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Arthur Sullivan, 1874

We hail Thee, Lord, Thy Church's rock, With joy-ful ac

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Thou guardian Shepherd of Thy flock, Come, feed Thy con-gre - ga - tion.

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We own the doc-trine of Thy cross To be our sole foun-da - tion:

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Dear Christians,one and all, re-joice, With ex- ult-a-tion spring-ing,

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Had God not come, may Is - rael say, Had God not come to

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us, Our en - e - mies on that sad day Would sure-ly have dis

mayed us;

rem - nant now, and

hand - ful small, Held

in con-tempt and scorn by all, Who cruel-ly would op - press us.

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2 Their furious wrath, did God permit,

Would quickly have consumed us, And in the deep and yawning pit

With life and limb entombed us; Like men o'er whom dark waters roll, The streams had gone e'en o'er our And mightily o'er whelmed us.[soul,

3 Thanks be to God, who from the pit

Snatched us, when it was gaping: Our souls, like birds that break the

To the blue sky escaping; [net, The snare is broken-we are free! The Lord our helper praised be, The God of earth and heaven.

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Arthur Sullivan, 1874

o Thee, (). Lord, our hearts we raise In hymns of ad - o

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To Thee bring sac- ri - fice

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The val-leys stand so thick with corn That e- ven they are sing - ing.

2 And now, on this our festal day,

Thy bounteous hand confessing, Upon Thine altar, Lord, we lay

The first-fruits of Thy blessing; By Thee the souls of men are fed

With gifts of grace supernal; Thou who dost give us earthly bread,

Give us the bread eternal. 3 We bear the burden of the day,

And often toil seems dreary; But labor ends with sunset ray,

And rest comes for the weary;

May we, the angel-reaping o'er,

Stand at the last accepted, Christ's golden sheaves for evermore

To garners bright elected. 4 O blessed is that land of God,

Where saints abide for ever; Where golden fields spread far and

Where flows the crystal river;[broad, The strains of all its holy throng

With ours to-day are blending; Thrice blessed is that harvest-song Which never hath an ending.

W.C. Dix, 1864

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