HE foe behind, the deep before, THE fee the red and sea: Our hofts have dared and passed the And Pharaoh's warriors ftrew the fhore, Turning sorrow Into peace and mirth! Love descending O'er the earth! Seals affuring, Watch his earthly prison: Seals are fhattered, Guards are scattered, Chrift hath risen! No longer must the mourners weep, Eden's door Open ftands to mortal eyes; For Chrift hath risen, and men fhall rise : Old things paft, Hope and joy and peace begin : It is not exile, reft on high: It is not sadness, peace from ftrife: To fall asleep is not to die; To dwell with Chrift is better life. He will guide us through: Chrift hath gone before us; Chriftians! follow you! J. M. Neale. 1851. HUS saith God of His Anointed; THU He fhall let my people go; 'Tis the work for Him appointed, 'Tis the work that He fhall do; And my city He fhall found, and build it too. He whom man with scorn refuses, Him the highest place awaits; Shall do homage at His gates. He shall humble all the scorners, He fhall liberty proclaim. He fhall gather those that wandered; They shall be with glory crowned. Thomas Kelley. 1809. PRAYER BEFORE BATTLE. F ATHER, I call on thee, Through the dun smoke and the clangor of battle, The lightning and dread thunder's rattle; War's great Dispenser, I call on thee. Thou, Father, lead me. Thou, Father, lead me; Lead me to victory, or lead me to death. Lord, as thou willeft, so lead me. God, I would know thee; When, like the autumn leaves driven together, Source of my faith, I would know thee. Thou, Father, bless me. Into thy hands would my freed spirit go; In life and in death do thou bless me. Father, I praise thee. This is the field for the fight of the Lord; In fall or in triumph, I praise thee. God, I give all to thee. When, on the battle-field, death sends me greeting, When my warm life-blood is fleeting, Take me, for thou haft redeemed me. Father, I call on thee. From the German of Körner. 1791-1813. PSALM. A SAFE ftronghold our God is ftill, A trufty fhield and weapon; He'll help us clear from all the ill That hath us now o'ertaken. The ancient prince of Hell Hath risen with purpose fell; Strong mail of craft and power He weareth in this hour: On earth is not his fellow. With force of arms we nothing can; And were this world all devils o'er And watching to devour us, We lay it not to heart so sore, Not that they can overpower us. |