But, chiefest, in our cleansed breast,
Eternal! bid Thy spirit rest,

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,
When earth and heaven shall melt away,
Thy flock, redeem'd from sinful stain,
Shall swell the sound of praise again :

Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest!

SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT.

NO. 1.

THE Lord will come! the earth shall quake,
The hills their fixed seat forsake;

And, withering, from the vault of night
The stars withdraw their feeble light.

The Lord will come! but not the same
As once in lowly form He came,
A silent Lamb to slaughter led,
The bruised, the suffering, and the dead.

The Lord will come! a dreadful form,
With wreath of flame, and robe of storm,
On cherub wings, and wings of wind,
Anointed Judge of human-kind!

Can this be He who wont to stray
A pilgrim on the world's highway;
By power oppress'd, and mock'd by pride?
Oh God! is this the crucified?

Go, tyrants! to the rocks complain!
Go, seek the mountains cleft in vain!
But faith, victorious o'er the tomb,
Shall sing for joy-the Lord is come!

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;
Darker storms the mountains sweep,
Redder lightning rend the skies.

Evil thoughts shall shake the proud,
Racking doubt and restless fear;

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?
Nor longer might Thy grace endure,
To heal the sick and raise the dead,
And preach Thy Gospel to the poor?

Come, Jesus! come! return again ;
With brighter beam Thy servants bless,
Who long to feel Thy perfect reign,
And share Thy kingdom's happiness!

A feeble race, by passion driven,

In darkness and in doubt we roam,
And lift our anxious eyes to Heaven,
Our hope, our harbour, and our home!

Yet, 'mid the wild and wintry gale,
When Death rides darkly o'er the sea,
And strength and earthly daring fail,
Our prayers, Redeemer! rest on Thee!

Come, Jesus! come! and, as of yore
The prophet went to clear Thy way,
A harbinger Thy feet before,

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 world is grown old, and her form may not last;
The world is grown old, and trembles for fear;
For sorrows abound, and judgment is near!

The sun in the heaven is languid and pale;
And feeble and few are the fruits of the vale:
And the hearts of the nations fail them for fear,
For the world is grown old, and judgment is near !

The king on his throne, the bride in her bower,
The children of pleasure all feel the sad hour;
The roses are faded, and tasteless the cheer,
For the world is grown old, and judgment is near!

The world is grown old !-but should we complain,
Who have tried her and know that her promise is vain?
Our heart is in Heaven, our home is not here,
And we look for our crown when judgment is near!

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,
By each temptation tried,

Who lived to yield our ills relief,
And to redeem us died!

If gaily clothed and proudly fed,
In dangerous wealth we dwell;
Remind us of Thy manger bed,
And lowly cottage cell!

If prest by poverty severe,
In envious want we pine,
Oh may the Spirit whisper near,
How poor a lot was Thine!

Through fickle fortune's various scene

From sin preserve us free!

Like us thou hast a mourner been,
May we rejoice with Thee!

ST. STEPHEN'S DAY.

THE Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain :

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!