Oh madder than the raving man! Oh deafer than the sea; How long the time since Christ began To call in vain on me? He call'd me when my thoughtless prime I pass'd from folly on to crime, He call'd me in the time of dread, Yet could I hear Him once again As I have heard of old, Methinks He should not call in vain Oh Thou that every thought canst know, My struggling will by grace controul, What blessed light breaks on my soul? SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY. THE God of Glory walks His round, "Ye whose young cheeks are rosy bright, Whose hands are strong, whose hearts are clear, Waste not of hope the morning light! Ah fools! why stand ye idle here? Oh, as the griefs ye would assuage That wait on life's declining year, Secure a blessing for your age, And work your Maker's business here! "And ye, whose locks of scanty grey “One hour remains, there is but one! Of moments lost and wasted here!' O Thou, by all Thy works adored, To whom the sinner's soul is dear, Recall us to Thy vineyard, Lord! And grant us grace to please Thee here! SEXAGESIMA SUNDAY. OH God! by whom the seed is given; By whom the harvest blest; Whose word, like manna shower'd from Heaven, Is planted in our breast; Preserve it from the passing feet, And plunderers of the air; The sultry sun's intenser heat, And weeds of worldly care! Though buried deep or thinly strewn, The hope in earthly furrows sown QUINQUAGESIMA. LORD of Mercy and of Might, Jesus, hear and save! Who, when sin's primæval doom Gave creation to the tomb, Didst not scorn a Virgin's womb, Jesus, hear and save! Strong Creator, Saviour mild, Throned above celestial things, Soon to come to earth again, Hear us now, and hear us then, THIRD SUNDAY IN LENT. VIRGIN-BORN! we bow before Thee! Blessed was the womb that bore Thee! Mary, mother meek and mild, Blessed was she in her child! Blessed was the breast that fed Thee! Blessed was the hand that led Thee! That watch'd Thy slumbering infancy! Blessed she by all creation, Who brought forth the world's Salvation! And blessed they, for ever blest, Who love Thee most and serve Thee best! Virgin-born! we bow before Thee! FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT. OH King of earth and air and sea! To Thee the lions roaring call, The fishes may for food complain ; Thy bounteous hand with food can bless And oh, when through the wilds we roam |