We ask not, Lord! thy cloven flame,
Or tongues of various tone;
But long thy praises to proclaim
With fervour in our own.

We mourn not that prophetic skill

Is found on earth no more;
Enough for us to trace thy will
In Scripture's sacred lore.

We neither have nor seek the power
Ill demons to control;
But thou in dark temptation's hour,

Shall chase them from the soul.

No heavenly harpings sooth our ear,
No mystic dreams we share;
Yet hope to feel thy comfort near,
And bless thee in our prayer.
When tongues shall cease, and power decay,
And knowledge empty prove,
Do thou thy trembling servants stay

With Faith, with Hope, with Love!

TRINITY SUNDAY.

HOLY, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty,
Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee;
Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty!

God in three persons, blessed Trinity!

Holy, holy, holy! all the saints adore thee, Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;

Cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee, Which wert and art and evermore shall be!

Holy, holy, holy! though the darkness hide thee, Though the eye of sinful man thy glory may

not see,

Only thou art holy, there is none beside thee,

Perfect in power, in love, and purity!

Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty!

All thy works shall praise thy name in earth and sky and sea.

Holy, holy, holy, merciful and mighty!
God in three persons, blessed Trinity!

FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
ROOM for the proud! Ye sons of clay,
From far his sweeping pomp survey,
Nor, rashly curious, clog the way

His chariot wheels before!

Lo! with what scorn his lofty eye
Glances o'er age and poverty,
And bids intruding conscience fly
Far from his palace door!

Room for the proud! but slow the feet
That bear his coffin down the street:
And dismal seems his winding sheet
Who purple lately wore!

Ah! where must now his spirit fly
In naked, trembling agony?
Or how shall he for mercy cry

Who showed it not before!

Room for the proud! in ghastly state, The lords of hell his coming wait, And flinging wide the dreadful gate,

That shuts to ope no more.

"Lo here with us the seat," they cry, "For him who mocked at poverty, And bade intruding conscience fly Far from his palace door!"

FOR THE SAME.

THE feeble pulse, the gasping breath,
The clenched teeth, the glazed eye,
Are these thy sting, thou dreadful death!
O grave, are these thy victory?
The mourners by our parting bed,
The wife, the children, weeping nigh,
The dismal pageant of the dead,—
These, these are not thy victory!

But, from the much-loved world to part,
Our lust untamed, our spirit high,
All nature struggling at the heart,
Which, dying, feels it dare not die!

To dream through life a gaudy dream

Of pride and pomp and luxury, Till wakened by the nearer gleam

Of burning, boundless agony; To meet o'er soon our angry king,

Whose love we past unheeded by; Lo this, O Death, thy deadliest sting! O Grave, and this thy victory!

O Searcher of the secret heart,

Who deigned for sinful man to die!
Restore us ere the spirit part,
Nor give to hell the victory!

SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
FORTH from the dark and stormy sky,
Lord, to thine altar's shade we fly;
Forth from the world, its hope and fear
Saviour, we seek thy shelter here:
Weary and weak, thy grace we pray;
Turn not, O Lord! thy guests away!

Long have we roamed in want and pain, Long have we sought thy rest in vain; Wildered in doubt, in darkness lost, Long have our souls been tempest-tost; Low at thy feet our sins we lay;

Turn not, O Lord! thy guests away!

THIRD SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

THERE was joy in heaven!
There was joy in heaven!
When this goodly world to frame
The Lord of might and mercy came:
Shouts of joy were heard on high,
And the stars sang from the sky-
"Glory to God in heaven!"

There was joy in heaven!
There was joy in heaven!
When the billows, heaving dark,
Sank around the stranded ark,
And the rainbow's watery span
Spake of mercy, hope to man,

And peace with God in Heaven!

There was joy in heaven!
There was joy in heaven!
When of love the midnight beam
Dawned on the towers of Bethlehem;
And along the echoing hill

Angels sang-" On earth good will,

And glory in the Heaven!"

There is joy in heaven!
There is joy in heaven!
When the sheep that went astray
Turns again to virtue's way;
When the soul, by grace subdued,
Sobs it prayer of gratitude,

Then is there joy in Heaven!

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

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 seemed to say,
"Our beauties are but for a day!"

I praised the sun, whose chariot rolled
On wheels of amber and of gold;
I praised the moon, whose softer eye
Glearned 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 ruined earth and sinful man,
How glorious must the mansion be
Where thy redeemed shall dwell with Thee!

FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. CREATOR of the rolling flood!

On whom thy people hope alone; Who cam'st, by water and by blood, For man's offences to atone;

Who from the labours of the deep

Didst set thy servant Peter free,
To feed on earth thy chosen sheep,
And build an endless church to thee.
Grant us, devoid of worldly care,

And leaning on thy bounteous hand
To seek thy help in humble prayer,
And on thy sacred rock to stand:

And when, our livelong toil to crown,
Thy call shall set the spirit free,
To cast with joy our burthen down,
And rise, O Lord! and follow thee!

and grief to see,

Jerusalem, Jerusalem! our tears shall flow for thee.

Oh! hadst thou known thy day of grace, and flocked beneath the wing

Of him who called thee lovingly, thine own anointed King,

Then had the tribes of all the world gone up thy pomp to see,

And glory dwelt within thy gates, and all thy sons been free!

"And who art thou that mournest me?" replied the ruin gray,

'And fear'st not rather that thyself may prove a castaway?

I am a dried and abject branch, my place is given to thee;

But wo to every barren graft of thy wild olive-tree!

"Our day of grace is sunk in night, our time of

"What ruffian hand hath stript thee bare? Whose fury laid thee low?" -"Sin for my footsteps twined her snare,

And death has dealt the blow!"

"Can art no medicine for thy wound, Nor nature strength supply?" -"They saw me bleeding on the ground, And passed in silence by!"

"But, sufferer! is no comfort near

Thy terrors to remove ?"

"There is to whom my soul was dear, But I have scorned his love."

"What if his hand were nigh to save

From endless death thy days?" "The soul he ransomed from the grave Should live but to his praise!"

"Rise then, O rise! his health embrace,

With heavenly strength renewed; And such as is thy Saviour's grace, Such be thy gratitude!"

FIFTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

Lo! the lilies of the field,

How their leaves instruction yield!
Hark to nature's lesson given

By the blessed birds of Heaven!
Every bush and tufted tree
Warbles sweet philosophy;
"Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow:
God provideth for the morrow!

"Say, with richer crimson glows
The kingly mantle than the rose?
Say, have kings more wholesome fare
That we, poor citizens of air?
Barns nor hoarded grain have we,
Yet we carol merrily.

Mortal, fly from doubt and sorrow!
God provideth for the morrow!

"One there lives whose guardian eye
Guides our humble destiny;
One there lives who, Lord of all,
Keeps our feathers lest they fall:
Pass we blithely, then, the time,
Fearless of the snare and lime,
Free from doubt and faithless sorrow ;
God provideth for the morrow!"

SIXTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRI

NITY.

WAKE not, oh mother! sounds of lamentation! Weep not, oh widow! weep not hopelessly! Strong is his arm, the bringer of salvation, Strong is the word of God to succour thee!

Bear forth the cold corpse, slowly, slowly bear him:

Hide his pale features with the sable pall: Chide not the sad one wildly weeping near him: Widowed and childless, she has lost her all!

Why pause the mourners? Who forbids our weeping?

Who the dark pomp of sorrow has delayed? "Set down the bier-he is not dead but sleeping! "Young man, arise!"-He spake, and was obeyed!

Change, then, oh sad one! grief to exultation, Worship and fall before Messiah's knee. Strong was his arm, the bringer of salvation, Strong was the word of God to succour thee!

NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

OH blest were the accents of early creation, When the word of Jehovah came down from

above;

In the clods of the earth to infuse animation,

And wake their cold atoms to life and to love!

And mighty the tones which the firmament rended, When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of the wind,

By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness attended,

He uttered on Sinai his laws to mankind.

And sweet was the voice of the First-born of heaven,

(Though poor his apparel, though earthly his form,)

Who said to the mourner, "Thy sins are forgiven!"

"Be whole!" to the sick,-and "Be still!" to the storm.

Oh, Judge of the world! when, arrayed in thy glory,

TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER

TRINITY.

THE Sound of war! In earth and air
The volleying thunders roll:
Their fiery darts the fiends prepare,
And dig the pit, and spread the snare,
Against the Christian's soul

The tyrant's sword, the rack, the flame,
The scorner's serpent tone,
Of bitter doubt, the barbed aim,
All, all conspire his heart to tame:
Force, fraud, and hellish fires assail
The rivets of his heavenly mail,

Amidst his foes alone.

Gods of the world! ye warrior host
Of darkness and of air,

In vain is all your impious boast,
In vain each missile lightning tost,
In vain the tempter's snare!
Though fast and far your arrows fly,
Though mortal nerve and bone
Shrink in convulsive agony,
The Christian can your rage defy;
Towers o'er his head salvation's crest,
Faith, like a buckler, guards his breast,
Undaunted, though alone.

'T is past! 't is o'er! in foul defeat
The demon host are fled!
Before the Saviour's mercy-seat,
(His live-long work of faith complete,)
Their conqueror bends his head.
"The spoils thyself hast gained, Lord!
I lay before thy throne:

Thou wert my rock, my shield, my sword;
My trust was in thy name and word:
'Twas in thy strength my heart was strong;
Thy spirit went with mine along;
How was I then alone?"

TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER

TRINITY.

they cry,

And waits on thy sentence to live or to die;

When the heaven shall fly fast from the sound of thy thunder,

And the sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid and pale,

And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave asunder,

In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail !

ple fly;

Wilt thou release my trembling soul, that to despair is driven?

"Forgive!" a blessed voice replied, "and thou shalt be forgiven!"

My foemen, Lord! are fierce and fell, they spurn me in their pride,

They render evil for my good, my patience they deride;

FOR ST. JAMES'S DAY.
THOUGH Sorrows rise and dangers roll
In waves of darkness o'er my soul,
Though friends are false and love decays,
And few and evil are my days,
Though conscience, fiercest of my foes,
Swells with remembered guilt my woes,
Yet ev'n in nature's utmost ill,

I love thee, Lord! I love thee still!

Though Sinai's curse, in thunder dread,
Peals o'er mine unprotected head,
And memory points, with busy pain,
To grace and mercy given in vain,
Till nature, shrieking in the strife,
Would fly to hell, to 'scape from life,
Though every thought has power to kill,
I love thee, Lord! I love thee still!

Oh, by the pangs thyself hast borne,
The ruffian's blow, the tyrant's scorn;
By Sinai's curse, whose dreadful doom
Was buried in thy guiltless tomb:

By these my pangs, whose healing smart
Thy grace hath planted in my heart;
I know, I feel thy bounteous will!
Thou lovest me, Lord! thou lovest me still!

MICHAELMAS DAY.

Он, captain of God's host, whose dreadful might Led forth to war the armed Seraphim,

And from the starry height,
Subdued in burning fight,

Cast down that ancient dragon, dark and grim!

Thine angels, Christ! we laud in solemn lays, Our elder brethren of the crystal sky,

Who, 'mid thy glory's blaze,
The ceaseless anthem raise,
And gird thy throne in faithful ministry!

We celebrate their love, whose viewless wing
Hath left for us so oft their mansion high,
The mercies of their king,

To mortal saints to bring,

Or guard the couch of slumbering infancy.

But thee, the first and last, we glorify, Who, when thy world was sunk in death and sin, Not with thine hierarchy,

The armies of the sky,

But didst with thine own arm the battle win,

Alone didst pass the dark and dismal shore Alone didst tread the wine-press, and alone, All glorious in thy gore,

Didst light and life restore,
To us who lay in darkness and undone!