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Oh, may my soul on Thee repose,
And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close—
Sleep, that may me more vig'rous make
To serve my God when I awake.

When in the night I sleepless lie,
My soul with heavenly thoughts supply;
Let no ill dreams disturb my rest,
No powers of darkness me molest.

Dull sleep!-of sense me to deprive;
I am but half my time alive;
Thy faithful lovers, Lord, are griev'd,
To lie so long of Thee bereav'd.

But though sleep o'er my frailty reigns,
Let it not hold me long in chains;
And now and then let loose my heart,
Till it an hallelujah dart.

The faster sleep the senses binds,
The more unfetter'd are our minds:
Oh, may my soul, from matter free,
Thy loveliness unclouded see!

Oh, when shall I, in endless day,
For ever chase dark sleep away :
And hymns with the supernal choir
Incessant sing, and never tire?

Oh, may my guardian, while I sleep,
Close to my bed his vigils keep;
His love angelical instil,
Stop all the avenues of ill.


May he celestial joy rehearse,

And thought to thought with me converse;
Or in my stead, all the night long,
Sing to my God a grateful song.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow; Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host; Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.


Blest angels! while we silent lie,
You hallelujahs sing on high;
You joyful hymn the Ever-blest
Before the throne, and never rest.


My God, now I from sleep awake,
The sole possession of me take;
From midnight terrors me secure,
And guard my heart from thoughts impure.

I with your choir celestial join,
In offering up a hymn divine:
With you in heaven I hope to dwell,
And bid the night and world farewell.

My soul, when I shake off this dust,
Lord, in Thy arms I will intrust:
Oh, make me Thy peculiar care,
Some mansion for my soul prepare.




Give me a place at Thy saints' feet,
Or some fall'n angel's vacant seat:
I'll strive to sing as loud as they
Who sit above in brighter day.

Oh, may I always ready stand,
With my lamp burning in my hand;
May I in sight of heaven rejoice,
Whene'er I hear the Bridegroom's voice.

All praise to Thee, in light array'd,
Who light Thy dwelling-place hast made;
A boundless ocean of bright beams
From Thy all-glorious Godhead streams.

The sun, in its meridian height,
Is very darkness in Thy sight:
My soul, oh, lighten and inflame
With thought and love of Thy great name!

Blest Jesu! Thou, on heaven intent,
Whole nights hast in devotion spent ;
But I, frail creature, soon am tired,
And all my zeal is soon expired.

My soul! how canst thou weary grow
Of antedating bliss below,

In sacred hymns and heavenly love,
Which will eternal be above?

Shine on me, Lord; new life impart ;
Fresh ardours kindle in my heart:
One ray of Thy all-quick'ning light
Dispels the sloth and clouds of night!


Lord, lest the tempter me surprise,
Watch over Thine own sacrifice;
All loose, all idle thoughts cast out,
And make my very dreams devout.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below ;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.




The Advent of Christ our Lord.

He might have come in regal pomp,
With pealing of archangel's trump,-
And angel-blast as loud and dread
As that which shall awake the dead :
His lightning might have scar'd the night,
Streaming insufferable light;


His thunder deep'ning peal on peal,
Have made earth to her centre reel,
Deep voices, such as shook with fear,
At Sinai's base, the favour'd seer;
The wing of whirlwind might have borne Him
The trampling earthquake gone before Him:-
He might have come, that Holy One,
With millions round His awful throne,
Countless as are the sands that lie
On burning plains of Araby;


Q 2


And arm'd for vengeance,—who might stand Before each conquering red right hand?


He came not thus; no earthquake shock
Shivered the everlasting rock;
No trumpet blast, nor thunder peal,
Made earth through all her regions reel;
And but for the mysterious voicing
Of that unearthly quire rejoicing;
And but for that strange herald-gem,
The star which burn'd o'er Bethlehem,
The shepherds, on His natal morn,
Had known not that their God was born.
There were no terrors, for the song
Of peace rose from the seraph throng;
On wings of love He came, to save,
To pluck pale terror from the grave;
And on the bloodstain'd Calvary
He won for man the victory.



O DAY most calm, most bright,
The indorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a Friend, and with His blood;
The couch of time; care's balm and bay;
The week were dark but for thy light:
Thy torch doth shew the way.

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