rivalled by Zaragoza. The author is happy to the people there was none with me, for I will tread refer his readers to the interesting narrative of his them in mine anger, and trample them in my friend Mr. Vaughan. fury."-Isaiah lxiii. 3. Hymns WRITTEN FOR THE WEEKLY CHURCH SERVICE OF THE YEAR. Several of these hymns were originally published in the Christian Observer, in the years 1811 and 1812, and were then accompanied by the following prefatory notice, which it is thought due to the author, should be here preserved. "The following Hymns are part of an intended series, appropriate to the Sundays, and principal holidays of the year; connected in some degree with their particular Collects and Gospels, and designed to be sung between the Nicene Creed and the Sermon. The effect of an arrangement of this kind, though only partially adopted, is very striking in the Romish liturgy; and its place should seem to be imperfectly supplied by a few verses of a Psalm, entirely unconnected with the peculiar devotions of the day, and selected at the discretion of a clerk or organist. On the merits of the present imperfect essays, the author is unaffectedly diffident; and as his labours are intended for the use of his own congregation, he will be thankful for any suggestion which may advance or correct them. In one respect, at least, he hopes the following poems will not be found reprehensible;-no fulsome or indecorous language has been knowingly adopted: no erotic addresses to him whom no unclean lip can approach, no allegory ill understood, and worse applied. It is not enough, in his opinion, to object to such expressions that they are fanatical; they are positively profane. When our Saviour was on earth and in great humility conversant with mankind; when he sat at the tables, and washed the feet, and healed the diseases of his creatures; yet did not his disciples give him any more fami liar name than Master or Lord. And now at the right hand of his Father's majesty, shall we address him with ditties of embraces and passion, or language which it would be dis graceful in an earthly sovereign to endure? Such expressions, it is said, are taken from Scripture; but even if the original application, which is often doubtful, were clearly and unequivocally ascertained, yet, though the collective Christian church may very properly be personified as the spouse of Christ, an application of such language to individual believers. is as dangerous as it is absurd and unauthorized. Nor is it going too far to assert, that the brutalities of a common swearer can hardly bring religion into more sure contempt, or more scandalously profane the Name which is above every name in heaven and earth, than certain epithets applied to Christ in our popular collections of religious poetry." Bishop Heber subsequently arranged these hymns, with some others by various writers, in a regular series adapted to the services of the Church of England throughout the year, and it was his intention to publish them soon after his arrival in India; but the arduous duties of his station left little time, during the short life there allotted to him, for any employment not immediately connected with his diocese. This arrangement of them has been published in England since his death, and republished in this country. ADVENT SUNDAY. MATT. XXI. HOSANNA to the living Lord! Hosanna, Lord! thine angels cry; Oh, Saviour! with protecting care, But chiefest, in our cleansed breast, So, in the last and dreadful day, SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT. JOHN I. THE Lord will come! the earth shall quake, The Lord will come! but not the same The Lord will come! a dreadful form, Can this be Thee who wont to stray Go, tyrants! to the rocks complain! SECOND SUNDAY IN ADVENT. In the sun and moon and stars Soon shall ocean's hoary deep, Tossed with stronger tempests, rise: Shall the Judge of men appear. Come, Jesus! come! return again; With brighter beam thy servants bless, Who long to feel thy perfect reign, And share thy kingdom's happiness! A feeble race, by passion driven, In darkness and in doubt we roam, And lift our anxious eyes to Heaven, Our hope, our harbour, and our home! Yet mid the wild and wint'ry gale, When Death rides darkly o'er the sea, And strength and earthly daring fail, Our prayers, Redeemer! rest on Thee! Come, Jesus! come! and, as of yore The prophet went to clear thy way, A harbinger thy feet before, A dawning to thy brighter day: So now my grace with heavenly shower Then come and reap thy harvest there! THE FOURTH SUNDAY IN ADVENT. THE world is grown old, and her pleasures are past; The world is grown old, and her form may not last; Our heart is in heaven, our home is not here, near! THIRD SUNDAY IN ADVENT. MATT. XI. OH, Saviour, is thy promise fled? No longer might thy grace endure, To heal the sick and raise the dead, And preach thy gospel to the poor? CHRISTMAS DAY. OH, Saviour, whom this holy morn Incarnate Word! by every grief, Who shall yet return from high, EPIPHANY. 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! Cold on his cradle the dew drops are shining, Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall, Angels adore him in slumber reclining, Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all! Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion, Vainly we offer each ample oblation; Vainly with gifts would his favour secure : Richer by far is the heart's adoration; Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. 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! FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. LUKE II. ABASHED be all the boast of age! Be hoary learning dumb! Expounder of the mystic page, Behold an Infant come! Oh, Wisdom, whose unfading power Beside th' Eternal stood, To frame, in nature's earliest hour, The land, the sky, the flood; Yet didst not Thou disdain awhile An infant form to wear; With Israel's elders round, Thy chiefest joy was found. So may our youth adore thy name! FIRST SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. By cool Siloam's shady rill How sweet the lily grows! How sweet the breath beneath the hill Of Sharon's dewy rose! Lo! such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod; The rose that blooms beneath the hill And soon, too soon, the wint'ry hour Will shake the soul with sorrow's power, O Thou, whose infant feet were found Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned, Dependent on thy bounteous breath, In childhood, manhood, age and death, SECOND SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. The stream thy word to nectar dyed, Though now no more on earth we trace FOR THE SAME. INCARNATE Word, who, wont to dwell Oh, when our soul from care is free, Then may we seem, in Fancy's ear, So may such joy, chastised and pure, FOR THE SAME. WHEN on her Maker's bosom The heir of Nature stood, Yet in that hour of blessing, A single want was known; Oh, God of pure affection! To Cana's nuptial board. To wedded love be shown, Whom thou hast linked in one. From the lusts whose deep pollutions From the miser's cursed treasure, From the drunkard's jest obscene, From the world, its pomp and pleasure, Jesus! Master! make us clean! FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPI- WHEN through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming, When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming, Nor hope lends a ray the poor seamen to cherish, We fly to our Maker-" Help, Lord! or we perish!" Oh, Jesus! once tossed on the breast of the billow, And oh, when the whirlwind of passion is raging, THIRD SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. That wait on life's declining year, MATT. VIII. LORD! whose love, in power excelling, Washed the leper's stain away. Jesus! from thy heavenly dwelling, Hear us, help us, when we pray! From the filth of vice and folly, From infuriate passion's rage, Evil thoughts and hopes unholy, Heedless youth and selfish age; Secure a blessing for your age, "And ye, whose locks of scanty gray "One hour remains, there is but one! |