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SONGS

OF

THE SOUL.

And is there Care in Heaven? and is there Love?

AND is there care in heaven? and is there

love

In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move? There is; else much more wretched were the case

Of men than beasts. But oh! the exceeding grace

Of highest God! that loves his creatures so,
And all his works with mercy doth embrace,
That blessed angels he sends to and fro,
To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe.

How oft do they their silver bowers leave
To come to succour us that succour want!
How oft do they with golden pinions cleave
The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant,
Against foul fiends to aid us militant!
They for us fight, they watch and duly ward,

B

And their bright squadrons round about us

plant;

And all for love, and nothing for reward:

Oh! why should heavenly God to man have

such regard?

EDMUND SPENSER.

Awake, sweet Harp of Judah, Wake! AWAKE, sweet harp of Judah, wake,

Re-tune thy strings for Jesu's sake;

We sing the Saviour of our race,
The Lamb, our shield and hiding-place.

When God's right arm is bared for war,
And thunders clothe his cloudy car,
Where, where, oh! where, shall man retire,
T' escape the horrors of his ire?

'Tis He, the Lamb, to Him we fly,
While the dread tempest passes by;
God sees his Well-beloved's face,
And spares us in our hiding-place.

Thus, while we dwell in this low scene,
The Lamb is our unfailing screen ;
To Him, though guilty, still we run,
And God still spares us for his Son.

;

While yet we sojourn here below,
Pollutions still our hearts o'erflow
Fallen, abject, mean, a sentenced race,
We deeply need a hiding-place.

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