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A-men adore Alleluia Amen angels bear bless blest blood bright bring Christ Church comes Cross crown dark dear death divine dwell DYKES earth eternal eyes face faith fall Father fear feet flow Friend George give glad glorious glory grace Grant hand hath hear heart heaven heavenly Henry Holy hope hour Hymn Jesus John keep King land Lead light live Lord morn Name never night o'er pain peace praise pray prayer pure raise reign rest rise round saints Saviour Second seek shine sing sins skies song sorrow soul Spirit stand Star strength sweet tell thanks Thee Thine things THOMAS Thou art Thou hast thro throne Thy love true trust truth Tune voice watch
Page 55 - His sovereign power, without our aid, Made us of clay, and formed us men ; And when, like wandering sheep, we strayed, He brought us to his fold again.
Page 349 - Thou, O Christ, art all I want, More than all in thee I find ! Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, Heal the sick, and lead the blind ; Just and holy is thy name, I am all unrighteousness ; False and full of sin I am, Thou art full of truth and grace.
Page 380 - I'd be Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to Thee. 3 There let the way appear Steps unto Heaven; All that thou sendest me In mercy given; Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to thee...
Page 387 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Page 248 - He shall come down like showers Upon the fruitful earth, And love, joy, hope, like flowers, Spring in his path to birth: Before him on the mountains Shall peace the herald go; And righteousness in fountains From hill to valley flow.
Page 507 - As the winged arrow flies, Speedily the mark to find ; As the lightning from the skies Darts, and leaves no trace behind ; Swiftly thus our fleeting days Bear us down life's rapid stream.
Page 254 - What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle; Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile : In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strown; The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone.
Page 428 - Here in the body pent, Absent from Him I roam, Yet nightly pitch my moving tent A day's march nearer home.