O God, thou art our home, to whom we fly;
And so hast always been from age to age,
Before the hills did intercept the eye,
Or that the frame was up of earthly stage. One God thou wert, and art, and still shalt be: The line of time, it doth not measure thee!
Both death and life obey thy holy lore,
And visit in their turns as they are sent;
A thousand years with thee, they are no more
Than yesterday, which, ere it is, is spent:
Or, like a watch by night, that course doth keep,
And goes and comes, unwares to them that sleep.
Thou carriest man away as with a tide;
Then down swim all his thoughts that mounted
Much like a mocking dream that will not bide,
But flies before the sight of waking eye;
Or as the grass that cannot term obtain
To see the summer come about again.
Teach us, O Lord, to number well our days,
Thereby our hearts to wisdom to apply;
For that which guides man best in all his ways,
Is meditation of mortality.
This bubble light, this vapour of our breath,
Teach us to consecrate to hour of death.
DEFEND the poor and desolate;
And rescue from the hands
Of wicked men the low estate
Of him that help demands.
Regard the weak and fatherless;
Despatch the poor man's cause;
And raise the man in deep distress,
By just and equal laws.
Rise, God! judge thou the earth in might,
The oppressed land redress;
For Thou art He who shall by right
The nations all possess.
We trust the living Word. He spake of Providence above,
Of boundless power and ceaseless love, Caring for man, and beast, and bird— We trust the living Word!
We trust mute Nature's sign.
Returning days, returning springs,
All lovely and returning things,
Point to a Providence divine-
We trust mute Nature's sign.
We trust the heart of man.
In the deep workings of the mind,
The law and love of God we find,
And providential order scan—
We trust the heart of man.
We trust in God the Lord!
In man's warm heart his spirit glows: His spirit Nature's meaning shews— His spirit spake by Christ the Word— We trust the living Lord!
HE sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,
Alike they're needful for the flower;
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done.
Can loving children e'er reprove
With murmurs, whom they trust and love?
Creator! I would ever be
A trusting, loving child to thee:
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done.
O! ne'er will I at life repine-
Enough that thou hast made it mine.
When falls the shadow cold of death,
I yet will sing with parting breath,
As comes to me or shade or sun,
Father! thy will, not mine, be done.
THOUGH Wandering in a stranger-land,
Though on the waste no altar stand,
Take comfort! thou art not alone,
While Faith hath marked thee for her own.
Would'st thou a temple? look above,
The heavens stretch over all in love:
A book? for thine evangile scan
The wondrous history of man.
The holy band of saints renowned
Embrace thee, brother-like, around;
Their sufferings and their triumphs rise
In hymns immortal to the skies.
And though no organ-peal be heard,
In harmony the winds are stirred;
And there the morning stars upraise
Their ancient songs of deathless praise.
Either man's work, or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest :
They also serve who only stand and wait.
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