Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill He treasures up His bright designs, Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, His purposes will ripen fast, The bud may have a bitter taste, Blind unbelief is sure to err, God is His own interpreter, THRICE HOLY BY BISHOP REGINALD HEBER 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 shalt be! Holy, Holy, Holy! tho the darkness hide Thee, Perfect in power, in love, in 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! ONWARD! BY SABINE BARING-GOULD Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war, With the cross of Jesus Going on before; Christ, the royal Master, Forward into battle, See, His banners go. Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war, With the cross of Jesus Going on before! At the sign of triumph Satan's host doth flee; On, then, Christian soldiers, Hell's foundations quiver Like a mighty army Moves the Church of God; Brothers, we are treading Where the saints have trod; We are not divided, All one body we, One in hope and doctrine, Crowns and thrones may perish, Kingdoms rise and wane, But the Church of Jesus Constant will remain; Gates of hell can never 'Gainst that Church prevail; We have Christ's own promise, And that can not fail. Onward, etc. Onward, then, ye people, Join our happy throng, In the triumph-song; Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war, With the cross of Jesus PRAISE TO GOD BY JOSEPH ADDISON When all Thy mercies, O my God, Oh, how shall words with equal warmth The gratitude declare That glows within my ravished heart? Thy providence my life sustained, And hung upon the breast. To all my weak complaints and cries Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt Unnumbered comforts to my soul When in the slippery paths of youth Thine arm unseen conveyed me safe, Through hidden dangers, toils, and death, It gently cleared my way, And through the pleasing snares of vice, More to be feared than they. When worn with sickness, oft hast thou Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss And in a kind and faithful friend Has doubled all my store. |