1779

Praise ye then his glorious name, Publish his exalted fame!

Still his worth your praise exceeds, Excellent are all his deeds.

Raise again the joyful sound,
Let the nations roll it round!
Zion, shout, for this is he,

God the Saviour dwells in thee!
WILLIAM COWPER.

TRUST IN JESUS.

JOSIAH CONDER, a prolific writer of hymns, was born in London, in 1789, and became a publisher. His father had been a bookseller. While still young he wrote articles for the Athenæum, and at a later period became proprietor of the Eclectic Review. He was also a lay preacher and a helper in all benevolent enterprises. His " Hymns of Praise, Prayer, and Devout Meditation was published after his death, which occurred Dec. 27, 1855. His hymns were written after he had suffered some trial or vicissitude, and are useful, but not great as poetical works.

WHEN, in the hour of lonely woe,
I give my sorrow leave to flow,
And anxious fear and dark distrust
Weigh down my spirit to the dust;

When not e'en friendship's gentle aid
Can heal the wounds the world has made,
Oh, this shall check each rising sigh,
That Jesus is forever nigh.

His counsels and upholding care
My safety and my comfort are;
And he shall guide me all my days,
Till glory crown the work of grace.

Jesus! in whom but thee above
Can I repose my trust, my love?
And shall an earthly object be
Loved in comparison with thee?

My flesh is hastening to decay,

Soon shall the world have passed away;
And what can mortal friends avail,
When heart and strength and life shall fail?

But oh, be thou, my Saviour, nigh,
And I will triumph while I die;
My strength, my portion, is divine,
And Jesus is forever mine!

1855.

JOSIAH CONDER.

WHAT WENT YE OUT FOR TO SEE?

ACROSS the sea, along the shore,
In numbers more and ever more,
From lonely hut and busy town,

The valley through, the mountain down,

What was it ye went out to see,

Ye silly folk of Galilee?

The reed that in the wind doth shake? The weed that washes in the lake?

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The reeds that waver, the weeds that float? —
A young man preaching in a boat.

What was it ye went out to hear
By sea and land, from far and near?
A teacher? Rather seek the feet
Of those who sit in Moses' seat.
Go humbly seek, and bow to them,
Far off in great Jerusalem.
From them that in her courts ye saw,
Her perfect doctors of the law,
What is it came ye here to note?
A young man preaching in a boat.

A prophet! Boys and women weak!
Declare, or cease to rave;

Whence is it he hath learned to speak?
Say, who his doctrine gave?

A prophet? Prophet wherefore he
Of all in Israel tribes ?-
He teacheth with authority,
And not as do the Scribes.

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

SING, MY TONGUE, THE SAVIOUR'S

BATTLE.

"Pange, lingua, gloriosi proelium certaminis." VENANTIUS HONorius ClementiANUS FORTUNATUS was born about 530, in Venetia. He studied at Ravenna, and trained himself to oratory and poetry, but lived a life of pleasure until under the influence of Queen Rhadegunda, wife of Clotaire, he entered the priesthood, and in 599 became Bishop of Poictiers. He died in 609. His sacred poetry was but a fraction of the whole verse that he produced He was the favorite poet of his age, a friend of St. Gregory of Tours and Queen Rhadegunda, and he marks the transition from the ancient to the medieval hymnology. This passion-hymn found a place in the Roman Breviary, with some alterations.

SING, my tongue, the Saviour's battle;
Tell his triumph far and wide;
Tell aloud the wondrous story

Of his body crucified;
How upon the cross a victim,
Vanquishing in death, he died.

Eating of the tree forbidden,

Man had sunk in Satan's snare,
When our pitying Creator

Did this second tree prepare ;
Destined, many ages later,

That first evil to repair.

Such the order God appointed
When for sin he would atone;

To the serpent thus opposing

Schemes yet deeper than his own; Thence the remedy procuring,

Whence the fatal wound had come. So, when now at length the fulness Of the sacred time drew nigh, Then the Son, the world's Creator, Left his Father's throne on high; From a virgin's womb appearing, Clothed in our mortality,

All within a lowly manger,

Lo, a tender babe he lies! See his gentle virgin mother Lull to sleep his infant cries! While the limbs of God Incarnate Round with swathing-bands she ties. Thus did Christ to perfect manhood In our mortal flesh attain; Then of his free choice he goeth To a death of bitter pain; He, the lamb upon the altar

Of the cross, for us was slain.

Lo, with gall his thirst he quenches! See the thorns upon his brow; Nails his hands and feet are rending;

See, his side is open now!
Whence, to cleanse the whole creation,
Streams of blood and water flow.

Faithful cross! above all other,
One and only noble tree!
None in foliage, none in blossom,
None in fruit thy peers may be;
Sweetest wood and sweetest iron,
Sweetest weight is hung on thee!

Bend thy boughs, O tree of glory!
Thy relaxing sinews bend;
For a while the ancient rigor,

That thy birth bestowed, suspend;
And the King of heavenly beauty
On thy bosom gently tend.

Thou alone wast counted worthy
This world's ransom to uphold;
For a shipwrecked race preparing
Harbor, like the ark of old;
With the sacred blood anointed,

From the smitten Lamb that rolled.

When, O Judge of this world! coming
In thy glory all divine,
Thou shalt bid thy cross's trophy
Bright above the stars to shine;
Be the light and the salvation
Of the people that are thine!

Blessing, honor everlasting,

To the immortal Deity;

To the Father, Son, and Spirit,
Equal praises ever be:
Glory through the earth and heaven
To the blessed Trinity.

VENANTIUS FORTUNATUS Translated by
EDWARD CASWALL. (Altered.)

JESU! THE VERY THOUGHT OF THEE.

"Jesu, dulcis memoria."

The following is one of the sweetest of the medieval hymns. The writer was the celebrated BERNARD of Clairvaux, called "Doctor Mellifluous," who was born of a noble family in Burgundy about 1091. He was educated at the University of Paris, and at the age of twenty-two entered the Cistercian monastery at Citeaux, near Dijon. Three years later he was made abbot of a new monastery at Clairvaux, in Champaigne Luther called Bernard the best monk who ever lived. He persuaded the King of France to enter upon the Crusade of 1146 Bernard died in 1153.

JESU, the very thought of thee
With sweetness fills my breast;
But sweeter far thy face to see,
And in thy presence rest.

Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame,
Nor can the memory find,

A sweeter sound than thy blest name,
O Saviour of mankind!

O hope of every contrite heart,
O joy of all the meek,

To those who fall, how kind thou art!
How good to those who seek!

But what to those who find? ah! this
Nor tongue nor pen can show:
The love of Jesus, what it is,

None but his loved ones know.

Jesu! our only joy be thou,

As thou our prize wilt be; Jesu! be thou our glory now, And through eternity.

O Jesu! King most wonderful! Thou Conqueror renowned! Thou sweetness most ineffable,

In whom all joys are found!

When once thou visitest the heart.

Then truth begins to shine; Then earthly vanities depart; Then kindles love divine.

O Jesu! light of all below!

Thou fount of life and fire! Surpassing all the joys we know, All that we can desire:

May every heart confess thy name, And ever thee adore ;

And seeking thee, itself inflame

To seek thee more and more.

Thee may our tongues forever bless,
Thee may we love alone;
And ever in our lives express
The image of thine own.

O Jesu! thou the beauty art

Of angel worlds above;
Thy name is music to the heart,
Enchanting it with love.

Celestial sweetness unalloyed!
Who eat thee hunger still;
Who drink of thee still feel a void,
Which naught but thou can fill.

O my sweet Jesu! hear the sighs
Which unto thee I send ;

To thee mine inmost spirit cries,
My being's hope and end!

Stay with us, Lord, and with thy light

Illume the soul's abyss ;

Scatter the darkness of our night,

And fill the world with bliss.

O Jesu! spotless Virgin flower!
Our life and joy! to thee
Be praise, beatitude, and power,
Through all eternity!

BERNARD of Clairvaux. Translated by
EDWARD CASWALL.

THE NAME OF JESUS.

"Jesu, dulcis memoria."

JESUS, how sweet thy memory is !
Thinking of thee is truest bliss:
Beyond all honeyed sweets below
Thy presence is it here to know.

Tongue cannot speak a lovelier word,
Nought more melodious can be heard,
Nought sweeter can be thought upon,
Than Jesus Christ, God's only Son.
Jesus, thou hope of those who turn,
Gentle to those who pray and mourn,
Ever to those who seek thee, kind-
What must thou be to those who find!

Jesus, thou dost true pleasures bring, Light of the heart, and living spring ; Higher than highest pleasures roll, Or warmest wishes of the soul.

Lord, in our bosoms ever dwell,
And of our souls the night dispel ;
Pour on our inmost mind the ray,
And fill our earth with blissful day.

If thou dost enter to the heart,
Then shines the truth in every part;
All worldly vanities grow vile,
And charity burns bright the while.

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THE SOUL'S TENDENCY TOWARDS

ITS TRUE CENTRE.

STONES towards the earth descend:
Rivers to the ocean roll;
Every motion has some end:

What is thine, beloved soul?

"Mine is, where my Saviour is ; There with him I hope to dwell: Jesu is the central bliss,

Love the force that doth impel."

Truly thou hast answered right:
Now may Heaven's attractive grace
Towards the source of thy delight

Speed along thy quickening pace!

"Thank thee for thy generous care: Heaven, that did the wish inspire, Through thy instrumental prayer,

Plumes the wings of my desire.

"Now, methinks, aloft I fly;

Now with angels bear a part:

Glory be to God on high !

Peace to every Christian heart!"
JOHN BYROM.

THE TESTIMONY OF MIRACLES.

"The works which the Father hath given me to finish, the same works that I do, bear witness of me, that the Father hath sent me."-JOHN v. 36.

HOLY Son of God most high,
Clothed in heavenly majesty !
Many a miracle and sign,
In thy Father's name divine,
Manifested forth thy might
In the chosen people's sight.

But, O Saviour! not alone
Thus thy glory was made known.
Kindly human wants relieving,
Gently with the mourner grieving,
Far thy matchless power above,
Stands the witness of thy love.

Thou, who by the open grave,
Ere thy voice was raised to save,
Didst with those fond sisters shed
Tears above the faithful dead;
Even thy word of might appears
Less resistless than thy tears.

When upon the fatal tree Thou didst writhe in agony,

1834.

Had that pain in triumph ended,
Hadst thou royally ascended,
Less sublime had been thy power.
Than thy patience shone that hour.

Lord! it is not ours to gaze
On thy works of ancient days;
But thy love, unchanged and bright,
More than all those works of might,
More than miracle and sign,
Makes us ever, ever thine.

STEPHEN GREENLEAF BULFINCH.

SUBSTITUTION.

WHEN Some beloved voice that was to you Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, And silence against which you dare not cry, Aches round you like a strong disease and

new

What hope? what help? what music will undo

That silence to your sense? Not friendship's

sigh

Nor reason's subtle count! Not melody
Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew -
Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales,
Whose hearts leap upward through the cy-
press trees

To the clear moon; nor yet the spheric laws
Self-chanted, nor the angel's sweet All

hails,

Met in the smile of God. Nay, none of these. Speak THOU, availing Christ!- and fill this pause.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

THOU HAST PUT ALL THINGS
UNDER HIS FEET.

O NORTH, with all thy vales of green!
O South, with all thy palms!
From peopled towns and fields between
Uplift the voice of psalms.
Raise, ancient East, the anthem high,
And let the youthful West reply.

Lo in the clouds of heaven appears
God's well-beloved Son;

He brings a train of brighter years;
His kingdom is begun.

He comes a guilty world to bless
With mercy, truth, and righteousness.

O Father! haste the promised hour,
When at his feet shall lie

All rule, authority, and power,

Beneath the ample sky:

When he shall reign from pole to pole,
The Lord of every human soul:

When all shall heed the words he said,
Amid their daily cares,

And, by the loving life he led,

Shall strive to pattern theirs ; And he, who conquered Death, shall win The mightier conquest over sin.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

COMFORT.

SPEAK low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss thee so
Who art not missed by any that entreat.
Speak to me as Mary at thy feet-

And if no precious gums my hands bestow,
Let my tears drop like amber, while I go
In reach of thy divinest voice complete
In humanest affection - thus in sooth,
To lose the sense of losing! As a child
Whose song-bird seeks the woods forever-

more,

Is sung to instead by mother's mouth;
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,
He sleeps the faster that he wept before.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

WATCHMAN, TELL US OF THE NIGHT.

SIR JOHN BOWRING was born at Exeter, England, Oct. 17, 1792, and was one of the most voluminous and versatile writers of his time in prose and verse. His acquaintance with European literatures was remarkable, and he was for the most of his life in the midst of affairs at home and abroad. His hymns are found in most collections. He died in 1872.

WATCHMAN, tell us of the night,

What its signs of promise are!
Traveller, o'er yon mountain's height
See that glory-beaming star!
Watchman, does its beauteous ray
Aught of joy or hope foretell?
Traveller, yes; it brings the day,
Promised day of Israel.

Watchman, tell us of the night;
Higher yet that star ascends!
Traveller, blessedness and light,

Peace and truth, its course portends!
Watchman, will its beams alone

Gild the spot that gave them birth? Traveller, ages are its own;

See, it bursts o'er all the earth.

Watchman, tell us of the night,

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For the morning seems to dawn! Traveller, darkness takes its flight, Doubt and terror are withdrawn. Watchman, let thy wanderings cease; Hie thee to thy quiet home: Traveller, lo, the Prince of peace, Lo, the Son of God is come! SIR JOHN BOWRING

1825.

AWAKE, AND SING THE SONG.

AWAKE, and sing the song

Of Moses and the Lamb;

Tune every heart and every tongue, To praise the Saviour's name.

Sing of his dying love;

Sing of his rising power; Sing how he intercedes above

For those whose sins he bore.

If you have felt his grace,

You'll not refuse to sing,

But summon all your powers to praise Your Saviour and your King.

Look back and see the state
Wherein your nature lay;

Then wonder at his love so great,
Who did your ransom pay.

His faithfulness proclaim,

While life and health are given; Join hands and hearts to praise his name, Till we all meet in heaven.

May Jesu's word take place,

And wisdom in us dwell, That we his miracles of grace In psalms and hymns may tell.

Tell, in seraphic strains,

What Christ has done for you ; How he has taken off your chains, And formed your hearts anew.

Be careful to approve

Yourselves his children dear; Admonish and provoke to love, To righteousness and fear.

Leave carnal joys below,

To men of meaner taste; Think, speak, and sing of nothing now But Christ the first and last.