The Treasury of Sacred Song: Selected from the English Lyrical Poetry of Four CenturiesClarendon Press, 1890 - 374 sider |
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adore Angels art thou babe beatific beauty behold bless blest bliss blood breast breath bright canst child CHRIST clouds dark dead Dean Prior dear death didst divine dost doth dust dwell e'en earth earthly Emmie eternal evermore eyes faith fear flowers foes glorious glory God's grace grief hand happy hath hear heart Heaven heavenly holy Holy Orders hope hour hymns JESUS John Keble King King of kings light live LORD mercy morning never night o'er pain peace Peterhouse poem poetry praise prayer rest rise round sacred saints Saviour Scethrog shine sigh sight sing sins skies sleep smile song soul spirit stars sweet Sweet baby tears Thee Thine things Thou art Thou hast thought throne Thy Name Thyself unto verse vex'd voice weary weep Westminster School wilt wings words
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Side 308 - I heard the voice of JESUS say, ' Come unto Me and rest ; Lay down, thou weary one, lay down Thy head upon My Breast ;' I came to JESUS as I was, Weary, and worn, and sad ; I found in Him a resting-place, And He has made me glad. I heard the voice of JESUS say, ' Behold I freely give The living water, thirsty one, Stoop down, and drink, and live...
Side 108 - He that hath found some fledged bird's nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown ; But what fair well or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep.
Side 205 - IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; The holy time is quiet as a Nun Breathless with adoration...
Side 170 - Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to thy cross I cling ; Naked, come to Thee for dress ; Helpless, look to Thee for grace ; Foul, I to the Fountain fly, Wash me, Saviour, or I die...
Side 34 - Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, The dew shall weep thy fall to-night, — For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, — And thou must die.
Side 11 - CXLVI. Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend...
Side 195 - They rest not day and night, saying. Holy, holy, [PM holy, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come" TJTOLY, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty! Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee: Holy, holy, holy!
Side 190 - Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try ; Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice, Returning from his ways ; While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry,
Side 185 - The calm retreat, the silent shade, With prayer and praise agree ; And seem by Thy sweet bounty made For those who follow Thee.
Side 194 - Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid! Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid!