PAGE He loved the world that hated Him Her charm around, the enchantrefs, memory threw Here Martyn lies! In manhood's early bloom Honour to women! entwining and braiding How fine has the day been, how bright was the Sun 166 How pleasant to me thy deep blue wave 190 How poor, how rich, how abject, how august 145 Jerufalem! Jerufalem ! enthroned once on high . 76 117 I'm apt to think the man 214 In de dark woods, no Indian nigh 250 If veiled our eyes, their piercing fight I have a home above I love to fee yon glorious Sun Love makes the mufic of the bleffed above 212 42 More fweet than odours caught by him who fails . 225 My joy, my life, my crown 135 Nor can the fnows, which now cold age hath shed 233 243 PAGE Not as the worldling bids farewell 266 Now is the stately column broke . 223 Now the bright spring comes forth to clothe the trees 171 Oh! land of the godly, how lone and deferted 251 261 O man, confider thoughtfully 136 Oh! what a chorus fhall the ranfomed fing On the dewy breath of Even O Thou by Heaven ordained to be O Thou Eternal One! whose presence bright O Thou, whom neither time nor space Our hearts are faftened to the world O what a bright and blessed world O what is death? 'Tis life's last shore O what terror in thy forethought Prayer is the foul's fincere defire. Prayer, the Church's banquet, Angel's age Redeemer of the Nations, come Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean T 108 146 III 175 Sabbath hours! they come and go Some sweet favour of Thy favour That ancient Fathers thus expound the page The bird that foars on highest wing The child-like Faith that afks not fight The child of tears, the child of tears The Curfew tolls the knell of parting day The feeble pulfe, the gasping breath The firft-born rofe of vernal prime The freeborn Chriftian has no chains to prove The quality of Mercy is not strain'd The Son of God goes forth to war The whispering waves were half asleep There's reft for the foul that on Jefus relies These are Thy glorious works, Parent of good 72 These are Thy glorious works, Thou fource of good Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee. 124 Thou shalt rife, my duft! thou shalt arise. 228 Through all eternity to Thee Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride 'Tis the foft hour of eve, the fummer's fun Upon the Ocean God is near 209 Urbs cœleftis! Urbs beata. 41 Vital spark of Heavenly flame 142 Weep no more, woful fhepherds, weep no more 242 Well for him who all things lofing 35 |