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THE 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 ;
The king on his throne, the bride in her bower,
The world is grown old !-but should we com
Who have tried her and know that her promise is vain?
Our heart is in heaven, our home is not here,
OH, Saviour, whom this holy morn Gave to our world below;
To mortal want and labour born, And more than mortal wo!
Incarnate Word! by every grief,
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,
Through fickle fortune's various scene
ST. STEPHEN'S DAY.
THE Son of God goes forth to war,
His blood-red banner streams afar!
Who patient bears his cross below,
The martyr first, whose eagle eye
And call'd on him to save.
He pray'd for them that did the wrong!