shine, where all are bright. 4 That inextinguishable beam,

With dust united at our birth,
Sheds a more dini, discolored gleam,

The more it lingers upon earth.
5 Closed in this dark abode of clay,

The stream of glory faintly burns,
Nor unobscured the lucid ray
To its own native fount returns.

6 But when the Lord of mortal breath

Decrees his bounty to resume,
And points the silent shaft of death,
Which speeds an infant to the tomb,

7 No passion fierce, no low desire,

Has quenched the radiance of the flame;
Back to its God the living fire
Returns, unsullied, as it came.

7 & 68. M.

688. ANONYMOUS.

The Spread of the Gospel.
1 The morning light is breaking,

The darkness disappears,
The sons of earth are waking

To penitential tears ;
Each breeze that sweeps

the ocean
Brings tidings from afar,
Of nations in commotion,

Prepared for Zion's war.

2 Rich dews of

grace come o'er us,
In many a gentle shower,
And brighter scenes before us

Are opening every hour;
Each cry to heaven going

Abundant answers brings,
And heavenly gales are blowing,

With peace upon their wings.

3 Blest river of salvation,

Pursue thy onward way;
Flow thou to every nation,

Nor in thy richness stay:

Stay not, till all the lowly

Triumphant reach their home; Stay not, till all the holy

Proclaim the Lord has come.

7 & 68. M.

689.

HEBER

Missionary Hymn. i From Greenland's icy mountains,

From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand, From many an ancient river,

Froin many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain.

2 What though the spicy breezes

Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle,-
Though every prospect pleases,

And only man is vile?
In vain with lavish kindness

The gifts of God are strown;
The heathen in his blindness

Bows down to wood and stone.

3 Shall we, whose souls are lighted

By wisdom from on high, Shail we to inen benighted

The lamp of life deny ? Salvation ! O salvation!

The joyful sound proclaim, Till earth's remotest nation

Has learnt Mes iah's name.

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1 HERE to the High and Holy One

Our fathers early reared
A house of prayer, a lowly one,

Yet long to them endeared
By hours of sweet communion

Held with their covenant God, As oft, in sacred union,

His hallowed courts they trod.

2 Gone are the pious multitudes

That here kept holy time,
In other courts assembled now

For worship more sublime.
Their children, we are waiting

In meekness, Lord, thy call; Thy love still celebrating,

Our hope, our trust, our all. * These time-worn walls, the resting-place

So oft from earthly cares
To righteous souls now perfected,

We leave with thanks and prayers ;
With thanks, for every blessing

Vouchsafed through all the past, With prayers, thy throne addressing

For guidance to the last.

4 Though from this house, so long beloved,

We part with sadness now,
Yet here we trust with gladness soon

In fairer courts to bow :

So when our souls forsaking

These bodies, fallen and pale,
In brighter forms awaking,

With joy the change shall hail.

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i The perfect world, by Adam trod,

Was the first temple, — built by God;
His fiat laid the corner-stone,

And heaved its pillars one by one. . He hung its starry roof on high, –

The broad, illimitable sky;
He spread its pavement green and bright,
And curtained it with morning light.

3 The mountains in their places stood, —

The sea, the sky, - and “all was good”;
And, when its first pure praises rang,
The "morning stars together sang."

Lord! 't is not ours to make the sea,
And earth, and sky a house for thee;
But in thy sight our offering stands,
A humbler temple, “made with hands."

C. M.

692.

R. W. EMERSON

The House our Fathers built to God.

i We love the venerable house

Our fathers built to God;
In heaven are kept their grateful vows,

Their dust endears the sod.

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