FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

R. H.

Ou Thou whom neither time nor space

Can circle in, unseen, unknown, Nor faith in boldest flight can trace,

Save through Thy Spirit and Thy Son !

And Thou that from Thy bright abode,

To us in mortal weakness shown, Didst graft the manhood into God,

Eternal, co-eternal Son!

And Thou, whose unction from on high

By comfort, light, and love is known ! Who, with the Parent Deity,

Dread Spirit! art for ever one!

Great First and Last! Thy blessings give!

And grant us faith, Thy gift alone, To love and praise Thee while we live,

And do whate'er Thou would'st have done ! SIXTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

No. I.

H. H. M.

Ride on! ride on in majesty!
Hark! all the tribes Hosanna cry!
Thine humble beast pursues his road,
With palms and scatter'd garments strow'd !

Ride on ! ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die !
Oh Christ! Thy triumphs now begin
O'er captive death and conquer'd Sin!

Ride on ! ride on in majesty!
The winged squadrons of the sky
Look down with sad and wondering eyes,
To see the approaching sacrifice !

Ride on ! ride on in majesty !
Thy last and fiercest strife is nigh;
The Father on His sapphire throne
Expects His own anointed Son !

Ride on ! ride on in majesty!
In lowly pomp ride on to die !
Bow Thy meek head to mortal pain !
Then take, oh God! Thy power, and reign !

SIXTH SUNDAY IN LENT.

No. II.

R. H.

The Lord of might from Sinai's brow,

Gave forth His voice of thunder; And Israel lay on earth below,

Outstretch'd in fear and wonder. Beneath His feet was pitchy night, And, at His left hand and His right,

The rocks were rent asunder!

The Lord of love, on Calvary,

A meek and suffering stranger, Upraised to Heaven His languid eye,

In Nature's hour of danger.
For us He bore the weight of woe,
For us He gave His blood to flow,

And met His Father's anger.

The Lord of love, the Lord of might,

The King of all created, Shall back return to claim His right,

On clouds of glory seated; With trumpet-sound and angel-song, And hallelujahs loud and long

O'er Death and Hell defeated !

GOOD FRIDAY.

No. I.

H. H. M.

BOUND

upon

th' accursed tree,
Faint and bleeding, who is He ?
By the eyes so pale and dim,
Streaming blood and writhing limb,
By the flesh with scourges torn,
By the crown of twisted thorn,
By the side so deeply pierced,
By the baffled burning thirst,
By the drooping death-dew'd brow,
Son of Man ! 'tis Thou ! 'tis Thou !

Bound upon

th' accursed tree, Dread and aweful, who is He? By the sun at noon-day pale, Shivering rocks, and rending veil, By earth that trembles at His doom, By yonder saints who burst their tomb, By Eden, promised ere He died To the felon at His side, Lord ! our suppliant knees we bow, Son of God ! 'tis Thou ! 'tis Thou !

Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Sad and dying, who is He ?
By the last and bitter cry
The ghost giv'n up in agony;
By the lifeless body laid
In the chamber of the dead;
By the mourners come to weep
Where the bones of Jesus sleep;
Crucified ! we know Thee now;
Son of Man! 'tis Thou! 'tis Thou !

Bound upon th' accursed tree,
Dread and aweful, who is He?
By the prayer for them that slew,
“Lord! they know not what they do!”
By the spoild and empty grave,
By the souls He died to save,
By the conquest He hath won,
By the saints before His throne,
By the rainbow round His brow,
Son of God ! 'tis Thou ! 'tis Thou !