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SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY. THE God of Glory walks his round, From day to day, from year to year, And warns us each with awful sound, • No longer stand ye idle here. 'Ye whose young cheeks are rosy bright,' Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are
clear, Waste not of hope the morning light, Ah, fools, why stand ye idle here? "O, as the griefs ye would assuage That wait on life's declining year, Secure a blessing for your age, And work your Maker's business here. * And ye, whose locks of scanty gray Foretell your latest travail near, How swiftly fades your worthless day, And stand ye yet so idle here?
One hour remains, there is but one, But many a shriek and inany a tear Through endless years the guilt must moan Of moments lost and wasted here.' O Thou, by all thy works adored, To whoin the sinner's soul is dear, Recall us to thy vineyard, Lord, And grant us grace to please thee here.
O God, by whom the seed is given ;
Preserve it from the passing feet,
Though buried deep or thinly strown,
THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT.
VIRGIN-born, we bow before thee;
Blessed was the breast that fed thee,
Blessed she by all creation,
Virgin-born, we bow before thee;
FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT.
0, King of earth and air and sea,
FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT.
0 Thou, whom neither time nor space
Can circle in, unseen, unknown, Nor faith in boldest flight can trace,
Save through thy Spirit and thy Son ;
And Thou, that from thy bright abode,
To us in mortal weakness shown, Didst graft the manhood into God,
Eternal, co-eternal Son;
And Thou, whose unction from on high
By comfort, light, and love is known, Who, with the parent Deity,
Dread Spirit, art for ever one!
Great First and Last, thy blessing give,
And grant us faith, thy gift alone, To love and praise thee while we live,
And do whate'er thou wouldst have done.