Hymns for the Church of England [ed. by T. Darling].

Передня обкладинка
Thomas Darling (rector of St. Michael Royal, London)
1865

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Сторінка cxxviii - Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
Сторінка vi - New mercies, each returning day, Hover around us while we pray ; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of GOD, new hopes of Heaven.
Сторінка 4 - Come, O thou Traveller unknown, Whom still I hold, but cannot see ; My company before is gone, And I am left alone with Thee ; With Thee all night I mean to stay, And wrestle till the break of day.
Сторінка liii - More firmly to believe ; For still the more the servant hath, , The more shall he receive.
Сторінка xxxv - A noble army: men and boys, The matron and the maid ; Around the Saviour's throne rejoice, In robes of light arrayed. They climbed the steep ascent of heaven Through peril, toil, and pain : O God, to us may grace be given To follow in their train.
Сторінка xlv - From Greenland's icy mountains ; From India's coral strand ; Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand ; From many an ancient river ; From many a palmy plain ; They call us to deliver Their land from error's chain.
Сторінка xlv - Waft, waft, ye winds, His story. And you, ye waters, roll, Till, like a sea of glory, It spreads from pole to pole ; Till o'er our ransomed nature. The Lamb for sinners slain. Redeemer, King, Creator, In bliss returns to reign.
Сторінка 5 - In vain Thou struggles! to get free, I never will unloose my hold ! Art Thou the Man that died for me ? The secret of Thy love unfold ; Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, Till I Thy name, Thy nature know.
Сторінка clxxvi - Direct, control, suggest this day All I design, or do, or say, That all my powers, with all their might, In Thy sole glory may unite ! Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!
Сторінка xi - Sun of my soul ! thou Saviour dear ! It is not night if thou be near : O may no earth-born cloud arise To hide thee from thy servant's eyes.

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