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Note 21, page 12, col. 1.

Note 23, page 12, col. 1.
Numbers numberless.

Bethulia's matron. "He looked and saw what numbers numberless."

Judith.
Milton, Paradise Regained.
Note 22, page 12, col. 1.

Note 24, page 12, col. 1.
One Saguntum.

Who treads the wine-press of the world alone. The ancient siege of Saguntum has been now “I have trodden the wine-press alone, and of rivalled by Zaragoza. The author is happy to the people there was none with me, for I will tread refer his readers to the interesting narrative of his them in mine anger, and trample them in my friend Mr. Vaughan.

fury.”—Isaiah lxii. 3.

Lymns

WRITTEN FOR THE WEEKLY CHURCH SERVICE

OF THE YEAR.

Several of these hymns were originally published in the in India ; but the arduous duties of his station left little time, Christian Observer, in the years 1811 and 1812, and were during the short life there allotted to him, for any employment then accompanied by the following prefatory notice, which it not immediately connected with his diocese. This arrangeis thought due to the author, should be here preserved. ment of them has been published in England since his death,

" The following Hymns are part of an intended series, ap- and republished in this country. propriate to the Sundays, and principal holidays of the year; connected in some degree with their particular Collects and Gospels, and designed to be sung between the Nicene Creed

ADVENT SUNDAY. and the Sermon. The effect of an arrangement of this kind, though only partially adopted, is very striking in the Romish

Matt. XXI. liturgy; and its place should seem to be imperfectly supplied by a few verses of a Psalm, entirely unconnected with the HOSANNA to the living Lord! peculiar devotions of the day, and selected at the discretion of

Hosanna to the incarnate Word! a clerk or organist. On the merits of the present imperfect

To Christ, Creator, Saviour, King, essays, the author is unaffectedly diffident; and as his labours are intended for the use of his own congregation, he will be

Let earth, let heaven, Hosanna sing ! thanksul for any suggestion which may advance or correct Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest! them. In one respect, at least, he hopes the following poems will not be found reprehensible;—no fulsome or indecorous

Hosanna, Lord! thine angels cry; language has been knowingly adopted: no erotic addresses to him whom no unclean lip can approach, no allegory ill un

Hosanna, Lord! thy saints reply; derstood, and worse applied. It is not enough, in his opinion, Above, beneath us, and around, to object to such expressions that they are fanatical; they The dead and living swell the sound; are positively profane. When our Saviour was on earth and Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest! in great humility conversant with mankind; when he sat at the tables, and washed the feel, and healed the diseases of his

Oh, Saviour! with protecting care, creatures; yet did not his disciples give him any more fami. liar name than Master or Lord. And now at the right hand

Return to this thy house of prayer! of his Father's majesty, shall we address him with diutjes of Assembled in thy sacred name, embraces and passion, or language which it would be dis

Where we thy parting promise claim graceful in an earthly sovereign to endure ? Such expressions,

Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest! it is said, are taken from Scripture; but even if the original application, which is often doubtful, were clearly and un. equivocally ascertained, yet, though the collective Christian But chiefest, in our cleansed breast, church may very properly be personified as the spouse of Eternal ! bid thy spirit rest, Christ, an application of such language to individual believers

And make our secret soul to be is as dangerous as it is absurd and unauthorized. Nor is it

A temple pure, and worthy thee! going too far to assert, that the brutalities of a common swearer can hardly bring religion into more sure contempt, or more

Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest! scandalously profane the Name which is above every name in heaven and earth, than certain epithets applied to Christ in So, in the last and dreadful day, our popular collections of religious poetry.”

When earth and heaven shall melt away, Bishop Heber subsequently arranged these hymns, with

Thy flock, redeemed from sinful stain, some others by various writers, in a regular series adapted to the services of the Church of England throughout the year,

Shall swell the sound of praise again, and it was his intention to publish them soon after his arrival Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest !

SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT.

JOHN I. The Lord will come! the earth shall quake, The hills their fixed seat forsake; And, withering, from the vault of night The stars withdraw their feeble light. The Lord will come! but not the same As once in lowly form he came, A silent lamb to slaughter led, The bruised, the suffering, and the dead. The Lord will come ! a dreadful form, With wreath of flame, and robe of storm, On cherub wings, and wings of wind, Anointed Judge of human-kind ! Can this be Thee who wont to stray A pilgrim on the world's highway; By power oppressed and mocked by pride ? Oh, God! is this the crucified? Go, tyrants ! to the rocks complain! Go, seek the mountain's cleft in vain ! But faith, victorious o'er the tomb, Shall sing for joy—the Lord is come !

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 anxious eyes to Heaven,

Our hope, our harbour, 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 my 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!

SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT.

LUKE XXI.
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!

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; 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 near! 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

near!

CHRISTMAS DAY. Oh, Saviour, whom this holy morn

Gave to our world below; To mortal want and labour born,

And more than mortal wo!

THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT.

ΜATT. XI.
OH, Saviour, 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?

Incarnate Word! by every grief,

By each temptation tried, Who lived 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 prest by poverty severe,

In envious want we pine,
Oh 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 !

To see the light that dimly shone,

Eclipsed for us in sorrow pale, Pure Image of the Eternal One!

Through shadows of thy mortal veil! Be ours, oh, King of Mercy! still

To feel thy presence from above, And in thy word, and in thy will,

To hear thy voice and know thy love; And when the toils of life are done,

And nature waits thy dread decree, To find our rest beneath thy throne,

And look, in humble hope, to Thee!

INNOCENT'S DAY.

ST. STEPHEN'S DAY. 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!

On weep not o'er thy children's tomb,

Oh, Rachel, weep not so ! The bud is cropt by martyrdom

The flower in heaven shall blow !

Firstlings of faith! the murderer's knife

Has missed its deadliest aim: The God for whom they gave their life,

For them to suffer came !

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 i

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.
They met the tyrant's brandished steel,

The lion's gory mane :
They bowed their necks the death to feel !

Who follows in their train?

Though feeble were their days and few,

Baptized in blood and pain, He knows them, whom they never knew,

And they shall live again.
Then weep not o'er thy children's tomb,

Oh, Rachel, weep not so !
The bud is cropt by martyrdom,

The flower in heaven shall blow!

A noble army-men and boys,

The matron and the maid, Around the Saviour's throne rejoice,

In robes of light arrayed.
They climbed the steep ascent of Heaven,

Through peril, toil, and pain!
Oh, God! to us may grace be given

To follow in their train!

SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS; OR,

CIRCUMCISION.
Lord of mercy and of might !
Of mankind the life and light !
Maker, teacher infinite !

Jesus! hear and save!
Who, when sin's tremendous doom
Gave Creation to the tomb,
Didst not scorn the Virgin's womb,

Jesus! hear and save!

Mighty monarch! Saviour mild !
Humbled to a mortal child,
Captive, beaten, bound, reviled,

Jesus! hear and save!

ST. JOHN THE EVANGELIST'S DAY. OH, God! who gav'st thy servant grace,

Amid the storms of life distrest, To look on thine incarnate face,

And lean on thy protecting breast :

Throned above celestial things,
Borne aloft on angel's wings,
Lord of Lords, and King of kings !

Jesus! hear and save!

Who shall yet return from high,
Robed in might and majesty,
Hear us! help us when we cry!

Jesus! hear and save!

EPIPHANY. BRIGHTEST and best of the sons of the morning!

Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid ! Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid ! Cold on his cradle the dew drops are shining,

Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall, Angels adore him in slumber reclining,

Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all! Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion,

Odours of Edom and offerings divine ? Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,

Myrrh from the forest or gold from the mine? Vainly we offer each ample oblation;

Vainly with gifts would his favour secure : Richer by far is the heart's adoration;

Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning!

Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid ! Star of the East, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid !

FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.
By cool Siloam's shady rill

How sweet the lily grows!
How sweet the breath beneath the hill

Of Sharon's dewy rose !
Lo! such the child whose early feet

The paths of peace have trod;
Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,

upward drawn to God!
By cool Siloam's shady rill

The lily must decay;
The rose that blooms beneath the hill

Must shortly fade away.
And soon, too soon, the wint'ry hour

Of man's maturer age
Will shake the soul with sorrow's power,

And stormy passion's rage !
O Thou, whose infant feet were found

Within thy Father's shrine !
Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned,

Were all alike divine,
Dependent on thy bounteous breath,

We seek thy grace alone,
In childhood, manhood, age and death,

To keep us still thine own!

FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.

LUKE II,

ABASHED be all the boast of age !

Be hoary learning dumb! Expounder of the mystic page,

Behold an Infant come! Ob, Wisdom, whose unfading power

Beside th' Eternal stood, To frame, in nature's earliest hour,

The land, the sky, the flood;
Yet didst not Thou disdain awhile

An infant form to wear;
To bless thy mother with a smile,

And lisp thy faltered prayer.
But, in thy Father's own abode,

With Israel's elders round, Conversing high with Israel's God,

Thy chiefest joy was found. So may our youth adore thy name!

And, Saviour, deign to bless With fostering grace the timid flame

Of early holiness!

SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.

Oh, hand of bounty, largely spread,
By whom our every want is fed,
Whate'er we touch, or taste, or see,
We owe them all, oh Lord! to Thee;
The corn, the oil, the purple wine,
Are all thy gifts, and only thine!
The stream thy word to nectar dyed,
The bread thy blessing multiplied,
The stormy wind, the whelming flood,
That silent at thy mandate stood,
How well they knew thy voice divine,
Whose works they were, and only thine!
Though now no more on earth we trace
Thy footsteps of celestial grace,
Obedient to thy word and will
We seek thy daily mercy still;
Its blessed beams around us shine,
And thine we are, and only thine!

FOR THE SAME. INCARNATE Word, who, wont to dwell In lowly shape and cottage cell, Didst not refuse a guest to be At Cana's poor festivity:

Oh, when our soul from care is free,

From the lusts whose deep pollutions Then, Saviour, may we think on Thee,

Adam's ancient taint disclose, And seated at the festal board,

From the tempter's dark intrusions, In Fancy's eye behold the Lord.

Restless doubt and blind repose; Then may we seem, in Fancy's ear,

From the miser's cursed treasure, Thy manna-dropping tongue to hear,

From the drunkard's jest obscene,
And think,-even now, thy searching gaze From the world, its pomp and pleasure,
Each secret of our soul surveys !

Jesus! Master! make us clean!
So may such joy, chastised and pure,
Beyond the bounds of earth endure;
Nor pleasure in the wounded mind

FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIShall leave a rankling sting behind !

PHANY.
When through the torn sail the wild tempest is

streaming,
FOR THE SAME.

When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is When on her Maker's bosom

gleaming, The new-born earth was laid,

Nor hope lends a ray the poor seamen to cherish, And nature's opening blossom

We fly to our Maker—" Help, Lord! or we perIts fairest bloom displayed;

ish!" When all with fruit and flowers

Oh, Jesus! once tossed on the breast of the billow, The laughing soil was drest,

Aroused by the shriek of despair from thy pillow, And Eden's fragrant bowers

Now, seated in glory, the mariner cherish,
Received their human guest;

Who cries in his danger—"Help, Lord! or we

perish!" No sin his face defiling, The heir of Nature stood,

And oh, when the whirlwind of passion is raging, And God, benignly smiling,

When hell in our heart his wild warfare is waging, Beheld that all was good!

Arise in thy strength thy redeemed to cherish,

Rebuke the destroyer—" Help, Lord ! or Yet in that hour of blessing,

perish!"
A single want was known;
A wish the heart distressing;
For Adam was alone!

SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY.
Oh, God of pure affection!

The God of glory walks his round,
By men and saints adored,
Who gavest thy protection

From day to day, from year to year,
To Cana's nuptial board.

And warns us each with awful sound,

“ No longer stand ye idle here!
May such thy bounties ever
To wedded love be shown,

"Ye whose young cheeks are rosy bright,
And no rude hand dissever

Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are clear,
Whom thou hast linked in one.

Waste not of hope, the morning light!
Ah, fools! why stand ye idle here?

"Oh, as the griefs ye would assuage THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. That wait on life's declining year,

Secure a blessing for your age,
MATT, VIII.

And work your Maker's business here!
LORD! whose love, in power excelling, “And ye, whose locks of scanty gray
Washed the leper's stain away.

Foretell your latest travail near, Jesus! from thy heavenly dwelling,

How swiftly fades your worthless day! Hear us, help us, when we pray!

And stand ye yet so idle here ? From the filth of vice and folly,

“ One hour remains, there is but one! From infuriate passion's rage,

But many a shriek and many a tear Evil thoughts and hopes unholy,

Through endless years the guilt must moan Heedless youth and selfish age;

Of moments lost and wasted here !"

we

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