Jesus and Mary; or, Catholic hymns

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James Burns, 1849 - Hymns, English - 211 pages
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Page 143 - I have no cares, O blessed Will ! For all my cares are thine ; I live in triumph, Lord ! for thou Hast made thy triumphs mine.
Page 159 - Who made this beating heart of mine But thou, my heavenly Guest ? Let no one have it, then, but thee, And let it be thy rest!
Page 109 - But I have felt Thee in my thoughts Fighting with sin for me ; And when my heart loves God, I know The sweetness is from Thee.
Page 133 - Faith of our fathers ! living still In spite of dungeon, fire and sword ; O how our hearts beat high with joy Whene'er we hear that glorious word ; Faith of our fathers ! holy faith ! We will be true to thee till death.
Page 134 - Faith of our Fathers ! we will love Both friend and foe in all our strife : And preach thee too, as love knows how, By kindly words and virtuous life. Faith of our Fathers, &c.
Page 180 - IT is hard to work for God, To rise and take his part Upon this battle-field of earth, And not sometimes lose heart ! He hides himself so wondrously, As though there were no God ; He is least seen when all the powers Of ill are most abroad. Or he deserts us at the hour The fight is all but lost; And seems to leave us to ourselves Just when we need him most.
Page 2 - When Heaven and earth were yet unmade, When time was yet unknown, Thou in Thy bliss and majesty Didst live and love alone...
Page 74 - But scornful men have coldly said Thy love was leading me from God; And yet in this I did but tread The very path my Saviour trod. They know but little of thy worth Who speak these heartless words to me; For what did Jesus love on earth One half so tenderly as thee?
Page 198 - Dole not thy duties out to God, But let thy hand be free : Look long at Jesus; His sweet Blood How was it dealt to thee ? The perfect way is hard to flesh ; It is not hard to love ; If thou wert sick for want of God, How swiftly wouldst thou move...
Page 164 - O show that sin to me, Not to get back the sweetness lost, But to make peace with thee. One thing alone, dear Lord ! I dread ; — To have a secret spot That separates my soul from thee, And yet to know it not.

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