FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. No. IV. R. H. WHEN through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming, Oh Jesus! once toss'd on the breast of the billow, Who cries in his danger-" Help, Lord! or we perish !" And oh, when the whirlwind of passion is raging, FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. No. V. R. H. THE winds were howling o'er the deep, Each wave a watʼry hill, The Saviour waken'd from His sleep, He spake and all was still. The madman in a tomb had made Woe to the traveller who strayed The chains hung broken from his arm, He met that glance so thrilling sweet, And, melting at Messiah's feet, Oh madder than the raving man! How long the time since Christ began To call in vain on me? He called me when my thoughtless prime Was early ripe to ill; I pass'd from folly on to crime, He called me in the time of dread, I trembled on my feverish bed, Yet could I hear Him once again, Methinks He should not call in vain O Thou, that every thought canst know, My struggling will by grace control, What blessed light breaks on my soul? Oh God! I hear Thee now. FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. H. H. M. THE angel comes, he comes to reap And who are they, in sheaves to bide And who are they, reserved in store The wheat, a hundred-fold that bore O King of Mercy! grant us power In Thy destroying angel's hour, SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY. No. I. Lo, He comes, in clouds descending, Every eye shall now behold Him They who set at nought and sold Him, Deeply wailing, deeply wailing, Shall the true Messiah see! Every island, sea, and mountain, Heaven and earth shall flee away, All who hate Him must, confounded, Hear the trump proclaim the day; Come to judgement! come to judgement ! Come to judgement ! come away! Now Salvation, long expected, |