Hymns from the East Part 3

O knowledge of the Living G.o.d, To right such grievous wrong!

Rejoice, rejoice, etc.

V

Now, let creation sing And leap, nor brook control, For Christ hath come to call it back, And save each ruined soul.

Rejoice, rejoice, Jerusalem rejoice; And sing with glee, right merrily, Let every heart and voice.

[2]Music by Mr. Arthur Henry Brown.

[3]Woman.

I

The best that heaven could bring-- First fruits, an offering free-- Was brought from far, when, by the star, The wise men came to Thee.

II

No sceptre, and no throne!

The magi were amazed, As, with surprise, on humble guise And poverty, they gazed.

III

But there Thy G.o.d-head shone, Despite the manger bed; O Christ, the Lord, Incarnate Word!

'Twas there Thou laid'st Thy head.

I

Out from the rising of the sun, O'er tracts of desert wild, The Magi came on journey lone, To seek the heaven-born child; The star o'erhead their footsteps led, And hope their way beguiled.

II

They bore Him costly gifts of gold, And myrrh and spices sweet: "For He is King," they had been told, Whom they would meekly greet; And they would go, in reverence low, And wors.h.i.+p at His feet.

III

O humble Child, in manger laid!

The wise beheld Thee there, And reverently their homage paid, And gave their offerings rare.

Their quest was found, and to the ground They bowed the head in prayer.

IV

O Jesu, who in manger lay, The Son of G.o.d most high, Let me my humble homage pay, And bring my offerings nigh, And humbly greet Thee at Thy feet, And low in wors.h.i.+p lie.

EASTER

I

O woeful hour! when from the night Emerged in wrath Satanic might, To crush the Christ, whom G.o.d in heaven, To raise our fallen race, had given.

II

O woeful hour! when, with the scorn Of sinful men, His soul was torn; When sin exulting bowed the knee, And stung the Christ with mockery.

III

O woeful hour! when to the tree The Christ was nailed in agony; When anguish for our sin He bore, And thorns His throbbing temples tore.

IV

O woeful hour! O darkest day!

The G.o.d-Man, still, entombed lay, For death his cruel shaft had driven To quell the hope our G.o.d had given.

V

O saddened soul! the night is past, The morn, bright morn, has come at last; The rage of sin its worst hath done, Yet lives in power th' eternal Son.

VI

The dark hath vanished in the light; O futile now, Satanic might; Sin wounded lies, and death is slain By Him who lives in power again.

VII

Hail, glorious morn! the Christ hath risen; Hail Victor from the darkest prison!

Up, up, my soul! thy praises pour To Christ, Thy G.o.d, for evermore.

I

Crown the Lord of glory, Angels, crown your King; Saints whose souls He ransomed, Bring your offering; Let no voice be silent, Laud and honour bring.

II