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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
Was early ripe to ill;

I pass'd from folly on to crime,
And yet He call'd me still.

He call'd me in the time of dread,
When death was full in view,
I trembled on my feverish bed,
And rose to sin anew!

Yet could I hear Him once again

As I have heard of old,

Methinks He should not call in vain
His wanderer to the fold.

Oh Thou that every thought canst know,
And answer every prayer;
Oh give me sickness, want, or woe,
But snatch me from despair!

My struggling will by grace controul,
Renew my broken vow !

What blessed light breaks on my soul?
O God! I hear Thee now.

SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY.

THE God of Glory walks His round,
From day to day, from year to year,
And warns us each with awful sound,

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"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
Foretell your latest travail near,
How swiftly fades your worthless day!
And stand ye yet so idle here?

“One hour remains, there is but one!
But many a shriek and many a tear
Through endless years the guilt must moan

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!

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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,
Do Thou Thy grace supply;

The hope in earthly furrows sown
Shall ripen in the sky!

QUINQUAGESIMA.

LORD of Mercy and of Might,
Of mankind the life and light,
Maker, Teacher infinite,

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,
Humbled to a mortal child,
Captive, beaten, bound, reviled,
Jesus, hear and save!

Throned above celestial things,
Borne aloft on angels' wings,
Lord of lords, and King of kings,
Jesus, hear and save!

Soon to come to earth again,
Judge of angels and of men,

Hear us now, and hear us then,
Jesus, hear and save!

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!
Blessed was the parent's eye

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!
Blessed was the womb that bore Thee!
Mary, mother meek and mild,
Blessed was she in her child!

FOURTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

OH King of earth and air and sea!
The hungry ravens cry to Thee;
To Thee the scaly tribes that sweep
The bosom of the boundless deep;

To Thee the lions roaring call,
The common Father, kind to all!
Then grant Thy servants, Lord! we pray,
Our daily bread from day to day!

The fishes may for food complain ;
The ravens spread their wings in vain;
The roaring lions lack and pine!
But, God! Thou carest still for Thine!

Thy bounteous hand with food can bless
The bleak and lonely wilderness;
And Thou hast taught us, Lord! to pray
For daily bread from day to day!

And oh, when through the wilds we roam
That part us from our heavenly home;
When lost in danger, want, and woe,
Our faithless tears begin to flow;

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