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O bid the wretched sods of need
On soul-reviving dainties feed !
O may thy word, with life divine,
HYMN 574. L. M.
In his owo courts your songs of joyi
Shall echo back the joyful sound.
His wondrous works bow bright they shine!
Whose greatness all your praise exceeds. 3 Awake the trumpet's piercing sound,
To spread your sacred pleasures round;
The warbling harp, and breathing flute. 4 Ye virgin train, with joy advance
To praise him in the graceful dance;
And to the solemn organ siog.
To softer, dee per notes reply ;
And bear the rapture to the skies.
Attend and join the blissful choir ;
HYMN 575. C. M.
How gay the rural scene !
The meads a livelier green.
Aod blossoms on the spray,
How sweet the vernal day! 3 And bark! the feather'd warblers sing!'
'Tis nature's cheerful voice; Soft music hails the lovely spring,
And woods and fields rejoice.
These showers, with blessings fraught,
And fix the roving thought.
With gratitude and love,
The garden, field, and grove.
Beyond expression kind,
To bless the craving mind.
Cap make each virtue live,
Life, beauty, fragrance give.
Thy heavenly gifts impart;
Spring blooming in my heart !
Glad nature's cheerful song: And love and gratitude divine Attune my joyful tongue. MRs. Steele,
HYMN 576. L. M. The Resurrection. Matt. xxviii. 2-4. THE silent noon of night was past, The moon was bright in silver sheen, When sudden gloom the sky o'ercast, And quench'd in darkness all the scene.
The centinels around the tomb,
But, hark beneath, the rumbling earth
They sunk, in terror overwhelm'd
Soon to the earth the seraph came,
With radiant glory compass'd round,
The prostrate seraph licks the ground,
Eclips'd in his Creator's light.
And passive scorn of soldiers rude:
In his own fetters bound, he lies;
Is troubled with his wailing cries.
('This Resurrection seals the doom)
HYMN 577. C. M.
With poverty and woe,
'Mid thorny paths below;
My confidence and guide!
Whate'er that will decide.
Thou never wilt forsake; And though a bruised reed I be,
That reed thou wilt not break. 4 Then, keep me, Lord ! where'er I
Support me on my way; Though worn with poverty and
woe, My widow'd footsteps stray ! 5 To give my weakness strength, O God ! Thy staff shall
avail : And though thou chasten with thy rod,
That staff shall never fail.
HYMN 578. C. M.
Who can approach thy throne ?
To angel-eyes unknown. 2 Before the radiance of thine eye
The heav’os no longer sbine, And all the glories of the sky
Are but the shade of thine.
To cast a look below,
These seats of sin and woe?
To bring thy glories near
To dwell with mortals here ! 5 How strange! how awful is thy love!
With trembling we adore : Not all the exalted miods above
Its wonders can explore.
Resound immortal lays,
To rise and mean thy praise. MRS. STEELE.