Book of Hymns for Public and Private Devotion Part 80

1 O Thou who driest the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to Thee!

2 But Thou wilt heal the broken heart, Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part, Breathes sweetness out of woe.

3 When joy no longer soothes or cheers, And e'en the hope that threw A moment's sparkle o'er our tears Is dimmed and vanished too;

4 O, who would bear life's stormy doom, Did not Thy wing of love Come, brightly wafting through the gloom Our peace-branch from above?

5 Then sorrow, touched by Thee, grows bright, With more than rapture's ray; The darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day.

476. C. M. Keble.

The Elder Scripture.

1 There is a book, who runs may read, Which heavenly truth imparts; And all the lore its scholars need, Pure eyes and loving hearts.

2 The works of G.o.d, above, below, Within us, and around, Are pages in that book, to show How G.o.d himself is found.

3 The glorious sky, embracing all, Is like the Father's love; Wherewith encompa.s.sed, great and small In peace and order move.

4 The dew of heaven is like His grace; It steals in silence down; But where it lights, the favored place By richest fruits is known.

5 Two worlds are ours; 'tis only sin Forbids us to descry The mystic heaven and earth within, Plain as the earth and sky.

6 Thou, who hast given me eyes to see And love this sight so fair, Give me a heart to find out Thee, And read Thee everywhere!

477. 10s. M. Sterling.

Rest.

1 O Thou, the primal fount of life and peace, Who shedd'st Thy breathing quiet all around, In me command that pain and conflict cease, And tune to music every jarring sound.

2 Make Thou in me, O G.o.d, through shame and pain, A heart attuned to Thy celestial calm; Let not the spirit's pangs be roused in vain, But heal the wounded breast with soothing balm!

3 So, firm in steadfast hope, in thought secure, In full accord with all Thy works of joy, May I be nerved to labors high and pure, And Thou Thy child to do Thy work employ.

4 In One who walked on earth, a man of woe, Was holier peace than even this hour inspires; From him to me let inward quiet flow, And give the might my failing will requires.

5 So this great universe,--so he, and Thou, The central source and wondrous bound of things, May fill my heart with rest as deep as now To land and sea and air Thy presence brings.

478. P. M. Mrs. Hemans.

The Pilgrim Fathers.

1 The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed, And the heavy night hung dark, The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England sh.o.r.e.

2 Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame.

Not as the flying come, In silence and in fear; They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer.

3 Amidst the storm they sang; And the stars heard, and the sea!

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang To the anthem of the free.

The ocean eagle soared From his nest by the white wave's foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared,-- This was their welcome home!

4 What sought they thus afar?

Bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?

They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground, The soil where first they trod!

They have left unstained, what there they found: Freedom to wors.h.i.+p G.o.d.

479. L. P. M. E. B. Barrett.

He Giveth His Beloved Sleep.

Psalm cxxvii. 2.

1 Of all the thoughts of G.o.d, that are Borne in upon our souls afar Along the Psalmist's music deep, O, tell me if there any is, For gift or grace, surpa.s.sing this,-- "He giveth His beloved sleep."

2 O earth, so full of dreary noises!

O men, with wailing in your voices!

O delved gold, the wailers' heap!

O strife, O curse, that o'er it fall!

G.o.d makes a silence through you all,-- He giveth His beloved sleep.

3 His dews drop mutely on the hill, His cloud above it saileth still, Though on its slope men toil and reap; More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead, He giveth His beloved sleep.

SUPPLEMENT.