Lyra Americana: Hymns of Praise and Faith, from American Poets

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Religious Tract Society, 1865 - 184ÆäÀÌÁö

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96 ÆäÀÌÁö - THERE is no flock , however watched and tended , But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the dead; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, Will not be comforted ! Let us be patient ! These severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise.
110 ÆäÀÌÁö - There is a Reaper, whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen, He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between.
71 ÆäÀÌÁö - I'll raise; So by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee.
67 ÆäÀÌÁö - While life's dark maze I tread, And griefs around me spread, 'Be Thou my Guide; Bid darkness turn to day, Wipe sorrow's tears away, Nor let me ever stray From Thee aside.
166 ÆäÀÌÁö - And ye, beneath life's crushing load, Whose forms are bending low, Who toil along the climbing way, With painful steps and slow,— Look now ! for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing : Oh ! rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing...
61 ÆäÀÌÁö - For her my tears shall fall ; For her my prayers ascend ; To her my cares and toils be given, Till toils and cares shall end.
165 ÆäÀÌÁö - It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth, To touch their harps of gold : "Peace on the earth, goodwill to men, From heaven's all-gracious King!
71 ÆäÀÌÁö - Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee! E'en though it be a cross That raiseth me; Still all my song shall be. Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!
45 ÆäÀÌÁö - God of the rolling orbs above ! Thy name is written clearly bright In the warm day's unvarying blaze, Or evening's golden shower of light. For every fire that fronts the sun, And every spark that walks alone Around the utmost verge of heaven, Were kindled at thy burning throne.
157 ÆäÀÌÁö - Rouse to some work of high and holy love, And thou an angel's happiness shalt know, Shalt bless the earth while in the world above ; The good begun by thee shall onward flow In many a branching stream, and wider grow ; The seed that, in these few and fleeting hours, Thy hands unsparing and unwearied sow, Shall deck thy grave with amaranthine flowers, And yield thee fruits divine in heaven's immortal bowers.

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