But, chiefest, in our cleansed breast, And make our secret soul to be A temple pure, and worthy Thee! Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest! So, in the last and dreadful day, Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest! SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT. NO. 1. THE Lord will come! the earth shall quake, And, withering, from the vault of night The Lord will come! but not the same The Lord will come! a dreadful form, Can this be He who wont to stray Go, tyrants! to the rocks complain! SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT. NO. II. In the sun and moon and stars Signs and wonders there shall be; Earth shall quake with inward wars, Nations with perplexity. Soon shall ocean's hoary deep, Toss'd with stronger tempests, rise; Evil thoughts shall shake the proud, And, amid the thunder-cloud, Shall the Judge of men appear. But though from that awful face Heaven shall fade and earth shall fly, Fear not ye, His chosen race, Your redemption draweth nigh! THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT. OH Saviour, is Thy promise fled? Come, Jesus! come! return again ; A feeble race, by passion driven, In darkness and in doubt we roam, Yet, 'mid the wild and wintry gale, Come, Jesus! come! and, as of yore A dawning to Thy brighter day: So now may grace with heavenly shower Our stony hearts for truth prepare ; Sow in our souls the seed of power, Then come and reap Thy harvest there! FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT. THE world is grown old, and her pleasures are past ; The sun in the heaven is languid and pale; The king on his throne, the bride in her bower, The world is grown old !-but should we complain, CHRISTMAS DAY. Он Saviour, whom this holy morn Gave to our world below; To mortal want and labour born, And more than mortal woe! Incarnate Word! by every grief, Who lived to yield our ills relief, If gaily clothed and proudly fed, If prest by poverty severe, Through fickle fortune's various scene From sin preserve us free! Like us thou hast a mourner been, ST. STEPHEN'S DAY. THE Son of God goes forth to war, His blood-red banner streams afar! Who follows in His train ? Who best can drink his cup Triumphant over pain, of woe, Who patient bears his cross below, He follows in His train! |