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3 His greatness he for us abased,

For us his glory vailed;
In human likeness dwelt on earth,

His majesty concealed :
4 Nor only as a man appears,

But stoops a servant low;
Submits to death, nay, bears the cross,

In all its shame and woe. 5 Hence God this generous love to men

With honours just hath crowned,
And raised the name of Jesus far

Above all names renowned :
6 That at this name, with sacred awe,

Each humble knee should bow,
Of hosts immortal in the skies,

And nations spread below:
7 That all the prostrate pow’rs of hell

Might tremble at his word,
And every tribe, and every tongue,

Confess that he is Lord. 68.

“NOWHERE TO LAY HIS HEAD." C. M.

Huntingtower-Solomon-Messiah. 1 Jesus ! thou Man of Sorrows, born

To sufferings here below, To toil through poverty and scorn, Through weakness and through woe.

2 Immanuel! who by every grief,

By each temptation tried,
Hast lived to yield our wants relief,

And, to redeem us, died.
3 If gaily clothed, and richly fed,

În careless ease we dwell; Remind us of thy manger-bed,

And lowly cottage-cell.
4 If, press'd by penury severe,

In envious want we pine,
May conscience whisper in our ear,

A poorer lot was thine.
5 In every changeful trying scene,

From sin preserve us free;
As thou like us hast tempted been,

May we rejoice with thee.
69.
FOR OUR SAKES POOR.

L.M. Soldau-St. Ambrose Mainzer. 1 O'er the dark wave of Galilee

The gloom of twilight gathers fast;
And on the waters drearily

Descends the fitful evening blast. 2 The weary bird hath left the air,

And sunk into his sheltered nest:
The wandering beast has sought his lair,

And laid him down to welcome rest.

3 Still near the lake, with weary tread,

Lingers a form of human kind;
And on his lone unsheltered head

Blows the chill night-damp of the wind. 4 Why seeks he not a home of rest?

Why seeks he not a pillowed bed? Beasts have their dens, the bird its nest;

He hath not where to lay his head. 5 Such was the lot he freely chose,

To bless, to save the human race;
And through his poverty there flows

A rich full stream of heavenly grace. 70. STILLING THE TEMPEST.

C.M. St. NicholasKent_Loughton. 1 Fear was within the tossing bark,

When stormy winds grew loud,
And waves came rolling high and dark,

And the tall mast was bowed: 2 And men stood breathless in their dread,

And baffled in their skill;
But One was there, who rose and said

To the wild sea- "Be still !” 3 And the wind ceased-it ceased !--that

word
Passed through the gloomy sky;
The troubled billows knew their Lord,

And fell beneath his eye.

4 And slumber settled on the deep,

And silence on the blast:
They sank, as flowers that fold to sleep

When sultry day is past.
5 O thou that in its wildest hour

Didst rule the tempest’s mood,
Send thy meek Spirit forth in power

Soft on our souls to brood. 6 Thou that didst bow the billow's pride:

Thy mandate to fulfil,
O speak to passion's raging tide,

Speak, and say, "Peace, be still."
71.
SEEKING THE LOST.

C.M. TVarwick-New York-Loughton. 1 Sweeter, O Lord, than rest to thee,

While seated by the well,
Was the blest work that led thee there,

Of grace and peace to tell. 2 One thoughtless heart, that never knew

The pulse of life before,
There learned to love, was taught to sigh

For earthly joys no more.
3 Friend of the lost, O Lord, in thee

Samaria's daughter there
Found One whom love had drawn to earth

Her weight of guilt to bear.

4 Fair witness of thy saving grace

In her, O Lord, we see;
The wandering soul by love subdued,

The sinner drawn to thee. 5 Through

all that sweet and blessed scene, Dear Saviour, by the well, More than enough the trembler finds,

His guilty fears to quell.
6 There, in the blest repose of faith,

The soul delights to see
Not only One who fully loves,

But Love itself in thee:
7 Not One alone who feels for all,

But knows the wondrous art
Of meeting all the sympathies

Of every loving heart. 72.

THE LOVELY PATTERN.

Manchester-Burton--Messiah. 1 What grace, O Lord, and beauty shone

Around thy steps below;
What patient love was seen in all

Thy life and death of woe.
2 For ever on thy burdened heart,

A weight of sorrow hung;
Yet no ungentle murmuring word

Escaped thy silent tongue.

C. M.

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