But is mightier than it seems; 'Tis our father; and His fondness Goes far out beyond our dreams.
There's a wideness in God's mercy
Like the wideness of the sea;
There's a kindness in his justice,
Which is more than liberty.
There is no place where earth's sorrows
Are more felt than up in heaven:
There is no place where earth's failings
Have such kindly judgment given.
There is grace enough for thousands
Of new worlds as great as this;
There is room for fresh creations
In that upper home of bliss:
For the love of God is broader
Than the measure of man's mind,
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.
But we make His love too narrow
By false limits of our own;
And we magnify His strictness
With a zeal He will not own.
If our love were but more simple,
We should take Him at his word;
And our lives would be all sunshine
In the sweetness of our Lord.
LIFT UP YOUR HEADS, REJOICE!
Lift up your heads, rejoice,
Redemption draweth nigh!
Now breathes a softer air,
Now shines a milder sky;
The early trees put forth
Their new and tender leaf;
Hushed is the moaning wind
That told of winter's grief.
Lift up your heads, rejoice,
Redemption draweth nigh!
Now mount the leaden clouds,
Now flames the darkening sky;
The early scattered drops
Descend with heavy fall,
And to the waiting earth
The hidden thunders call.
Lift up your heads, rejoice,
Redemption draweth nigh!
O note the varying signs
Of earth, and air, and sky;
The God of glory comes
In gentleness and might,
To comfort and alarm,
To succor and to smite.
He comes, the wide world's King,
He comes, the true heart's Friend,
New gladness to begin,
And ancient wrong to end;
He comes, to fill with light
The weary waiting eye:
Lift up your heads, rejoice,
Redemption draweth nigh.
He leadeth me! Oh, blessèd thought! Oh words with heavenly comfort fraught! Whate'er I do, where'er I be,
Still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me.
He leadeth me! He leadeth me!
By His own hand He leadeth me;
His faithful follower I would be,
For by His hand He leadeth me.
Sometimes 'mid scenes of deepest gloom,
Sometimes where Eden's bowers bloom,
By waters calm, o'er troubled sea,
Still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me.
Lord, I would clasp Thy hand in mine;
Nor ever murmur nor repine;
Content, whatever lot I see,
Since 'tis God's hand that leadeth me.
And when my task on earth is done, When, by Thy grace, the victory's won, E'en death's cold wave I will not flee, Since Thou through Jordan leadest me.
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES, 1860
Lord of all being, throned afar,
Thy glory flames from star to star:
Center and soul of every sphere,
Yet to each loving heart how near!
Sun of our life, thy quickening ray
Sheds on our path the glow of day;
Star of our hope, thy softened light
Cheers the long watches of the night.
Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn;
Our noontide is thy gracious dawn;
Our rainbow arch thy mercy's sign;
All, save the clouds of sin, are thine.
Lord of all life, below, above
Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love,
Before thy ever-blazing throne
We ask no luster of our own.
Grant us thy truth to make us free,
And kindling hearts that burn for thee,
Till all thy living altars claim
One holy light, one heavenly flame.
City of God, how broad and far
Out-spread thy walls sublime!
The true thy chartered free men are
Of every age and clime.
One holy Church, one army strong,
One steadfast high intent,
One working band, one harvest song,
One King omnipotent!
How purely hath thy speech come down
From man's primeval youth;
How grandly hath thine empire grown
Of freedom, love, and truth!
How gleam thy watchfires through the night
With never-fainting ray!
How rise thy towers, serene and bright,
To meet the dawning day!
In vain the surge's angry shock,
In vain the drifting sands:
Unharmed upon the eternal Rock
The eternal City stands.
O DAY OF REST AND GLADNESS
CHRISTOPHER WORDSWORTH, 1862
O day of rest and gladness,
O day of joy and light,
O balm of care and sadness,
Most beautiful, most bright!
On Thee the high and lowly,
Through ages joined in tune,
Sing, "Holy, holy, holy!"
To the great God triune.
Thou art a port protected
From storms that round us rise;
A garden intersected
With streams of paradise;
Thou art a cooling fountain
In life's dry dreary sand;
From thee, like Pisgah's mountain,
We view our promised land.
Today on weary nations
The heavenly manna falls;
To holy convocations
The silver trumpet calls;
Where gospel light is glowing
With pure and radiant beams,
And living water flowing
With soul-refreshing streams.
A day of sweet reflection
Thou art, a day of love,
A day of resurrection
From earth to things above.
New graces ever gaining
From this our day of rest,
We reach the rest remaining
To spirits of the blest.
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