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IN the sun and moon and stars

Signs and wonders there shall be ; Earth shall quake with inward wars, Nations with perplexity.

Soon shall ocean's hoary deep,

Tossed with stronger tempests, rise; Darker storms the mountain sweep, Redder lightning rend the skies.

Evil thoughts shall shake the proud,
Racking doubt and restless fear;
And amid the thunder cloud

Shall the Judge of men appear.

But though from that awful face Heaven shall fade and earth shall fly,

Fear not ye, his chosen race,

Your redemption draweth nigh.



O, Savicur, is thy promise fled?

No longer might thy grace endure,
To heal the sick and raise the dead,
And preach thy gospel to the poor?
Come, Jesus, come, return again;
With brighter beam thy servants bless,
Who long to feel thy perfect reign,
And share thy kingdom's happiness.
A feeble race, by passion driven,

In darkness and in doubt we roam,
And lift our auxious eyes to heaven,
Our hope, our harbor, and our home.
Yet, 'mid the wild and wintry gale,
When death rides darkly o'er the sea,
And strength and earthly daring fail,
Our prayers, Redeemer, rest on thee.
Come, Jesus, come, and, as of yore
The prophet went to clear thy way,
A harbinger thy feet before,

A dawning to thy brighter day:

So now may grace with heavenly shower
Our stony hearts for truth prepare;
Sow in our souls the seed of power,
Then come and reap thy harvest there,


THE world is grown old, and her pleasures are past;

The world is grown old, and her form may not


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;
And feeble and few are the fruits of the vale;
And the hearts of the nations fail them for fear,
For the world is grown old, and judgment is


The king on his throne, the bride in her bower,
The children of pleasure all feel the sad hour;
The roses are faded, and tasteless the cheer,
For the world is grown old,and judgment is near.

The world is grown old,-but should we complain,

Who have tried her and know that her promise is vain?

Our heart is in heaven, our home is not here,

And we look for our crown when judgment is



O, Saviour, whom this holy morn
Gave to our world below,
To mortal want and labor born,
And more than mortal wo;

Incarnate Word, by every grief,
By each temptation tried,
Who lives to yield our ills relief,
And to redeem us died;

If gaily clothed and proudly fed,
In dangerous wealth we dwell,
Remind us of thy manger bed,
And lowly cottage cell.

If pressed by poverty severe,
In envious want we pine,
O may thy spirit whisper near,
How poor a lot was thine.

Through fickle fortune's various scene From sin preserve us free;

Like us thou hast a mourner been,

May we rejoice with thee.


THE Son of God goes forth to war,
A kingly crown to gain;
His blood-red banner streams afar;
Who follows in his train?

Who best can drink his cup of wo,
Triumphant over pain,

Who patient bears his cross below,
He follows in his train.

The martyr first, whose eagle eye
Could pierce beyond the grave;

Who saw his Master in the sky,
And called on him to save.
Like Him, with pardon on his tongue
In midst of mortal pain,

He prayed for them that did the wrong.
Who follows in his train?

A glorious band, the chosen few,
On whom the spirit came;

Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew,
And mocked the cross and flame.

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