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SIXTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

The Lord of might, from Sinai's brow,

Gave forth his voice of thunder; And Israel lay on earth below,

Outstretched in fear and wonder. Beneath his feet was pitchy night, And, at his left hand, and his right,

The rocks were rent asunder.

The Lord of love, on Calvary,

A meek and suffering stranger,
Upraised to heaven his languid eye,

In nature's hour of danger.
For us he bore the weight of wo,
For us he gave his blood to flow,

And met his Father's anger.

The Lord of love, the Lord of might,

The king of all created,
Shall back return to claim his right,

On clouds of glory seated ;
With trumpet-sound and angel-song,
And hallelujahs loud and long

O'er Death and Hell defeated.

GOOD FRIDAY.

O more than merciful! whose bounty gave
T'hy guiltless self to glut the greedy grave,
Whose heart was rent to pay thy people's price,
The great High-priest at once and sacrifice ;
Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain,
Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain.

When sin with flowery garland hides her dart,
When tyrant force would daunt the sinking heart,
When fleshly lust assails, or worldly care,
Or the soul flutters in the fowler's snare,
Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain,
Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain.

And, chiefest then, when nature yields the strife,
And mortal darkness wraps the gate of life,
When the poor spirit, from the tomb set free,
Sinks at thy feet and lifts its hopes to thee-
Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain,
Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain.

EASTER DAY.

God is gone up with a merry noise

Of saints that sing on high : With his own right hand and his holy arm

He hath won the victory.

Now empty are the courts of death,

And crushed thy sting, despair : And roses bloom in the desert tomb,

For Jesus hath been there.

And he hath tamed the strength of hell,

And dragged him through the sky, And captive behind his chariot wheel,

He hath bound captivity.

God is gone up with a merry noise

Of saints that sing on high; With his own right hand and his holy arm

He hath won the victory.

FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EASTER.

LIFE nor Death shall us dissever
From his love who reigns for ever.
Will he fail us? Never, never,

When to him we cry.

Sin may seek to snare us,
Fiery passion tear us,
Doubt and fear and grim despair,

Their fangs against us try:

But his might shall still defend us,
And his blessed Son befriend us,
And his Holy Spirit send us

Comfort ere we die.

ASCENSION DAY, AND SUNDAY AF

TER.

Sit thou on my right hand, my Son!' saith

the Lord. • Sit thou on my right hand, my Son,

Till in the fatal hour

Of my wrath, and my power,
Thy foes shall be a footstool to thy throne.

• Prayer shall be made to thee, my Son,' saith

the Lord. * Prayer shall be inade to thee, my Son,

From earth and air and sea,

And all that in them be,
Which thou for thine heritage hast won.'

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Daily be thou praised, my Son,' saith the Lord. Daily be thou praised, my Son.

And all that live and move,

Let them bless thy bleeding love, And the work which thy worthiness hath done.'

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