THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER THE
EPIPHANY.

Lessons: Prov. ix., xi., xv.

Epistle: I John iii. 1-9. Gospel: St. Matt. xxiv. 23-32.

THE COLLECT.

O GOD, whose blessed Son was manifested that He might destroy the works of the devil, and make us the sons of God, and heirs of eternal life; Grant us, we beseech Thee, that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves, even as He is pure; that, when He shall appear again with power and great glory, we may be made like unto Him in His eternal and glorious kingdom; where with Thee, O Father, and Thee, O Holy Ghost, He liveth and reigneth, ever one God, world without end. Amen.

"Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God." — I John iii. 1.

LITANY TO THE ETERNAL FATHER.

Uncreated Fount of light,

Glory without shade of night,

Everlasting, infinite,

Holy Father, hear us.

Well of life that ever flows,
Life more pure than stainless snows,
Life in calm serene repose,

Holy Father, hear us.

Blessed One, whose name is love,
Pleads with Thee Thy Son above;

Broods o'er us Thy hovering Dove;
Holy Father, hear us.

Round about Thy sapphire throne,
Shines the rainbow's emerald zone,
Breathing heavenly peace alone :
Holy Father, hear us.

There before Thy mercy-seat
Saints in light and angels meet;
Yet behold us at Thy feet:
Holy Father, hear us.

Thou, whose deep compassions yearn
For the prodigal's return,

And his far-off steps discern,

Holy Father, hear us.

Aching hearts that long for rest,
Wilder'd souls by doubt oppress'd,
Babes that crave a parent's breast,-
Holy Father, hear us.

All have some great gift to seek,
Hungred, thirsty, weary, weak ;
All have wants no words can speak,
Holy Father, hear us.

Is not Thy paternal board
With all royal bounties stored,
Priceless, countless, unexplored?
Holy Father, hear us.

Thou, who sparedst not Thy Son
Him Thine own, Thine only One,
Till Thy work by Him was done,
Holy Father, hear us.

Thou in all His sorrows nigh,
Thou, who heardest His last cry,
Thou, who sufferedst Him to die,
Holy Father, hear us.

Thou, omnipotent to save

From destruction's whelming wave, Death and hell and vanquish'd grave, Holy Father, hear us.

Thou, at whose right hand once more, He is now, His conflict o'er,

Throned where He was throned before,
Holy Father, hear us.

Thou, who crownest Him with grace,
Foldest Him to Thine embrace,
Him the brightness of Thy face,
Holy Father, hear us.

All the richest gifts of heaven,
Sevenfold from the Spirits Seven,
Measureless to Him are given :
Holy Father, hear us.

At His word Thy Spirit came
Crowns of light and tongues of flame :
Oh for our Redeemer's name,

Holy Father, hear us.

Grant us in this holy hour

From His Bride's exhaustless dower
Light and life and peace and power :
Holy Father, hear us.

Hear our cry, our voiceless needs:
Hear, in us Thy Spirit pleads:

Hear, for Jesus intercedes :

Holy Father, hear us.

Amen.

SEPTUAGESIMA SUNDAY.

Lessons: Gen. i. and ii. ; Job xxxviii.; Rev. xxi.
xxii. 1-6.

Epistle I Cor. ix. 24. Gospel: St. Matt. xx. I—17.

THE COLLECT.

O LORD, we beseech Thee favourably to hear the prayers of Thy people; that we, who are justly punished for our offences, may be mercifully delivered by Thy goodness, for the glory of Thy Name; through Jesus Christ our Saviour, who liveth and reigneth with Thee and the Holy Ghost, ever one God, world without end. Amen.

"God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."-Rev. xxi. 4.

There shall be no more death,

In that bright world of day
Driven by the Spirit's mighty breath
Eternally away:

Within those city walls

The ransom'd walk in white,
And death's cold shadow never falls
On their glad home of light.

There shall be no more grief
Nor cry of sore distress;
The last sad fading of the leaf
Was in the wilderness :

The springs of grief are dried;
All fountains run with joy,
And swell the calm transparent tide
Of heaven's serene employ.

There shall be no more pain,
No weary feet or hands,

No careworn brow, no wilder'd brain,
No counting the last sands.
A body like the Lord's,
A crystal mind like His,
A spirit tuned to sweep the chords
Of undeclining bliss.

O blessed home of love,
Secure from storm and strife ;
The haunt of the Eternal Dove,
The fatherland of life!
My spirit thither flies ;
And surely it is well
With Jesus thus in Paradise
A little while to dwell.