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NINETEENTH SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

Oh blest were the accents of early creation,
When the Word of Jehovah came down from
above

;
In the clods of the earth to infuse animation,

And wake their cold atoms to life and to love!

And mighty the tones which the firmament

rended, When on wheels of the thunder, and wings of

the wind,
By lightning, and hail, and thick darkness

attended,
He utter'd on Sinai his laws to mankind.

And sweet was the voice of the First-born of

heaven, (Though poor his apparel, though earthly his

form)

Who said to the mourner, “ Thy sins are for

given!” “ Be whole !” to the sick,--and - Be still !" to

the storm.

Oh, Judge of the world! when, array'd in thy

glory, Thy summons again shall be heard from on

high, While nature stands trembling and naked before

thee,
And waits on thy sentence to live or to die;

When the heav'n shall fly fast from the sound of

thy thunder, And the sun, in thy lightnings, grow languid

and pale, And the sea yield her dead, and the tomb cleave

asunder, In the hour of thy terrors, let mercy prevail!

N

TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

The sound of war! In earth and air

The volleying thunders roll :
Their fiery darts the fiends prepare,
And dig the pit, and spread the snare,

Against the Christian's soul.
The tyrant's sword, the rack, the flame,

The scorner's serpent tone,
Of bitter doubt the barbed aim,
All, all conspire his heart to tame :
Force, fraud, and hellish fires assail
The rivets of his heavenly mail,

Amidst his foes alone.

Gods of the world! ye warrior host

Of darkness and of air,
In vain is all your impious boast,
In vain each missile lightning tost,

In vain the tempter's snare!

Though fast and far your arrows fly,

Though mortal nerve and bone
Shrink in convulsive agony,
The Christian can your rage defy;
Towers o'er his head salvation's crest,
Faith, like a buckler, guards his breast,

Undaunted, though alone.

”Tis past ! 'tis o’er! in foul defeat

The demon host are fled! Before the Saviour's mercy-seat, (His live-long work of faith complete,) Their conqueror

bends his head. “ The spoils thyself hast gained, Lord !

I lay before thy throne : Thou wert my rock, my shield, my sword ; My trust was in thy name and word : 'Twas in thy strength my heart was strong ; Thy spirit went with mine along ;

How was I then alone ?

TWENTY-SECOND SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.

Ou God ! my sins are manifold, against my life

they cry, And all my guilty deeds foregone, up to thy temple

fly; Wilt thou release my trembling soul, that to des

pair is driven ? " Forgive !" a blessed voice replied, " and thou

shalt be forgiven!"

My foemen, Lord ! are fierce and fell, they spurn

me in their pride, They render evil for my good, my patience they

deride ; Arise, oh King ! and be the proud to righteous

ruin driven! Forgive !" an awful answer came,

would'st be forgiven !"

as thou

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