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Nor grieve any more, by my sins,
The bosom on which I recline,
Oh, then shall the vail be removed,

And round me Thy brightness be pour'd!
I shall meet Him whom absent I loved,
I shall see whom unseen I adored.

And then nevermore shall the fears,
The trials, temptations, and woes,
Which darken this valley of tears,

Intrude on my blissful repose:
To Jesus, the crown of my hope,

My soul is in haste to be gone; Oh! bear me, ye cherubim, up,

And waft me away to His throne !-Cowper.

469. CHRIST: His power to cleanse.

A LEPER once to Jesus came,
Believing only in His name,

And trusting in His love:
'Thou seest, Lord, my direst need,
Unclean and dying! Yet I plead,
Thou canst my curse remove!'

'I will! Be clean!' the Lord replied,
And straightway thrill'd the healthful tide
Of life along his veins;

His leprosy was cleansed away,

His heart was fill'd with joy that day,
Departed all his pains.

Lord, I a suppliant also bow,

For I Thy power have need of now,

To cleanse away my guilt;

The leprosy of sin I feel,

Its woe, its curse; but Thou canst heal-
Thou canst, if but Thou wilt.

Oh, let Thy power again be seen!

Speak Thou the word: 'I will! Be clean!'

On me let mercy shine,

My guilt be pardon'd-heart be heal'd---
My soul for Thy salvation seal'd-
The glory shall be Thine.

470. CHRIST: His resurrection.

CHRIST the Lord is risen again!
Christ hath broken every chain!
Hark! the angels shout for joy,
Singing evermore on high :
Hallelujah!

He who gave for us His life,
Who for us endured the strife,
Is our Paschal Lamb to-day!
We, too, sing for joy, and say:
Hallelujah!

He who bore all pain and loss
Comfortless upon the cross,
Lives in glory now on high,
Pleads for us and hears our cry:
Hallelujah!

He whose path no records tell,
Who descended into hell,

Who the strong man arm'd hath bound,
Now in highest heaven is crown'd:
Hallelujah!

He who slumber'd in the grave,

Is exalted now to save;

Now through Christendom it rings
That the Lamb is King of kings:
Hallelujah!

Now He bids us tell abroad,
How the lost may be restored,
How the penitent forgiven,

How we, too, may enter heaven:
Hallelujah!

Thou our Paschal Lamb indeed,
Christ, to-day Thy people feed:
Take our sins and guilt away;

Let us sing by night and day:

Hallelujah!

Tr. from the German by Miss Winkworth.

471. CHRIST: His resurrection.

ERE yet the dawn has fill'd the skies,
Behold my Saviour Christ arise,
He chaseth from us sin and night,
And brings us joy and life and light :
Hallelujah Hallelujah!

O stronger Thou than Death and Hell!
Where is the foe Thou canst not quell?
What heavy stone Thou canst not roll
From off the prison'd anguish'd soul?
Hallelujah Hallelujah!

If Jesus lives, can I be sad?

I know He loves me, and am glad ;
Though all the world were dead to me,
Enough, O Christ, if I have Thee!
Hallelujah Hallelujah!

He feeds me, comforts and defends,
And when I die His angel sends
To bear me whither He is gone,
For of His own He loseth none:
Hallelujah Hallelujah!

No more to fear or grief I bow,
God and the angels love me now;

The joys prepared for me to-day
Drive fear and mourning far away:
Hallelujah Hallelujah!-Heerman.

472 CHRIST: His resurrection.

THE morning purples all the sky,
The air with praises rings;
Defeated hell stands sullen by,
The world exulting sings.
Glory to God! our glad lips cry;

All praise and worship be

On earth, in heaven, to God most High,
For Christ's great victory!

While He, the King, all strong to save,
Rends the dark doors away,
And through the breaches of the grave
Strides forth into the day;
Glory to God! our glad lips cry;
All praise and worship be

On earth, in heaven, to God most High,
For Christ's great victory!

Death's captive, in his gloomy prison,
Fast fetter'd He has lain;

But He has master'd Death, is risen,
And Death wears now the chain.
Glory to God! our glad lips cry;
All praise and worship be

On earth, in heaven, to God most High,
For Christ's great victory!

The shining angels cry, 'Away

With grief; no spices bring;
Not tears, but songs, this joyful day,
Should greet the rising King!'
Glory to God! our glad lips cry;
All praise and worship be

On earth, in heaven, to God most High,
For Christ's great victory!

That Thou our Paschal Lamb mayst be,
And endless joy begin,

Jesus, Deliverer, set us free

From the dread death of sin. Glory to God! our glad lips cry;

All praise and worship be

On earth, in heaven, to God most High,
For Christ's great victory!

Roman Breviary, tr. by A. R. Thompson.

473 CHRIST: His sympathy with us.

THOU, who didst stoop below To drain the cup of woe, Wearing the form of frail mortality,

Thy blessed labours done,

Thy crown of victory won,

Hast pass'd from earth, pass'd to Thy home on high;

Our eyes behold Thee not,

Yet hast Thou not forgot

Those who have placed their hope, their trust, in Thee;

Before Thy Father's face

Thou hast prepared a place,

That where Thou art, there they may also be.

It was no path of flowers
Through this dark world of ours,
Beloved of the Father, Thou didst tread!
And shall we in dismay

Shrink from the narrow way,

When clouds and darkness are around it spread ?

O Thou, who art our life,

Be with us through the strife!

Thy holy head by earth's fierce storms was bow'd; Raise Thou our eyes above,

To see a Father's love

Beam, like the bow of promise, through the cloud.

E'en through the awful gloom

Which hovers o'er the tomb,

That light of love our guiding star shall be ;

Our spirits shall not dread

The shadowy way to tread,

Friend, Guardian, Saviour, which doth lead to Thee! Sarah A. Miles.

474. CHRIST: His treatment of the weak.

WHEN evening choirs the praises hymn'd
In Zion's courts of old,

The high priest walk'd his rounds, and trimm'd
The shining lamps of gold;

And if, perchance, some flame burn'd low,
With fresh oil vainly drench'd,
He cleansed it from its socket, so

The smoking flax was quench'd.

But Thou who walkest, Priest Most High !
Thy golden lamps among,

What things are weak, and near to die,
Thou makest fresh and strong;-
Thou breathest on the trembling spark,
That else must soon expire,

And swift it shoots up through the dark,
A brilliant spear of fire!

The shepherd that to stream and shade
Withdrew his flock at noon,

On reedy stop soft music made,
In many a pastoral tune;

And if, perchance, the reed were crush'd,

It could not more be used,-

Its mellow music marr'd and hush'd,

He brake it, when so bruised.

But Thou, good Shepherd, who dost feed Thy flock in pastures green,

Thou dost not break the bruised reed

That sorely crush'd hath been ;-
The heart that dumb in anguish lies,
Or yields but notes of woe,
Thou dost retune to harmonies
More rich than angels know!

Lord, once my love was all a-blaze,

But now it burns so dim!

My life was praise, but now my days

Make a poor broken hymn;

Yet ne'er by Thee am I forgot,

But help'd in deepest need,

The smoking flax Thou quenchest not,
Nor break'st the bruised reed.

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O NORTH, with all thy vales of green!
O South, with all thy palms!
From peopled towns and fields between
Uplift the voice of psalms.
Raise, ancient East! the anthem high,
And let the youthful West reply.

Lo! in the clouds of heaven appears
God's well-beloved Son.

He brings a train of brighter years,
His kingdom is begun.

He comes a guilty world to bless
With mercy, truth, and righteousness.
O Father! haste the promised hour,
When at His feet shall lie
All rule, authority, and power,
Beneath the ample sky;

When He shall reign from pole to pole,
The Lord of every human soul;
When all shall heed the words He said,
Amid their daily cares,
And by the loving life He led

Shall strive to pattern theirs :

And He who conquer'd Death shall win The mightier conquest over Sin.—Bryant.

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Our outward lips confess the Name
All other names above:

Love only knoweth whence it came,
And comprehendeth love.

Blow, winds of God, awake, and blow
The mists of earth away;

Shine out, O Light divine! and show
How wide and far we stray.

Hush every lip, close every book,
The strife of tongues forbear:
Why forward reach, or backward look,
For love that clasps like air?

We may not climb the heavenly steeps
To bring the Lord Christ down:
In vain we search the lowest deeps,
For Him no depths can drown.
Nor holy bread, nor blood of grape,
The lineaments restore

Of Him we know in outward shape
And in the flesh no more.

He cometh not a King to reign;

The world's long hope is dim: The weary centuries watch in vain The clouds of heaven for Him.

Death comes; life goes; the asking eye And ear are answerless;

The grave is dumb; the hollow sky

Is sad with silentness.

The letter fails, and systems fall,
And every symbol wanes :
The Spirit over-brooding all,
Eternal Love, remains,

And not for signs in heaven above
Or earth below they look,

Who know with John His smile of love,
With Peter His rebuke.

In joy of inward peace, or sense
Of sorrow over sin,

He is His own best evidence:
His witness is within.

No fable old, nor mythic lore,
Nor dream of bards and seers,
No dead fact stranded on the shore
Of the oblivious years;

But warm, sweet, tender, even yet
A present help is He:

And faith has still its Olivet;
And love, its Galilee.

The healing of His seamless dress

Is by our beds of pain:

We touch Him in life's throng and press,
And we are whole again.

Through Him the first fond prayers are said
Our lips of childhood frame;

The last low whispers of our dead
Are burden'd with His name.

O Lord and Master of us all!

Whate'er our name or sign,

We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call,
We test our lives by Thine.

Thou judgest us; Thy purity

Doth all our lusts condemn ;
The love that draws us nearer Thee
Is hot with wrath to them.

Our thoughts lie open to Thy sight;
And, naked to Thy glance,
Our secret sins are in the light
Of Thy pure countenance.

Thy healing pains; a keen distress
Thy tender light shines in ;
Thy sweetness is the bitterness,
Thy grace the pang, of sin.

Yet, weak and blinded though we be,

Thou dost our service own :
We bring our varying gifts to Thee,
And Thou rejectest none.

To Thee our full humanity,
Its joys and pains, belong :

The wrong of man to man on Thee

Inflicts a deeper wrong.

Who hates, hates Thee; who loves, becomes
Therein to Thee allied:

All sweet accords of hearts and homes
In Thee are multiplied.

Deep strike Thy roots, O heavenly Vine!

Within our earthly sod,

Most human and yet most Divine,
The flower of man and God.

O Love! O Life !-our faith and sight
Thy presence maketh one;
As through transfigured clouds of white
We trace the noonday sun.
So, to our mortal eyes subdued,
Flesh-veil'd, but not conceal'd,
We know in Thee the fatherhood
And heart of God reveal'd.
We faintly hear, we dimly see,

In differing phrase we pray;
But, dim or clear, we own in Thee
The Light, the Truth, the Way.

The homage that we render Thee
Is still our Father's own:
Nor jealous claim or rivalry

Divides the Cross and Throne.

To do Thy will is more than praise, As words are less than deeds; And simple trust can find Thy ways We miss with chart of creeds.

No pride of self Thy service hath,
No place for me and mine:
Our human strength is weakness, death
Our life, apart from Thine.

Apart from Thee, all gain is loss,
All labour vainly done :
The solemn shadow of Thy cross
Is better than the sun.

Alone, O Love ineffable!

Thy saving name is given : To turn aside from Thee is hell, To walk with Thee is heaven.

How vain, secure in all Thou art,
Our noisy championship!
The sighing of the contrite heart
Is more than flattering lip.

Not Thine the bigot's partial plea,
Nor Thine the zealot's ban:
Thou well canst spare a love of Thee
Which ends in hate of man.

Our Friend, our Brother, and our Lord, What may Thy service be?

Nor name, nor form, nor ritual word,

But simply following Thee.

We bring no ghastly holocaust,
We pile no graven stone:
He serves Thee best who loveth most
His brothers and Thy own.

Thy litanies, sweet offices

Of love and gratitude;
Thy sacramental liturgies,
The joy of doing good.

In vain shall waves of incense drift
The vaulted nave around,

In vain the minster turret lift

Its brazen weights of sound.

The heart must ring Thy Christmas-bells, Thy inward altars raise :

Its faith and hope Thy canticles;

And its obedience, praise.—Whittier.

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478. CHRIST: our Life.

O GLORIOUS Head, Thou livest now!
Let us, Thy members, share Thy life;
Canst Thou behold their need, nor bow

To raise Thy children from the strife

With self and sin, with death and dark distress,
That they may live to Thee in holiness?

Earth knows Thee not, but evermore

Thou liv'st in Paradise, in peace;

Thither my soul would also soar,

Let me from all the creatures cease:

Dead to the world, but to Thy Spirit known,
I live to Thee, O Prince of Life! alone.
Break through my bonds whate'er it cost;
What is not Thine within me slay;
Give me the lot I covet most,

To rise as Thou hast risen to-day.
Nought can I do, a slave to death I pine:
Work Thou in me, O Power and Life Divine !

Work Thou in me, and heavenward guide

My thoughts and wishes, that my heart Waver no more nor turn aside,

But fix for ever where Thou art.

Thou art not far from us: who love Thee well While yet on earth, in heaven with Thee may dwell.

479. CHRIST: the Bread of Life.

THE ages show their garner'd sheaves of thought,
By all the gleaning generations brought,
Some secret mildew on them all hath wrought,
No food is there.

But in an upper room in Palestine,

Is one that giveth mystic bread and wine,

I reach out for that nourishment divine,
And faint no more.

480. CHRIST: the Good Shepherd.

'IN pastures green'-not always-sometimes He Who knoweth best, in kindness leadeth me In weary ways, where heavy shadows be.

Out of the sunshine, warm and soft and bright,
Out of the sunshine into darkest night;
I oft would faint with sorrow and affright.

Only for this-I know He holds my hand,
So whether led in green or desert land,
I trust, although I may not understand.
And by still waters '--no, not always so;
Ofttimes the heavy tempests round me blow,
And o'er my soul the waves and billows go.

But when the storms beat loudest, and I cry
Aloud for help, the Master standeth by
And whispers to my soul, Lo, it is I.'

Above the tempest wild I hear Him say:
'Beyond the darkness lies the perfect day,
In every path of thine I lead the way.'

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ART thou weary, art thou languid, art thou sore distrest?

'Come to me,' saith One,—and 'coming, be at rest!' Hath He marks to lead me to Him,-if He be my Guide?

In His feet and hands are wound-prints, and His side!

Is there diadem, as monarch, that His brow adorns?
Yea: a crown, in very surety,-but of thorns!
If I find Him, if I follow, what His guerdon here?
Many a sorrow, many a labour, many a tear!

If I still hold closely to Him, what hath He at last?
Sorrow vanquish'd, labour ended, Jordan past!
If I ask Him to receive me, will He say me nay?
Not till earth and not till heaven pass away!
Finding, following, keeping, struggling, is He sure to
bless?

Angels, martyrs, prophets, pilgrims, answer, Yes!
Stephen, tr. by J. M. Neale.
Selling

482. CHRIST.

IF to-day thou turn'st aside

In thy luxury and pride,

Wrapp'd within thyself, and blind
To the sorrows of thy kind,
Thou a faithless watch dost keep-
Thou art one of them that sleep :

Or if, waking, thou dost see
Nothing of divinity

In our fallen, struggling race-
If in them thou see'st no trace
Of a glory dimm'd, not gone,
Of a future to be won,
Of a future, hopeful, high,
Thou, like Peter, dost deny :

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