He is risen higher, not set: Indeed a cloud
Did, with his leave, make bold to shroud The Sun of Glory from Mount Olivet. At Pentecost, he 'll shew himself again; When every ray shall be a tongue To speak all comforts, and inspire Our souls with their celestial fire; That we, the saints among, May sing, and love, and reign.
On the Feast of Pentecost, or Whitsunday.
TONGUES of fire from heaven descend With a mighty rushing wind,
To blow it up and make
Of heav'nly charity, and pure desire, Where they their residence should take. On the apostles' sacred heads they sit ; Who now, like beacons, do proclaim and tell Th' invasion of the host of hell;
And give men warning to defend Themselves from the enraged brunt of it. Lord, let the flames of holy charity, And all her gifts and graces, slide Into our hearts, and there abide;
That thus refined, we may soar above With it unto the element of love,
Even unto thee, dear Spirit,— And there eternal peace and rest inherit.
LORD, I have sinned: and the black number swells To such a dismal sum,
That, should my stony heart, and eyes,
And this whole sinful trunk, a flood become, And run to tears,-their drops could not suffice To count my score, Much less to pay:
But thou, my God, hast blood in store, And art the Patron of the poor.
Yet since the balsam of thy blood, Although it can, will do no good,
Unless the wounds be cleans'd with tears before; Thou in whose sweet but pensive face
Laughter could never steal a place,
Teach but my heart and eyes
And then one drop of balsam will suffice.
GREAT GOD, and just! how canst thou see, Dear God, our misery,
And not, in mercy, set us free!
Poor miserable man! how wert thou born Weak as the dewy jewels of the morn, Wrapt up in tender dust,
Guarded with sins and lust,
Who, like court-flatterers, wait To serve themselves in thy unhappy fate. Wealth is a snare; and poverty brings in Inlets for theft, paving the way for sin : Each perfum'd vanity doth gently breathe Sin in thy soul, and whispers it to death. Our faults, like ulcerated sores, do go O'er the sound flesh, and do corrupt that too.
Lord, we are sick, spotted with sin, Thick as a crusty leper's skin;
Like Naaman, bid us wash; yet let it be In streams of blood that flow from thee: Then will we sing
Touch'd by the heav'nly Dove's bright wing, Hallelujahs, psalms, and praise, To God, the Lord of night and days; Ever good, and ever just,
Ever high, who ever must Thus be sung; is still the same;
Eternal praises crown his name!
A Prayer for Charity.
FULL of mercy, full of love,
Look upon us from above;
Thou, who taught'st the blind man's night To entertain a double light,
Thine and the day's (and that thine too);
The lame away his crutches threw;
The parched crust of leprosy
Return'd unto its infancy :
The dumb amazed was to hear
His own unchain'd tongue strike his ear: Thy powerful mercy did even chase
The devil from his usurped place,
Where thou thyself shouldst dwell, not he. O let thy love our pattern be;
Let thy mercy teach one brother To forgive and love another; That, copying thy mercy here, Thy goodness may hereafter rear Our souls unto thy glory, when Our dust shall cease to be with men.
ACCORDING TO THE MATTER OF EACH PSALM :
HELP AND ASSISTANCE OF ALL CHRISTIAN PEOPLE, IN
ALL OCCASIONS AND NECESSITIES.
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