Not unto us-Lord Jesus,

To Thee all praise be due; Whose blood-bought mercy frees us, Has freed our brethren too. Not unto us-in glory

The angels catch the strain,
And cast their crowns before Thee
Exultingly again.

Captain of our salvation,
Thy presence we adore :
Praise, glory, adoration
Be Thine for evermore.
Still on in conflict pressing
On Thee Thy people call,
Thee King of kings confessing,
Thee crowning Lord of all.

THE FOURTH SUNDAY AFTER THE EPIPHANY.

Lessons Job xxvii., xxviii., xxix.

Epistle Rom. xiii. 1-8. Gospel: St. Matt. viii. 23.

THE COLLECT.

O GOD, who knowest us to be set in the midst of so many and great dangers, that by reason of the frailty of our nature we cannot always stand upright; Grant to us such strength and protection as may support us in all dangers, and carry us through all temptations; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

"He arose and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great caim." "They found the man, out of whom the devils were departed, sitting at the feet of Jesus."-St. Matt. viii. 23-34; St. Mark iv. 35-v. 20; St. Luke viii. 22-40.

The sun was set, the night was wild,
Rough winds o'er sullen waters swept ;
But calmly as a tired child

Jesus slept.

"Save us, we perish; save us, Lord."
He rose, and only breathed His will:
The winds and waters knew His word,
66 Peace, be still."

Ah! wilder than the wildest waves,
Dark passions, surging up from hell,
Within the breast of Satan's slaves
Rage and swell.

He spoke, and at His accents sweet,
Demoniacs trembled, sore afraid,
And soon, as learners at His feet,
Knelt and pray'd.

O Master of creation's realm,

O Lord of human hearts divine, When rugged tempests overwhelm Me and mine;

Come then to me, my Saviour, come; Bid Thou the stormy tumult cease, And whisper through the troubled gloom Peace, Thy peace.

THE FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER THE
EPIPHANY.

Lessons Prov. i., iii., viii.

Epistle: Col. iii. 12-18. Gospel : St. Matt. xiii. 24—31.

THE COLLECT.

O LORD, we beseech Thee to keep Thy Church and household continually in Thy true religion; that they who do lean only upon the hope of Thy heavenly grace may evermore be defended by Thy mighty power; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

"Whoso findeth Me findeth life, and shall obtain favour of the Lord; but he that sinneth against Me wrongeth his own soul: all they that hate Me love death."-Prov. viii. 35, 36.

Hark! hark! the voice of numbers,
Whose number no man knows,
Awakes the Church's slumbers

And stirs her long repose:
The wail of men and mothers,
The children's piteous cry,
"Come, help us, we are brothers;
Come, help us, ere we die."

Ah, woe for human nature,
Woe for its deeds of shame,
When man, the ruin'd creature,
Knows not the Maker's Name;

When no true balm assuages
Time's daily load of care,
And o'er the coming ages

Broods infinite despair!

There no baptismal blessing

Rests on the infant brow;
No lips, our God confessing,
Pledge there the holy vow;
No ear enraptured listens
To Jesus' words of grace;
No eye with longing glistens,
To see Him face to face.

Still onward to the river,

Which all must cross, they move,
And meet the dread For-ever
Unweeting "God is love."

And yet the Sun has risen
Of everlasting day;

The bars of death's dark prison
Our Life has borne away.

Oh, tell them of the story
Which leads to perfect bliss,
Until that world of glory
Spans all the gloom of this;
And in the dawning splendour
The one Name only given
Claims every heart's surrender,

And knits our earth to heaven.

Written at Delhi, 1880.