Who envies none that chance doth raise, How deepest wounds are given by praise; Who hath his life from rumours freed, Who God doth late and early pray, This man is freed from servile bands SIR W. WOTTON. Hallelujah! Christ in God. Loud as mighty thunders roar, Or the fulness of the sea When it breaks upon the shore: God omnipotent shall reign; Hallelujah; let the word Echo round the earth and main. Hallelujah!-hark! the sound Sheathed his sword: He speaks-'tis done, He shall reign from pole to pole, He shall reign when like a scroll JAMES MONTGOMERY. Hymn for the Morning. AWAKE, my soul! awake, mine eyes! Awake, my drowsy faculties! Awake, and see the new-born light Already has his race begun. The pretty lark is mounted high, O great Creator! heavenly King! Thy power has made, thy goodness kept, Yet one day more has given me That when the last of all my days is come Cheerful and fearless I may wait my doom. THOMAS FLATMAN. Hope, and be Undismay'd. GIVE to the winds thy fears; Hope, and be undismay'd; God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears, Through waves, through clouds and storms, He everywhere hath sway, And all things serve His might; His every act pure blessing is, His path unsullied light, When He makes bare His arm, What shall his work withstand? When He His people's cause defends, Leave to his sovereign sway, To choose, and to command; With wonder fill'd, thou then shalt own, Thou seest our weakness, Lord; Our hearts are known to Thee: O lift thou up the sinking hand, Confirm the feeble knee! Let us, in life and death, Boldly Thy truth declare; And publish with our latest breath, Thy love, and guardian care. FROM THE GERMAN. His Heart Beats High. THEN heart and head are both o'erflowing, WH When eager words within are glowing, And all at once for utterance crowd and throng, The little babe upon the breast Perhaps some deed of sacred story, For many a toilsome hour rehears'd or read, He knows it all-none half so well,-- Perhaps on high the chant is ringing, In every chord his heart beats high, O gaze not so in wistful sadness: Ere long a morn of power and gladness Thoughts with their words and tones shall meet, Even now the call that wakes the dying The breath, the dew of heaven hath touched thy tongue : Far to the winds are flung The bonds unseen, ill spirits' work: Satan no more may round thee lurk, L ANON. |