FIFTH SUNDAY IN LENT. OH Thou, whom neither time nor space Nor faith in boldest flight can trace, And Thou that from thy bright abode, And Thou whose unction from on high Dread Spirit! art for ever one! Great First and Last! thy blessing 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. THE Lord of might, from Sinai's brow, Outstretch'd in fear and wonder. The Lord of love, on Calvary, And met his Father's anger. The Lord of love, the Lord of might, Shall back return to claim his right, O'er Death and Hell defeated! GOOD FRIDAY. OH more than merciful! whose bounty gave Thy guiltless self to glut the greedy grave! Whose heart was rent to pay thy people's price, The great High-priest at once and sacrifice! Help, Saviour, by thy cross and crimson stain, Nor let thy glorious blood be spilt in vain! When sin with flow'ry garland hides her dart, And, chiefest then, when nature yields the strife, EASTER DAY. GOD is gone up with a merry noise Of saints that sing on high; With his own right hand and his holy arm He hath won the victory! Now empty are the courts of death, And he hath tamed the strength of hell, And dragg'd him through the sky, And captive behind his chariot wheel, He hath bound captivity! God is gone up with a merry noise With his own right hand and his holy arm |