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EAR, secret Greenness, nurst below!

Tempests and winds, and winter nights Vex not, that but one sees thee grow, That one made all these lesser lights.

Let glory, be their bait, whose minds

Are all too high for a low cell: Though hawks can prey through storms and winds, The poor

bee in her hive must dwell.

Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch

At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb; Keep clear, bear fruit, earn life, and watch

Till the white-winged Reapers come!


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T is the Lord! Hear ye that gladsome word,

O'er the Gennesareth sea !

Re-echo it, that it be no'er unheard,
But farthest realms agree
To hail the risen Saviour's name ;
And the broad earth with joy proclaim,
" It is the Lord !”

It is the Lord !—without Him no success ;
Howe'er we work or wait!
Our nets were cast, but vain our watchfulness
Through weary hours so late :
Toiling; yet nought for all our cares,
Nought, till a miracle declares
" It is the Lord !”



It is the Lord ! How gracious and how true !
His promise, O how good!
For now, astonish'd, to our bark we drew
The finny multitude !
On earth so great, so bounteous none,
As He, our strength, our shield, our sun !
“ It is the Lord !”

It is the Lord !—for us He here hath stay'd
Near, while we deem'd Him far;
Eyes dimm’d by sorrow and with toil o'erweigh'd
Knew not our Morning Star!
Now springs my grateful soul from prison,
Our hope revives, our sun hath risen;
" It is the Lord !”

It is the Lord, whom loving John discerns;
O hour of joyfulness !
And that meek soul for closer nearness yearns
In the still heart's recess !
Seek thou, too, Him in that deep cell ;
Thou, too, the homefelt joy shalt tell,
“ It is the Lord !”

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It is the Lord. See, Peter breasts the wave ;
His dauntless love exclaims,
“ Away, whate'er can part us! let me brave
Tempests, or floods, or flames;
With joy I plunge into the sea,
Conscious whose love constraineth me!
It is the Lord ! ”

It is the Lord !—the rest are following too !
His magnet love they feel !
In quiet troth, if with slow feet, pursue
The burst of Peter's zeal ;
Though many a blast and wave be near,
Courage! we have our Pilot here,
“ It is the Lord !”

It is the Lord! He bids us all draw nigh,
At His own feast regales !
He nurtures each with grace unfailingly,
Hither from hills and vales !
Thrice happy are His festivals ;
Thrice blest the guests His mercy calls ;
" It is the Lord !”



It is the Lord! They ask Him now no more,
Who art, or what doest Thou?
Whate'er He doeth, 'tis He; 'tis mercy's store;
Let faith adoring bow!
For whether He chastise or cheer-
In sunshine or in clouds appear-
" It is the Lord !”

It is the Lord ! Ah, in how few bright hours
His glories shine on me !
His mortal coil yet fetters all my powers !
But-wait !-It still is He !
One day my love shall see Thee as Thou art,
And shout with jubilant voice and raptur'd heart,
" It is the Lord !”


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