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O, when shall I, in endless day,
For ever chase dark sleep away,
And hymns, with the supernal choir
Incessant sing, and never tire.
O may my guardian, while I sleep,
Close to my bed his vigils keep;
His love angelical instil,

Stop all the avenues of ill.

May he celestial joys rehearse,
And thought to thought with me converse;
Or, in my stead, all the night long,
Sing to my God a grateful song.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

BISHOP KEN.

A MIDNIGHT HYMN.

My God, now I from sleep awake,
The sole possession of me take;
From midnight terrors me secure,
And guard my heart from thoughts impure.

Blessed angels! while we silent lie,
You hallelujahs sing on high;
You joyful hymn the Ever Blessed,
Before the throne, and never rest.

I with your choir celestial join,
In offering up a hymn divine;
With you in Heaven I hope to dwell,
And bid the night and world farewell.

Give me a place at thy saints' feet,
Or some fallen angel's vacant seat;
I'll strive to sing as loud as they,
Who sit above in brighter day.

O may I always ready stand,
With my lamp burning in my hand;
May I in sight of Heaven rejoice,
Whene'er I hear the Bridegroom's voice.

All praise to Thee, in light arrayed,
Who light thy dwelling-place hast made:
A boundless ocean of bright beams
From thine all-glorious Godhead streams.

The sun, in its meridian height,
Is very darkness in thy sight;
My soul O lighten and inflame,
With thought and love of thy great name.

Blessed Jesu, Thou, on heaven intent,
Whole nights hast in devotion spent;
But I, frail creature, soon am tired,
And all my zeal is soon expired.

Shine on me, Lord, new life impart,
Fresh ardours kindle in my heart;
One ray of thy all-quickening light
Dispels the sloth and clouds of night.

Lord, lest the tempter me surprise,
Watch over thine own sacrifice;
All loose, all idle thoughts cast out,
And make my very dreams devout.
Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

BISHOP KEN.

LUTHER'S HYMN.

GREAT GOD! what do I see and hear?
The end of things created!
The Judge of mankind doth appear,
On clouds of glory seated!

The trumpet sounds, the graves restore
The dead which they contained before:
Prepare, my soul, to meet Him!

O Jesu! Friend to fallen man,
To me impart thy merit;
Forgive my sin, wash out its stain,
By thine almighty Spirit!
The trumpet sounds-the Judge is near-
But then my soul, devoid of fear,
Shall spring with joy to meet Him.

PARTING HYMN.

CHRISTIANS! brethren! ere we part,
Join every voice and every heart;
One solemn hymn to God we raise,
One final song of grateful praise.

Christians, we here may meet no more,
But there is yet a happier shore;
And there, released from toil and pain,
Brethren, we shall meet again.

ANON.

H. K. WHITE.

MISSIONARY HYMN.

FROM Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand,
Where Afric's sunny fountains
Roll down their golden sand;
From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver
Their land from error's chain.

What though the spicy breezes
Blow soft on Ceylon's isle,
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile!
In vain with lavish kindness
The gifts of God are strewn,
The heathen, in his blindness,
Bows down to wood and stone.

Shall we whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high,
Shall we to man benighted
The lamp of life deny ?
Salvation! oh, salvation!
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation
Has learnt Messiah's name.

Waft, waft, ye winds, his story,
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till, like a sea of glory,
It spreads from pole to pole;

Till o'er our ransomed nature,
The Lamb, for sinners slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator,
In bliss returns to reign.

BISHOP HEBER.

THE CHRISTIAN'S DEATH.

THOU art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb, Thy Saviour has passed through its portal before thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom.

Thou art gone to the grave-we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough paths of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee, And sinners may hope, since the Sinless has died;

Thou art gone to the grave, and, its mansion forsaking,
Perhaps thy tried spirit in fear lingered long;
But the sunshine of heaven beamed bright on thy waking,
And the sound which thou heard'st was the seraphim's

song.

Thou art gone to the grave, but we will not deplore thee, Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian, and guide; He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee, And death has no sting, for the Saviour hath died.

BISHOP HEBER.

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