HYMNS.OF THE AGES. ASPIRATION. THE OFFERING. HEY gave to Thee TH Myrrh, frankincense and gold; But, Lord, with what fhall we Present ourselves before thy majesty, Whom Thou redeemedft when we were sold? We've nothing but ourselves, and scarce that neither; Vile dirt and clay; Yet it is soft and may Impreffion take. Accept it, Lord, and say, this Thou hadft rather; Stamp it, and on this sordid metal make Thy holy image, and it shall outshine The beauty of the golden mine. Amen. Jeremy Taylor. 1650. MY PEACE. Y soul, there is a countrie Where ftands a wingéd sentrie All fkilfull in the wars. There, above noise and danger, Sweet Peace sits crown'd with smiles, And One born in a manger Commands the beauteous files. He is thy gracious friend To die here for thy sake. There growes the flowre of peace, For none can thee secure Henry Vaughan. 1621-1695. |