The Poets of the Church: A Series of Biographical Sketches of Hymn-writers with Notes on Their Hymns

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A. D. F. Randolph, 1884 - 719 Seiten
 

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Seite 435 - THIS is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King, Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring...
Seite 367 - Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done. It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath ; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main....
Seite 109 - So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
Seite 375 - The night is come, like to the day, Depart not thou, great God, away ; Let not my sins, black as the night. Eclipse the lustre of thy light. Keep still in my horizon, for to me The sun makes not the day, but thee.
Seite 111 - AYE, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath, When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf, And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, And the year smiles as it draws near its death. Wind of the sunny south ! oh, still delay In the gay woods and in the golden air, Like to a good old age released from care, Journeying, in long serenity, away.
Seite 469 - TIME was, I shrank from what was right From fear of what was wrong ; I would not brave the sacred fight, Because the foe was strong. But now I cast that finer sense And sorer shame aside ; Such dread of sin was indolence, Such aim at Heaven was pride.
Seite 314 - WHEN through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming. When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is gleaming, Nor hope lends a ray the poor seaman to cherish, We fly to our Maker: "Save, Lord, or we perish.
Seite 658 - In these hymns there is no doggerel; no botches; nothing put in to patch up the rhyme; no feeble expletives. Here is nothing turgid or bombast, on the one hand, or low and creeping on the other. Here are no cant expressions, no words without meaning.
Seite 126 - God bless the King ! — I mean the faith's defender — God bless (no harm in blessing !) the Pretender ! But who Pretender is, or who is King — God bless us all ! — that's quite another thing.
Seite 473 - JOHN NEWTON, CLERK, Once an infidel and libertine, A servant of slaves in Africa, Was by the rich mercy of our Lord and Saviour JESUS CHRIST, Preserved, restored, pardoned, And appointed to preach the faith he Had long laboured to destroy, Near 16 years at Olney in Bucks ; And — years in this church.

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