EIGHTEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. H. H. M. WHEN GOD came down from Heav'n-the living God- Brake out the winds in music where He trode ? The dumb began to speak, the blind to see, And the lame leap'd, and pain and paleness fled; The mourner's sunken eye grew bright with glee, And from the tomb awoke the wondering dead! When God went back to heav'n-the living God— Upon the cross He hung, and bow'd the head, And pray'd for them that smote, and them that curst; And, drop by drop, His slow life-blood was shed, And His last hour of suffering was His worst! NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. No. I. ADDISON. THE spacious firmament on high, And spangled heavens a shining frame, Th' unwearied Sun from day to day, Soon as the evening shades prevail, While all the stars that round her burn, And spread the truth from pole to pole. What though in solemn silence all What though nor voice, nor minstrel sound Among their radiant orbs be found, With saints and angels they rejoice, And utter forth their glorious voice: "The hand that made us is Divine !" NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. No. II. R. H. OH blest were the accents of early creation, And wake their cold atoms to life and to love! And mighty the tones which the firmament rended, And sweet was the voice of the First-born of Heaven, (Though poor His apparel, though earthly His form,) Who said to the mourner, " Thy sins are forgiven !" "Be whole !" to the sick,—and "Be still!" to the storm. Oh Judge of the world! when, array'd in Thy glory, Thy summons again shall be heard from on high, While Nature stands trembling and naked before Thee, And waits on Thy sentence to live or to die : When the Heaven shall fly fast from the sound of Thy thunder, And the Sun, in Thy light'nings, grow languid and pale, And the Sea yield her dead, and the Tomb cleave asunder, In the hour of Thy terrors, let mercy prevail ! TWENTIETH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. H. H. M. LORD, have mercy, and remove us Where the heavens are calm above us, Holiest, hear us! by the anguish Gracious!—yet if our repentance Leave us, Saviour! till our spirit Fit Thy kingdom to inherit, Fit to take its rest with Thee! TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY. R. H. THE Sound of war! In earth and air Of bitter doubt the barbed aim, All, all conspire his heart to tame : Gods of the world! ye warrior host In vain is all your impious boast, |