Thy saints have dwelt secure;

Sufficient is thine arm alone,

And our defence is sure.

Before the hills in order stood,

Or earth received her frame,

From everlasting thou art God,

To endless years the same.

Thy word commands our flesh, “To dust

Return ye sons of men:”

All nations rose from earth at first

And turn to earth again.

A thousand ages in thy sight

Are like an evening gone,

Short as the watch that ends the night

Before the rising sun.

The busy tribes of flesh and blood,

With all their lives and cares,

Are carried downward by thy flood,

And lost in following years.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away:

They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.

Like flowery fields the nations stand,

Pleas’d with the morning light,

The flowers beneath the mower’s hand

Lie withering ere ’tis night.

Our God, our help in ages past,

Our hope for years to come,

Be thou our guard while troubles last,

And our eternal home.

Psalm C

William Kethe ((—) circa 1562)

ALL people that on earth do dwell,

Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice,

Him serve with fear, his praise forth tell,

Come ye before him and rejoice.

The Lord ye know is God indeed;

Without our aid he did us make;

We are his folk, he doth us feed,

And for his sheep he doth us take.

O enter then his gates with praise,

Approach with joy his courts unto;

Praise, laud, and bless his name always,

For it is seemly so to do.

For why, the Lord our God is good,

His mercy is forever sure;

His truth at all times firmly stood,

And shall from age to age endure.

Psalm CIV

Sir Robert Grant (1785—1838)

O WORSHIP the King all glorious above!

O gratefully sing his power and his love,—

Our Shield and Defender, the Ancient of days,

Pavilioned in splendor, and girded with praise.

O tell of his might, O sing of his grace,

Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space;

His chariots of wrath the deep thunder-clouds form,

And dark is his path on the wings of the storm.

The earth with its store of wonders untold,

Almighty, thy power hath founded of old,

Hath’ stablish’d it fast by a changeless decree,

And round it hath cast, like a mantle, the sea.

Thy bountiful care what tongue can recite—

It breathes in the air, it shines in the light,

It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain,

And sweetly distils in the dew and the rain.

Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail,

In thee do we trust, nor find thee to fail.

Thy mercies how tender, how firm to the end!

Our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend.

O measureless Might! Ineffable Love!

While angels delight to hymn thee above,

The humber creation, tho’ feeble their lays,

With true adoration shall lisp to thy praise.

Greek Hymns

Gloria in Excelsis

Anonymous (4th Century or earlier)

GLORY be to God on high, and in earth, peace, good will towards men. We praise thee, we bless thee, we worship thee, we glorify thee, we give thanks to thee for thy great glory, O Lord God, heavenly King, God the Father Almighty.

O Lord, the only-begotten Son, Jesu Christ; O Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father, that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. Thou that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. Thou that takest away the sins of the world, receive our prayer. Thou that sittest at the right hand of God the Father, have mercy upon us.

For thou only art holy; thou only art the Lord; thou only, O Christ, with the Holy Ghost, art most high in the glory of God the Father. Amen.

Shepherd of Tender Youth

St. Clement of Alexandria. Tr. H. M. Dexter ((—) 170—220)

SHEPHERD of tender youth

Guidign in love and truth

Through devious ways;

Christ our triumphant king,

We come Thy name to sing;

Hither our children bring

Tributes of praise.

Thou art our holy Lord,

The all-subduing Word,

Healer of strife:

Thou didst Thyself abase,

That from sin’s deep disgrace

Thou mightest save our race,

And give us life.

Thou art the great High-Priest;

Thou hast prepared the feast

Of heavenly love;

While in our mortal pain

None calls on Thee in vain;

Help Thou dost not disdain,

Help from above.

Ever be Thou our guide,

Our shepherd and our pride,

Our staff and song:

Jesus, Thou Christ of God,

By Thy perennial word

Lead us where Thou hast trod,

Make our faith strong.

So now, and till we die,

Sound we Thy praises high,

And joyful sing.

Let all the holy throng

Who to Thy Church belong,

Unite and swell the song

To Christ our King!

The Day is Past and Over

Attributed to St. Anatolius. Tr. J. M. Neale (458 A. D.)

THE DAY is past and over;

All thanks, O Lord, to Thee;

I pray Thee now that sinless

The hours of dark may be:

O Jesu, keep me in Thy sight,

And guard me through the coming night.

The joys of day are over;

I lift my heart to Thee,

And ask Thee that offenceless

The hours of dark may be:

O Jesu, keep me in Thy sight,

And guard me through the coming night.

The toils of day are over:

I raise the hymn to Thee

And ask that free from peril

The hours of dark may be:

O Jesu, keep me in Thy sight,

And guard me through the coming night.

Be Thou my soul’s preserver,

For Thou alone dost know

How many are the perils

Through which I have to go:

O loving Jesu, hear my call,

And guard and save me from them all.

The Day of Resurrection

St. John of Damascus. Tr. John Mason Neale ( circa 780)

’TIS the day of resurrection,—

Earth, tell it out abroad,—

The passover of gladness,

The passover of God.

From death to life eternal,

From this world to the sky,

Our Christ hath brought us over

With hymns of victory.

Our hearts be pure from evil,

That we may see aright

The Lord in rays eternal

Of resurrection-light,

And, listening to his accents,

May hear, so calm and plain,

His own “All hail!” and, hearing,

May raise the victor-strain.

Now let the heavens be joyful,

Let earth her song begin,

Let the round world keep triumph

And all that is therein,

Invisible and visible,

Their notes let all things blend;

For Christ the Lord hath risen,

Our joy that hath no end.

Art Thou Weary—

St. Stephen the Sabaite. Tr. J. M. Neale (725—794)

ART thou weary, art thou languid,

Art thou sore distrest—

“Come to Me,” saith One, “and coming

Be at rest!”

Hath He marks to lead me to Him,

If He be my Guide—

“In His Feet and Hands are wound-prints,

And His side.”

Hath He diadem as Monarch

That His Brow adorns—

“Yea a Crown, in very surety,

But of thorns.”

If I find Him, if I follow,

What His guerdon here—

“Many a sorrow, many a labour,

Many a tear.”

If I still hold closely to Him,

What hath He at last—

“Sorrow vanquished, labour ended,

Jordan past.”

If I ask Him to receive me,

Will He say me nay—

“Not till earth, and not till Heav’n

Pass away.”

Finding, following, keeping, struggling,

Is He sure to bless—

“Angels, Martyrs, Prophets, Virgins,

Answer, Yes!”

Latin Hymns

Te Deum Laudamus

Attributed to Niceta of Remisiana (4th Century)

WE praise thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord.

All the earth doth worship thee, the Father everlasting.

To thee all Angels cry aloud: the Heavens, and all the Powers therein.

To thee Churubin and Seraphin continually do cry,

Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth;

Heaven and earth are full of the Majesty of thy Glory.

The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee.

The goodly fellowship of the Prophets praise thee.

The noble army of Martyrs praise thee.

The holy Church throughout all the world doth acknowledge thee;

The Father, of an infinite Majesty;

Thine honourable, true, and only Son;

Also the Holy Ghost, the Comforter.

Thou art the King of Glory, O Christ!

Thou art the everlasting Son of the Father.

When thou tookest upon thee to deliver man, thou didst not abhor the Virgin’s womb.

When thou hadst overcome the sharpness of death, thou didst open the Kingdom of Heaven to all believers.

Thou sittest at the right hand of God in the Glory of the Father.

We believe that thou shalt come to be our Judge.

We therefore pray thee, help thy servants whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood.

Make them to be numbered with thy Saints in glory everlasting.

O Lord, save thy people and bless thine heritage.

Govern them, and lift them up for ever.

Day by day we magnify thee;

And we worship thy Name, ever world without end.

Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin.

O Lord, have mercy upon us: have mercy upon us.

O Lord, let thy mercy lighten upon us: as our trust is in thee.

O Lord, in thee have I trusted: let me never be confounded.

Veni Creator Spiritus

Attributed to Charlemagne. Tr. John Dryden (742—814)

CREATOR SPIRIT, by whose aid

The world’s foundations first were laid,

Come, visit every pious mind;

Come, pour thy joys on human kind;

From sin and sorrow set us free,

And make thy temples worthy thee.

O source of uncreated light,

The Father’s promised Paraclete,

Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,

Our hearts with heavenly love inspire;

Come, and thy sacred unction bring

To sanctify us while we sing.

Plenteous of grace, descend from high,

Rich in thy sevenfold energy;

Thou strength of his almighty hand,

Whose power does heaven and earth command,

Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,

And crown’st thy gift with eloquence.

Refine and purge our earthy parts,

But O, inflame and fire our hearts,

Our frailties help, our vice control;

Submit the senses to the soul,

And, when rebellious they are grown,

Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.

Chase from our minds the infernal foe,

And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;

And, lest our feet should step astray,

Protect and guide us in the way;

Make us eternal truths receive

And practise all that we believe

Give us thyself, that we may see

The Father and the Son by thee.

Immortal honour, endless fame,

Attend the Almighty Father’s name:

The Saviour Son be glorified,

Who for lost man’s redemption died;

And equal adoration be,

Eternal Paraclete, to thee.

Hic Breve Vivitur

From “De Contemptu Mundi” By Bernard of Morlaix. Tr. J. M. Neale ( cir. 1125)

BRIEF life is here our portion,

Brief sorrow, short-lived care;

The life that knows no ending,

The tearless life, is there.

And after fleshly scandal,

And after this world’s night,

And after storm and whirlwind,

Is calm and joy and light.

There grief is turned to pleasure,

Such pleasure as, below,

No human voice can utter,

No human heart can know:

The peace of all the faithful,

The calm of all the blest,

Inviolate, unvaried,

Divinest, sweetest, best.

That peace,—but who may claim it—

The guileless in their way,

Who keep the ranks of battle,

Who mean the thing they say.

Strive, man, to win that glory,

Toil, man, to gain that light,

Send hope before to grasp it,

Till hope be lost in sight!

Urbs Sion Aurea

From “De Contemptu Mundi” By Bernard of Morlaix. Tr. J. M. Neale ( cir. 1125)

JERUSALEM the golden,

With milk and honey blest,

Beneath thy contemplation

Sink heart and voice oppressed

I know not, O, I know not,

What social joys are there,

What radiancy of glory,

What light beyond compare!

They stand, those halls of Zion,

Conjubilant with song,

And bright with many an angel

And all the martyr throng.

And they who, with their Leader,

Have conquered in the fight,

Forever and forever

Are clad in robes of white.

Jerusalem the glorious,

The glory of the elect,

O dear and future vision

That eager hearts expect,

New mansion of new people,

Whom God’s own love and light

Promote, increase, make holy,

Identify, unite!

Jesu, Dulcis Memoria

St. Bernard of Clairvaux Tr. E. Caswall (1091—1153)

JESU, the very thought of Thee

With sweetness fills the breast;

But sweeter far Thy Face to see,

And in Thy Presence rest.

No voice can sing, no heart can frame,

Nor can the memory find

A sweeter sound than Jesu’s Name,

The Saviour of mankind.

O Hope of every contrite heart,

O Joy of all the meek,

To those who ask how kind Thou art,

How good to those who seek!

But what to those who find— Ah! this

Nor tongue nor pen can show;

The love of Jesus, what it is

None but His loved ones know.

Jesu, our only Joy be Thou,

As Thou our Prize wilt be:

In Thee be all our glory now,

And through eternity.

Jesu, Dulcedo Cordium

St. Bernard of Clairvaux. Tr. Ray Palmer (1091—1153)

JESUS, Thou Joy of loving hearts!

Thou Fount of Life! Thou Light of men!

From the best bliss that earth imparts,

We turn unfill’d to Thee again.

Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;

Thou savest those that on Thee call;

To them that seek Thee, Thou art good,

To them that find Thee, All in All!

We taste Thee, O Thou Living Bread,

And long to feast upon Thee still!

We drink of Thee, the Fountain Head,

And thirst our souls from Thee to fill!

Our restless spirits yearn for Thee,

Where’er our changeful lot is cast;

Glad, when Thy gracious smile we see,

Blest, when our faith can hold Thee fast.

O Jesus, ever with us stay!

Make all our moments calm and bright!

Chase the dark night of sin away,

Shed o’er the world Thy holy light!

Dies Iræ, Dies Illa

Thomas A. Celano. Tr. J. O’Hagan (d. 1275)

DAY of wrath, that day whose knelling

Gives to flame this earthly dwelling;

Psalm and Sibyl thus foretelling.

Oh, what agony of trembling,

When the judge mankind assembling,

Probeth all beyond dissembling.

Pealing wondrous through the regions,

Shall the trumpet force obedience,

And the graves yield up their legions.

Startled death and nature sicken,

Thus to see the creature quicken,

Waiting judgment terror-stricken.

Open, then, with all recorded,

Stands the book from whence awarded

Doom shall pass with deed accorded.

When the judge is throned in session,

All things hid shall find confession,

Unavenged be no transgression.

Wretch, what then shall be my pleading—

Who my patron interceding—

Scarce the just securely speeding.

Thou, O king of awful splendour,

Saving grace dost freely render;

Save me, fount of pity tender.

Think, ’twas I, my lost condition,

Caused, O pitying Lord, thy mission;

Spare my soul that day’s perdition.

Seeking me, thy footstep hasted;

Me to save, the cross was tasted,

Be not toil so mighty wasted.

Righteous judge of retribution,

Grant the gift of absolution

Ere the day of restitution.

Me my culprit heart accuses;

Inmost guilt my face suffuses;

Heal, O Lord, thy suppliant’s bruises.

Thou who Mary’s sin hast shriven,

Thou who broughtst the thief to heaven,

Hope to me hast also given.

Nothing worth is mine endeavour,

Yet, in ruth, my soul deliver

From the flame that burns for ever.

With thy sheep, thy chosen, place me,

Severed from the goats embrace me;

On thy right-hand, ransomed, place me.

When the reprobate confounded

Lie with wrathful fire surrounded,

May my call to bliss be sounded.

Crushed to dust and prostrate bending,

All my heart contrition rending;

I implore thee, guard my ending.

Oh, that awful day of mourning,

When, from earthly dust returning,

Guilty man shall bide his sentence;

Spare him, God, for his repentance.

Jesus, Lord, thy mercy lending,

Grant them rest, thy rest unending.

Stabat Mater

Jacobus de Benedictis. Tr. D. F. Maccarthy (13th—14th Century)

BY the cross, on which suspended,

With his bleeding hands extended,

Hung that Son she so adored,

Stood the mournful Mother weeping,

She whose heart, its silence keeping,

Grief had cleft as with a sword.

Oh, that Mother’s sad affliction—

Mother of all benediction—

Of the sole-begotten One;

Oh, the grieving, sense-bereaving,

Of her heaving breast, perceiving

The dread sufferings of her Son.

What man is there so unfeeling,

Who, his heart to pity steeling,

Could behold that sight unmoved—

Could Christ’s Mother see there weeping,

See the pious Mother keeping

Vigil by the Son she loved—

For his people’s sins atoning,

She saw Jesus writhing, groaning,

’Neath the scourge wherewith he bled;

Saw her loved one, her consoler,

Dying in his dreadful dolour,

Till at length his spirit fled.

O thou Mother of election,

Fountain of all pure affection,

Make thy grief, thy pain, my own;

Make my heart to God returning,

In the love of Jesus burning,

Feel the fire that thine has known.

Blessed Mother of prediction,

Stamp the marks of crucifixion

Deeply on my stony heart,

Ever leading where thy bleeding

Son is pleading for my needing,

Let me in his wounds take part.

Make me truly, each day newly

While life lasts, O Mother, duly

Weep with him, the Crucified.

Let me, ’tis my sole demanding,

Near the cross, where thou art standing,

Stand in sorrow at thy side.

Queen of virgins, best and dearest,

Grant, oh, grant the prayer thou hearest,

Let me ever mourn with thee;

Let compassion me so fashion

That Christ’s wounds, his death and passion,

Be each day renewed in me.

Oh, those wounds do not deny me;

On that cross, oh, crucify me;

Let me drink his blood I pray:

Then on fire, enkindled, daring,

I may stand without despairing

On that dreadful judgment-day.

May that cross be my salvation;

Make Christ’s death my preservation;

May his grace my heart make wise;

And when death my body taketh,

May my soul when it awaketh

Ope in heaven its raptured eyes.

Adeste Fideles, Called “The Portuguese Chapel Hymn.”

Anonymous. Tr. J. R. Beste (15th—16th Century)

HASTEN, ye faithful, glad, joyful, and holy,

Speed ye to Bethlem to honour the Word;

See there the King of angels is born lowly—

Oh, come and kneel before him;

Oh, come and all adore him;

Oh come, oh come, rejoicing to honour the Lord.

God of the Godhead, true Light unabated,

Mary the Virgin has borne the Adored;

True God eternal, begot, uncreated—

Oh, come and kneel before him;

Oh, come and all adore him;

Oh come, oh come, rejoicing to honour the Lord.

Sing, all ye angels, till echoes rebounding

Swell through your halls, for ever be heard;

‘Glory to God,’ through all heaven resounding—

Oh, come and kneel before him;

Oh, come and all adore him;

Oh come, oh come, rejoicing to honour the Lord.

Praise to the Infant, who this day descended;

Glory to thee, blessed Jesus adored;

Word, in whom two natures join, yet unblended—

Oh, come and kneel before him;

Oh, come and all adore him;

Oh come, oh come, rejoicing to honour the Lord.

O Deus, Ego Amo Te

Attributed To St. Francis Xavier. Tr. Edward Caswall (1506—1552)

MY God, I love thee: not because

I hope for heaven thereby,

Nor because they who love thee not

Must burn eternally.

Thou, O my Jesus, Thou didst me

Upon the Cross embrace;

For me didst bear the nails and spear,

And manifold disgrace.

And grief and torments numberless,

And sweat of agony;

Yea, death itself; and all for me

Who was thine enemy.

Then why, O Blessèd Jesu Christ,

Should I not love thee well——

Not for the hope of winning heaven,

Nor of escaping hell;

Not with the hope of gaining aught,

Not seeking a reward;

But as thyself hast lovèd me,

O ever-loving Lord!

E’en so I love thee and will love,

And in thy praise will sing,

Solely because thou art my God,

And my eternal King.

Modern Hymns

A Mighty Fortress is Our God

Martin Luther. Tr. Frederick Henry Hedge (1483—1546)

A MIGHTY fortress is our God,

A bulwark never failing;

Our helper he, amid the flood

Of mortal ills prevailing.

For still our ancient foe

Doth seek to work us woe;

His craft and power are great;

And, armed with cruel hate,

On earth is not his equal.

Did we in our own strength confide,

Our striving would be losing,—

Were not the right man on our side,

The man of God’s own choosing.

Dost ask who that may be—

Christ Jesus, it is he,

Lord Sabaoth his name,

From age to age the same,

And he must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled,

Should threaten to undo us;

We will not fear, for God hath willed

His truth to triumph through us.

The prince of darkness grim,—

We tremble not for him;

His rage we can endure,

For lo! his doom is sure,—

One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers—

No thanks to them—abideth;

The Spirit and the gifts are ours

Through him who with us sideth.

Let goods and kindred go,

This mortal life also;

The body they may kill:

God’s truth abideth still,

His kingdom is forever.

Now Thank We All Our God

Martin Rinkart. Tr. Catherine Winkworth (1586—1649)

Now thank we all our God,

With heart and hands and voices,

Who wondrous things hath done,

In whom his world rejoices,

Who from our mothers’ arms

Hath blessed us on our way

With countless gifts of love,

And still is ours to-day.

O, may this bounteous God

Through all our life be near us,

With ever joyful hearts

And blessèd peace to cheer us,

And keep us in his grace,

And guide us when perplexed,

And free us from all ills

In this world and the next.

All praise and thanks to God,

The Father, now be given,

The Son, and him who reigns

With them in highest heaven:—

The One Eternal God,

Whom earth and heaven adore,

For thus it was, is now,

And shall be evermore!

Be Not Dismayed

Attributed to Gustavus Adolphus. Tr. Elizabeth Charles (1594—1632)

BE not dismayed, thou little flock,

Although the foe’s fierce battle-shock,

Loud on all sides, assail thee.

Though o’er thy fall they laugh secure,

Their triumph cannot long endure:

Let not thy courage fail thee.

Thy cause is God’s: go at his call,

And to his hand commit thy all.

Fear thou no ill impending.

His Gideon shall arise for thee,

God’s word and people manfully,

In God’s own time, defending.

Our hope is sure in Jesus’ might;

Against themselves the godless fight,

Themselves, not us, distressing.

Shame and contempt their lot shall be;

God is with us, with him are we;

To us belongs his blessing.

In Temptation

Charles Wesley (1708—1788)

Jesus, lover of my soul,

Let me to thy bosom fly,

While the nearer waters roll,

While the tempest still is high:

Hide me, O my Saviour, hide

Till the storm of life is past,

Safe into the haven guide,

O, receive my soul at last!

Other refuge have I none,

Hangs my helpless soul on thee;

Leave, ah, leave me not alone,

Still support and comfort me:

All my trust on thee is stayed,

All my help from thee I bring;

Cover my defenceless head

With the shadow of thy wing.

Wilt thou not regard my call—

Wilt thou not accept my prayer—

Lo! I sink, I faint, I fall!

Lo! on thee I cast my care!

Reach me out thy gracious hand

While I of thy strength receive,

Hoping against hope I stand,

Dying, and behold I live!

Thou, O Christ, art all I want;

More than all in thee I find:

Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,

Heal the sick and lead the blind!

Just and holy is thy name;

I am all unrighteousness;

False and full of sin I am,

Thou art full of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with thee is found,

Grace to cover all my sin;

Let the healing streams abound,

Make and keep me pure within:

Thou of life the fountain art;

Freely let me take of thee,

Spring thou up within my heart,

Rise to all eternity!

Christmas Hymn

Charles Wesley (1708—1788)

HARK! how all the welkin rings

Glory to the King of kings!

Peace on earth, and mercy mild,

God and sinners reconciled!

Joyful, all ye nations, rise,

Join the triumph of the skies;

Universal nature say,

Christ the Lord is born to-day!

Christ by highest Heaven adored,

Christ, the Everlasting Lord;

Late in time behold Him come,

Offspring of a Virgin’s womb:

Veiled in flesh the Godhead see;

Hail th’ Incarnate Deity,

Pleased as man with men to appear,

Jesus our Immanuel here!

Hail! the heavenly Prince of Peace!

Hail! the Sun of Righteousness!

Light and life to all He brings,

Risen with healing in His wings.

Mild He lays His glory by,

Born that man no more may die,

Born to raise the sons of earth,

Born to give them second birth.

Come, Desire of nations, come,

Fix in us Thy humble home!

Rise, the Woman’s conquering Seed,

Bruise in us the Serpent’s head!

Now display Thy saving power,

Ruined nature now restore,

Now in mystic union join

Thine to ours, and ours to Thine!

Adam’s likeness, Lord, efface;

Stamp Thy image in its place;

Second Adam from above,

Reinstate us in Thy love!

Let us Thee, though lost, regain,

Thee, the Life, the Heavenly Man:

O! to all Thyself impart,

Formed in each believing heart!

Light Shining Out of Darkness

William Cowper (1731—1800)

God moves in a mysterious way

His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up his bright designs,

And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust him for his grace;

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan his work in vain;

God is his own interpreter,

And he will make it plain.

The Future Peace and Glory of the Church

William Cowper (1731—1800)

HEAR what God, the Lord, hath spoken:

O my people, faint and few,

Comfortless, afflicted, broken,

Fair abodes I build for you.

Thorns of heart-felt tribulation

Shall no more perplex your ways:

You shall name your walls Salvation,

And your gates shall all be Praise.

There, like streams that feed the garden,

Pleasures without end shall flow;

For the Lord, your faith rewarding,

All his bounty shall bestow;

Still in undisturbed possession

Peace and righteousness shall reign;

Never shall you feel oppression,

Hear the voice of war again.

Ye no more your suns descending,

Waning moons no more shall see;

But your griefs, forever ending,

Find eternal noon in me.

God shall rise, and, shining o’er you,

Change to day the gloom of night;

He, the Lord, shall be your glory,

God your everlasting light.

Early Piety

Reginald Heber (1783—1826)

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,

Whose secret heart with influence sweet,

Is upward drawn to God.

By cool Siloam’s shady rill

The lily must decay;

The rose that blooms beneath the hill

Must shortly fade away;

And soon, too soon, the wintry hour

Of man’s maturer age

Will shake the soul with sorrow’s power

And stormy passion’s rage.

O Thou, whose infant feet were found

Within Thy Father’s shrine,

Whose years with changeless virtue crowned

Were all alike divine,

Dependent on Thy bounteous breath,

We seek Thy grace alone,

In childhood, manhood, age, and death

To keep us still Thine own.

The Holy Trinity

Reginald Heber (1783—1826)

HOLY, holy, holy! Lord God Almighty!

Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee;

Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and Mighty!

God in Three Persons, blessed Trinity!

Holy, holy, holy! all the saints adore Thee,

Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea.

Cherubim and seraphim falling down before Thee,

Which wert, and art, and evermore shalt be.

Holy, holy, holy! though the darkness hide Thee,

Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see,

Only Thou art holy, there is none beside Thee,

Perfect in power, in love, and purity.

Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty!

All Thy works shall praise Thy Name in earth and sky and sea;

Holy, holy, holy! Merciful and Mighty!

God in Three Persons, blessed Trinity!

Epiphany

Reginald Heber (1783—1826)

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 dewdrops 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,

Odors of Edom, and offerings divine,

Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,

Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine—

Vainly we offer each ample oblation,

Vainly with gifts would His favor 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!

Sun of My Soul, Thou Saviour Dear

John Keble (1792—1866)

SUN of my soul, Thou Saviour dear,

It is not night if Thou be near;

Oh may no earth-born cloud arise

To hide Thee from Thy servant’s eyes!

When the soft dews of kindly sleep

My weary eyelids gently steep,

Be my last thought how sweet to rest

Forever on my Saviour’s breast!

Abide with me from morn till eve,

For without Thee I cannot live;

Abide with me when night is nigh,

For without Thee I dare not die.

If some poor wandering child of Thine

Have spurned to-day the voice divine,

Now, Lord, the gracious work begin;

Let him no more lie down in sin.

Watch by the sick; enrich the poor

With blessings from Thy boundless store;

Be every mourner’s sleep to-night,

Like infant slumbers, pure and light.

Come near and bless us when we wake,

Ere through the world our way we take,

Till in the ocean of Thy love

We lose ourselves in heaven above.

Abide With Me

Henry Francis Lyte (1793—1847)

ABIDE with me! fast falls the eventide,

The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide!

When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, O, abide with me!

Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;

Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;

Change and decay in all around I see:

O thou who changest not, abide with me!

Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word;

But, as thou dwell’st with thy disciples, Lord,

Familiar, condescending, patient, free,

Come, not to sojourn, but abide with me!

Come not in terrors, as the King of kings;

But kind and good, with healing in thy wings;

Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea;

Come, Friend of sinners, and thus ’bide with me!

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile;

And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,

Thou hast not left me, oft as I left thee;

On to the close, O Lord, abide with me!

I need thy presence every passing hour:

What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power—

Who like thyself my guide and stay can be—

Through cloud and sunshine, O, abide with me!

I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;

Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness:

Where is death’s sting— where, grave, thy victory—

I triumph still if thou abide with me.

Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes,

Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies.

Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee:

In life and death, O Lord, abide with me!

The Pillar of Cloud

John Henry Newman (1801—1890)

LEAD, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,

Lead thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home,—

Lead thou me on!

Keep thou my feet! I do not ask to see

The distant scene—one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou

Shouldst lead me on;

I loved to choose and see my path; but now

Lead thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,

Pride ruled my will: remember not past years!

So long thy power hath blest me, sure it still

Will lead me on,

O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till

The night is gone,

And with the morn those angel faces smile

Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

Nearer, My God, to Thee

Sarah Flower Adams (1805—1848)

NEARER, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee!

E’en though it be a cross

That raiseth me,

Still all my song would be,

Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee!

Though like the wanderer,

The sun gone down,

Darkness be over me,

My rest a stone,

Yet in my dreams I’d be

Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee.

There let the way appear

Steps unto heaven;

All that thou send’st to me

In mercy given;

Angels to beckon me

Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee.

Then, with my waking thoughts

Bright with thy praise,

Out of my stony griefs

Bethel I’ll raise;

So by my woes to be

Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee.

Or if on joyful wing

Cleaving the sky,

Sun, moon, and stars forgot,

Upwards I fly,

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to thee,

Nearer to thee!

My Faith Looks Up to Thee

Ray Palmer (1808—1887)

My faith looks up to thee,

Thou Lamb of Calvary,

Saviour divine!

Now hear me while I pray,

Take all my guilt away,

O let me from this day

Be wholly thine!

May thy rich grace impart

Strength to my fainting heart

My zeal inspire!

As thou hast died for me,

O may my love to thee

Pure, warm, and changeless be,—

A living fire!

While life’s dark maze I tread,

And griefs around me spread,

Be thou my guide;

Bid darkness turn to day,

Wipe sorrow’s tears away,

Nor let me ever stray

From thee aside.

When ends life’s transient dream,

When death’s cold, sullen stream

Shall o’er me roll,

Blest Saviour, then, in love,

Fear and distrust remove!

O bear me safe above,—

A ransomed soul!

A Sun-Day Hymn

Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809—1894)

LORD of all being, throned afar,

Thy glory flames from sun and star;

Centre and soul of every sphere,

Yet to each loving heart how near!

Sun of our life, thy quickening ray

Sheds on our path the glow of day:

Star of our hope, thy softened light

Cheers the long watches of the night.

Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn;

Our noontide is thy gracious dawn;

Our rainbow arch, thy mercy’s sign:

All, save the clouds of sin, are thine.

Lord of all life, below, above,

Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love;

Before thy ever-blazing throne

We ask no lustre of our own.

Grant us thy truth to make us free,

And kindling hearts that burn for thee,

Till all thy living altars claim

One holy light, one heavenly flame.

The Pilgrims of the Night

Frederick William Faber (1814—1863)

HARK, hark, my soul! angelic songs are swelling

O’er earth’s green fields and ocean’s wave-beat shore:

How sweet the truth those blessèd strains are telling

Of that new life when sin shall be no more!

Angels of Jesus, angels of light,

Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night!

Darker than night life’s shadows fall around us,

And like benighted men we miss our mark:

God hides himself, and grace hath scarcely found us,

E’er death finds out his victims in the dark.

Angels of Jesus, etc.

Far, far away, like bells at evening pealing,

The voice of Jesus sounds o’er land and sea,

And laden souls by thousands meekly stealing,

Kind Shepherd, turn their weary steps to thee.

Angels of Jesus, etc.

Onward we go, for still we hear them singing,

“Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come;”

And through the dark, its echoes sweetly ringing,

The music of the gospel leads us home.

Angels of Jesus, etc.

Rest comes at last; though life be long and dreary,

The day must dawn, and darksome night be past;

All journeys end in welcomes to the weary,

And heaven, the heart’s true home, will come at last.

Angels of Jesus, etc.

Cheer up, my soul! faith’s moonbeams softly glisten

Upon the breast of life’s most troubled sea,

And it will cheer thy drooping heart to listen

To those brave songs which angels mean for thee.

Angels of Jesus, etc.

Angels! sing on, your faithful watches keeping;

Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above,

While we toil on, and soothe ourselves with weeping,

Till life’s long night shall break in endless love.

Angels of Jesus, etc.

Let There Be Light

John Marriott (1816)

THOU, Whose Almighty word

Chaos and darkness heard,

And took their flight;

Hear us, we humbly pray;

And, where the gospel’s day

Sheds not its glorious ray,

Let there be light!

Thou, Who didst come to bring

On Thy redeeming wing

Healing and sight,

Health to the sick in mind,

Sight to the inly blind,

Oh, now to all mankind

Let there be light!

Spirit of truth, and love,

Life-giving, holy Dove,

Speed forth Thy flight!

Move on the waters’ face

Bearing the lamp of grace,

And in earth’s darkest place

Let there be light!

Holy and blessed Three,

Glorious Trinity,

Wisdom, Love, Might!

Boundless as ocean’s tide

Rolling in fullest pride,

Through the earth, far and wide,

Let there be light!

Buddhist Writings

Introductory Note

SIDDHARTHA GAUTAMA, known as Buddha, the “Awakened,” was the son of the ruler of Çakya-land, a region lying to the northeast of Oude, in northern India. The date of his birth is placed about 557 B. C.

He was born a warrior prince, but at the age of twenty-nine, after having married and had a son, he determined to renounce the world. Abandoning his family and possessions, he gave himself up to asceticism and concentration of thought, under the direction of masters of this discipline. After seven years, he concluded that this method brought him no nearer to the wisdom he sought as a means of escaping rebirth into a life which he had found not worth living, and for a time he tried starvation and self-torture. This also availed him nothing; when suddenly, sitting under the sacred fig-tree at Bodhi Gaya, he became illumined and saw the Great Truths. Henceforth he was “Buddha.”

Gautama’s first aim had been merely his own salvation; but moved by pity for mankind he resolved to bestow on others the Four Great Truths and the eight-fold path. Beginning his ministry at Benares, he converted first five monks who had previously been his fellows in asceticism, then many of the noble youth of the city, then a thousand Brahman priests.

The rest of his life was spent in wandering about and preaching his new creed, which spread with extraordinary rapidity. He died not far from his native region about the year 477 B. C.

The foregoing outline selects what seem the most reliable main elements in a biography which has naturally become saturated with legend of later growth. The teaching of Buddha, so similar in its pessimistic view of life to that of the Book of “Ecclesiastes,” is amply represented in the following writings.

I. The Buddha

The Story of Sumedha

Translated from the Introduction to the Jataka (i. 3 1 )

A HUNDRED 1 thousand cycles vast

And four immensities ago,

There was a town named Amara,

A place of beauty and delights.

It had the noises ten complete 2

And food and drink abundantly.

The noise of elephant and horse,

Of conch-shell, drum, and chariot,

And invitations to partake—

“Eat ye, and drink!”—resounded loud.

A town complete in all its parts,

Where every industry was found,

And eke the seven precious gems, 3

And foreigners from many lands.

A prosperous city of the gods,

Full of good works and holy men.

Within this town of Amara

Sumedha lived, of Brahman caste,

Who many tens of millions had,

And grain and treasure in full store.

A student he, and wise in spells,

A master of the Vedas three.

He fortunes told, tradition knew,

And every duty of his caste.

In secret then I sat me down,

And thus to ponder I began:

“What misery to be born again!

And have the flesh dissolve at death!

“Subject to birth, old age, disease,

Extinction will I seek to find,

Where no decay is ever known,

Nor death, but all security.

“What if I now should rid me of

This body foul, this charnel-house,

And go my way without a care,

Or least regret for things behind!

“There is, there must be, an escape!

Impossible there should not be!

I’ll make the search and find the way,

Which from existence shall release!

“Even as, although there misery is,

Yet happiness is also found;

So, though indeed existence is,

A non-existence should be sought.

“Even as, although there may be heat,

Yet grateful cold is also found;

So, though the threefold fire 4 exists,

Likewise Nirvana should be sought.

“Even as, although there evil is,

That which is good is also found;

So, though ’tis true that birth exists,

That which is not birth should be sought.

“Even as a man befouled with dung,

Seeing a brimming lake at hand,

And nathless bathing not therein,

Were senseless should he chide the lake;

“So, when Nirvana’s lake exists

To wash away corruption’s stain,