1. O Child of lowly manger birth On whose low cry the ages wait,
2. O Jesus, youth of Nazareth, Preparing for the bitter strife,
Lead us thy way, and every day Guide us to see what made thee great.
Wilt thou impart to every heart Thy perfect purity of life?

3. O Christ whose words made dear the fields
And hillsides green of Galilee,
Grant us to find, with reverent mind,
The truth thou saidst should make us free.

4. O suffering Lord on Calvary,
Whom love led on to mortal pain,
We know thy cross is not a loss,
If we thy love shall truly gain.

1. Fling out the banner! Let it float Skyward and seaward, high and wide,
3. Fling out the banner! Heathen lands Shall see from far the glorious sight,
The sun that lights its shining folds, The Cross on which the Saviour died.
And nations, crowding to be born, Baptize their spirits in its light.
2. Fling out the banner! Angels bend In anxious silence o'er the sign;
4. Fling out the banner! Sinsick souls That sink and perish in the strife,
And vainly seek to comprehend The wonder of the love divine.
Shall touch in faith its radiant hem, And spring immortal into life.

1. Fire in my meditation burned; I with my tongue did speak.
Jehovah, make me know my end, What my days' measure eke,
What my days' measure eke,
What my days' measure eke,
Know let me how short lived I am. Lo, thou hast given my days
Know let me how short lived I am. Lo, thou hast given my days
Know let me how short lived I am. Lo, thou hast given my
'Fore thee as nothing weighs.
As hand-breadths, and my worldly time 'Fore thee as nothing weighs.
'Fore thee as nothing weighs.

2. Sure wholly vain is every man
Though settled fast, Selah.

1. Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! O what a
2. Perfect submission, perfect delight, Visions of
foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of
rapture burst on my sight; Angels descending, bring from a-
God, Born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.
bove, Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.
This is my story, this is my song, Praising my
Saviour all the day long; This is my story this is my
song, Praising my Saviour all the day long.

3. Perfect submission, all is at rest,
I in my Saviour am happy and blest,
Watching and waiting, looking above,

Another and another and another
And still another sunset and sunrise,
The same yet different, different yet the same,
Seen by me now in my declining years
As in my early childhood, youth and manhood;
And by my parents and my parents' parents,
And by the parents of my parents' parents,
And by their parents counted back for ever,
Seen, all their lives long, even as now by me;
And by my children and my children's children
And by the children of my children's children
And by their children counted on for ever
Still to be seen as even now seen by me;

The Angel came by night
(Such angels still come down),
And like a winter cloud
Passed over London town;
Along its lonesome streets,
Where Want had ceased to weep,
Until it reached a house
Where a great man lay asleep;
The man of all his time
Who knew the most of men,
The soundest head and heart,
The sharpest, kindest pen.
It paused beside his bed,
And whispered in his ear;
He never turned his head,
But answered, “I am here.”

Into the night they went.
At morning, side by side,
They gained the sacred Place

All women born are so perverse
No man need boast their love possessing.
If naught seem better, nothing's worse:
All women born are so perverse.
From Adam's wife, that proved a curse,
Though God had made her for a blessing,
All women born are so perverse
No man need boast their love possessing.

All winter through I bow my head
Beneath the driving rain;
The North Wind powders me with snow
And blows me black again;
At midnight under a maze of stars
I flame with glittering rime,
And stand, above the stubble, stiff
As mail at morning-prime.
But when that child, called Spring, and all
His host of children, come,
Scattering their buds and dew upon
These acres of my home,
Some rapture in my rags awakes;
I lift void eyes and scan
The skies for crows, those ravening foes,
Of my strange master, Man.
I watch him striding lank behind

Here droops the Muse! while from her glowing mind,
Celestial Sympathy, with humid eye,
Bids the light sylph (capricious Fancy) fly,
Time's restless wings with transient flowers to bind!
For now, with folded arms and head inclined,
Reflection pours the deep and frequent sigh
O'er the dark scroll of human destiny,
Where gaudy buds and wounding thorns are twined.
Oh, sky-born Virtue! sacred is thy name—
And though mysterious Fate, with frown severe,
Oft decorates thy brows with wreaths of fame
Bespangled o'er with Sorrow's chilling tear,

While from the dizzy precipice I gaze,
The world receding from my pensive eyes,
High o'er my head the tyrant eagle flies,
Clothed in the sinking sun's transcendent blaze!
The meek-eyed moon, midst clouds of amber plays,
As o'er the purpling plains of light she hies,
Till the last stream of living lustre dies,
And the cool concave owns her tempered rays!
So shall this glowing, palpitating soul,
Welcome returning reason's placid beam,
While o'er my breast the waves Lethean roll,
To calm rebellious fancy's feverish dream.