2 Guide my ship, Thou First-born Brother, Than that peaceful haven where, Know of sorrow, sin or care. 3 Thou canst fill our mouths with laughter And hereafter Make our tongues to sing Thy praise; Thou canst softly lead us mortals Through death's portals And above all evils raise. 4 For our sins and grievous errors All the terrors Of the cross Thou didst endure: Death, thy sting for aye has vanished, Thou art banished, And I rest from thee secure. J. L. K. Allendorf. O 369 WHAT their joy and their glory must be, see! Crown for the valiant, to weary ones rest; 2 Truly Jerusalem name we that shore, 3 There, where no troubles distraction can bring, We the sweet anthems of Zion shall sing; While for Thy grace, Lord, their voices of praise Thy blessed people eternally raise. 4 There dawns no Sabbath, no Sabbath is o'er, Those Sabbath-keepers have one evermore; One and unending is that triumph-song. Which to the angels and us shall belong. 5 Now, in the meanwhile, with hearts raised on high, We for that country must yearn and must sigh; Seeking Jerusalem, dear native land, Through our long exile on Babylon's strand. 6 Low before Him with our praises we fall, Of Whom, and in Whom, and through Whom are all; Of Whom, the Father; and in Whom, the Son; Through Whom, the Spirit, with Them ever One. 370 P. Abelard. J. M. Neale, Tr. WHEN children, young and tender, Their infant souls surrender, 2 Baptismal grace possessing, They pass, through death's dark portal, And like the stars forever glow. 3 This child, though at its leaving In heav'n where thou hast gone to stay. J. A. Rothe. H. Brueckner, Tr. G National 371 OD bless our native land! 2 For her our prayers shall rise C. T. Brooks. 372 OD of our fathers, Who didst guide, O'er pathless seas and oceans wide, To these fair shores, Thy servants' way, To Thee our debts of praise we pay. 2 In perils of the land and sea, Our fathers were upheld by Thee; 3 Thou knowest how with faith sublime, 4 Great God, our fathers' God, defend MY 373 Y COUNTRY! 'tis of thee, Land where my fathers died, 2 My native country, thee, I love thy rocks and rills, 3 Let music swell the breeze, Let mortal tongues awake; G. A. Warburton. |