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And let the prince of Hell
Look grim as e'er he will,
He harms us not a whit;

For why? His doom is writ,
A word shall quickly say him.

God's word, for all their craft and force,

One moment will not linger,
But, spite of Hell, shall have its course :
'Tis written by his finger.

And though they take our life,
Goods, honor, children, wife,
Yet is their profit small :

These things shall vanish all,
The City of God remaineth.

Martin Luther. 1483-1501.

BURIED TOGETHER.

TO COLONEL ROBERT G. SHAW.

FAIR-HAIRED Northern hero,

With thy guard of dusky hue, Up from the field of battle

Rise to the last review!

Sweep downwards, holy angels,

In legions dazzling bright,
And bear these souls together

Before Christ's throne of light.

The Master, who remembers

The cross, the thorns, the spear, .
Smiles on the risen freedmen,

As their ransomed souls appear.

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C o to the grave in all thy glorious prime,

U In full activity of zeal and power ; A Christian cannot die before his time;

The Lord's appointment is the servant's hour.

Go to the grave; at noon from labor cease ;

Reft on thy sheaves; thy harvest-task is done ; Come from the heat of battle, and in peace,

Soldier, go home; with thee the fight is won. Go to the grave ; for there thy Saviour lay

In death's embrace, ere he arose on high ; And all the ransomed, by that narrow way,

Pass to eternal life beyond the sky.

Go to the grave; — no; take thy seat above;

Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord, Where thou for faith and hope haft perfect love, And open vision for the written word.

J. Montgomery. 1803 - 1853.

n HOLY Father, just and true

Are all thy works and words and ways, And unto thee alone are due

Thanksgiving and eternal praise ! As children of thy gracious care,

We veil the eye, we bend the knee, With broken words of praise and prayer,

Father and God, we come to thee.

For thou hast heard, O God of right,

The fighing of the hapless slave;
And stretched for him the arm of might,

Not shortened that it could not save.

The laborer fits beneath his vine,

The shackled soul and hand are free; —
Thanksgiving ! — for the work is thine !

Praise ! — for the blessing is of thee.

Speed on thy work, Lord God of hosts!

And when the bondsman's chain is riven,
And swells from all our country's coasts

The anthem of the free to heaven,
O, not to those whom thou hast led,

As with thy cloud and fire before,
But unto thee, in fear and dread,
Be praise and glory evermore.

7. G. Whittier.

PREPARE YE THE WAY OF THE LORD.

1 VOICE from the desert comes awful and shrill ;
M The Lord is advancing ; prepare ye the way!
The word of his promise he comes to fulfil,
And o'er the dark world pour the splendor of day.

Bring down the proud mountain, though towering to heaven,
And be the low valley exalted on high;
The rough path and crooked be made smooth and even,
He cometh ! our King, our Redeemer is nigh.

The beams of salvation his progress illume,
The lone, dreary wilderness sings of her God;
The rose and the myrtle there suddenly bloom,
And the olive of peace spreads its branches abroad.

Drummond. 1585 – 1649.

comes a bright ways reign ;

When freed

O PPRESSION shall not always reign;

There comes a brighter day,
When freedom, burst from every chain,

Shall have triumphant way.
Then right shall over might prevail,
And truth, like hero armed in mail,
The hosts of tyrant wrong assail,

And hold eternal sway.

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The hour of triumph comes apace,

The fated, promised hour,

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