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He is risen higher, not set:
Indeed a cloud
Did, with his leave, make bold to shroud
The Sun of Glory from Mount Olivet.
At Pentecost, he'll show himself again;
When every ray shall be a tongue
To speak all comforts, and inspire
Our souls with their celestial fire;
That we, the saints among,
May sing, and love, and reign.
On the Feast of Pentecost, or Whitsunday.
TONGUES of fire from heaven descend
With a mighty rushing wind,
To blow it up and make
A living fire
Of heav'nly charity, and pure desire,
Where they their residence should take.
On the apostles' sacred heads they sit;
Who now, like beacons, do proclaim and tell
Th' invasion of the host of hell;
And give men warning to defend
Themselves from the enraged brunt of it.
Lord, let the flames of holy charity,
And all her gifts and graces, slide
Into our hearts, and there abide;
That thus refined, we may soar above
With it unto the element of love,
Even unto thee, dear Spirit,-
And there eternal peace and rest inherit.
LORD, I have sinned: and the black number swells
To such a dismal sum,
That, should my stony heart, and eyes,
And this whole sinful trunk, a flood become,
And run to tears, their drops could not suffice,
To count my score,
Much less to pay :
But thou, my God, hast blood in store,
And art the Patron of the poor.
Yet since the balsam of thy blood,
Although it can, will do no good,
Unless the wounds be cleans'd with tears before;
Thou in whose sweet but pensive face
Laughter could never steal a place,
Teach but my heart and eyes
To melt away,
And then one drop of balsam will suffice.
GREAT God, and just! how canst thou see,
Dear God, our misery,
And not, in mercy, set us free!
Poor miserable man! how wert thou born
Weak as the dewy jewels of the morn,
Wrapt up in tender dust,
Guarded with sins and lust,
Who, like court-flatterers, wait
To serve themselves in thy unhappy fate.
Wealth is a snare; and poverty brings in
Inlets for theft, paving the way for sin :
Each perfum'd vanity doth gently breath
Sin in thy soul, and whispers it to death.
Our faults, like ulcerated sores, do go
O'er the sound flesh, and do corrupt that too.
Lord, we are sick, spotted with sin,
Thick as a crusty leper's skin;
Like Naaman, bid us wash; yet let it be
In streams of blood that flow from thee:
Then will we sing
Touch'd by the heav'nly Dove's bright wing,
Hallelujahs, psalms, and praise,
To God, the Lord of night and days;
Ever good, and ever just,
Ever high, who ever must
Thus be sung; is still the same;
Eternal praises crown his name!
FULL of mercy, full of love,
Look upon us from above;
Thou, who taught'st the blind man's night
To entertain a double light,
Thine and the day's, (and that thine too);
The lame away his crutches threw ;
The parched crust of leprosy
Return'd unto its infancy:
The dumb amazed was to hear
His own unchain'd tongue strike his ear:
Thy powerful mercy did even chase
The devil from his usurp'd place,
Where thou thyself shouldst dwell, not he.
O let thy love our pattern be;
Let thy mercy teach one brother
To forgive and love another;
That, copying thy mercy here,
Thy goodness may hereafter rear
Our souls unto thy glory, when
Our dust shall cease to be with men. Amen.
ACCORDING TO THE MATTER OF EACH PSALM :
HELP AND ASSISTANCE OF ALL CHRISTIAN PEOPLE, IN ALL OCCASIONS AND NECESSITIES.