While angels in their songs rejoice The saints, in prayer, appear as one, Nor prayer is made on earth alone, O thou by whom we come to God, Montgomery. Communing with our Hearts. Return, my roving heart, return, Wisdom and pleasure dwell at home; And thou, my God, whose piercing eye Through all the mazes of my heart, Then, with the visits of thy love, Sufferings of Christ. Doddridge. Thou soft flowing Kedron, by thy silver stream, Our Saviour at midnight, when the moon's pensive beam [stray, Shone bright on the waters, would oftentimes And lose in thy murmurs the toils of the day! Come saints, bow before him, come bow at his feet; O give him the glory the praise that is meet; Let joyful hosannas unceasing arise [skies. And join the full chorus that gladdens the How damp were the vapours that fell on his head, How hard was his pillow! how humble his bed'; The angels astonished grew sad at the sight, And followed their master with solemn delight. Come saints, bow before him, &c. O garden of Olivet, dear honor'd spot! The fame of thy wonders shall ne'er be forgot! The theme most transporting to seraphs above! The triumph of sorrow, the triumph of love! Come saints, bow before him, &c. Altered from Marie de Fleury. Gethsemane. 'Tis midnight-and on Olive's brow, The star is dimm'd that lately shone; 'Tis midnight, in the garden now, The suffering Saviour prays alone. 'Tis midnight-and from all removed, Emmanuel wrestles lone with fears; E'en the disciple that he loved Heeds not his master's grief and tears. 'Tis midnight-and for others guilt, "Tis midnight-and from ether plains From Mark's Coll. Comfort under affliction. When gathering clouds around I view, He sees my griefs, allays my fears, If ought should tempt my soul to stray To fly the good I would pursue, If wounded love my bosom swell, When vexing thoughts within me rise, When mourning o'er some stone I bend, And O! when I have safely past R. Grant,-Edinburgh Sacred Poetry. |