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And chase our gloom away,
With lustre shining more and more
Unto the perfect day !

1 1 2 The Book of Praise.

Spirit of Truth, be Thou
In life and death our Guide !
Spirit of adoption, now
May we be sanctified !

James Montgomery. 1819.

O du allersuste Freude. (Paul Gerhardt.)

Holy Ghost, dispel our sadness,
Pierce the clouds of sinful night ;

Come, Thou source of sweetest gladness,
Breathe Thy Life, and spread Thy Light !

Loving Spirit, God of Peace !

Great Distributor of grace !
Rest upon this congregation,
Hear, O hear our supplication !

From that height which knows no measure

As a gracious shower descend,
Bringing down the richest treasure

Men can wish, or God can send !
O Thou Glory, shining down
From the Father and the Son,

Grant us Thy illumination !

Rest upon this congregation !

Known to Thee are all recesses
Of the earth and spreading skies ;

Every sand the shore possesses
Thy Omniscient Mind descries.

Holy Fountain ! wash us clean

Both from error and from sin !
Make us fly what Thou refusest,
And delight in what Thou choosest !

God the Holy Ghost. \ 13

Manifest Thy love for ever ;

Fence us in on every side ;
In distress be otfr reliever,

Guard and teach, support and guide !
Let Thy kind effectual grace
Turn our feet from evil ways ;

Show Thyself our new Creator,

And conform us to Thy Nature !

Be our Friend on each occasion,

God ! omnipotent to save !
When we die, be our salvation,

When we're buried, be our grave !
And, when from the grave we rise,
Take us up above the skies,

Seat us with Thy saints in glory,

There for ever to adore Thee !

Variation by Augustus M. Toplady. 1776.
From John Christian Jacobi. 1725.


Holy Spirit, in my breast
Grant that lively Faith may rest,
And subdue each rebel thought
To believe what Thou hast taught.

When around my sinking soul
Gathering waves of sorrow roll,
Spirit blest, the tempest still,
And with Hope my bosom fill


1 1 4 The Book of Praise.

Holy Spirit, from my mind
Thought and wish and will unkind,
Deed and word unkind remove,
And my bosom fill with love.

Faith, and Hope, and Charity,
Comforter, descend from Thee ;
Thou the Anointing Spirit art,
These Thy gifts to us impart,

Till our faith be lost in sight,
Hope be swallowed in delight,
And love return to dwell with Thee,
In the threefold Deity !

Bishop Richard Mant. \ 83 7,


Full of weakness and of sin,

We look to Thee for life :
Lord, Thy gracious work begin,

And calm the inward strife !

Though our hearts are prone to stray,

Be Thou a constant Friend :
Though we know not how to pray,

Thy saving mercy send !

Let Thy Spirit, gracious Lord,

Our souls with love inspire,
Strength and confidence afford,

And breathe celestial fire !

Teach us first to feel our need,

Then all that need supply ;
When we hunger, deign to teed,

And hear us when we cry !

God the Holy Ghost. ! 1 5

When we cleave to earthly things,

Send Thy reviving grace ;
Raise our souls, and give them wings,

To reach Thy holy place !

William Hiley Bathurst. 1831


There is a River, deep and broad,

Its course no mortal knows ;
It fills with joy the Church of God,

And widens as it flows.

Clearer than crystal is the stream,

And bright with endless day ;
The waves with every blessing teem,

And life and health convey.

Where'er they flow, contentions cease,

And love and meekness reign ;
The Lord Himself commands the peace,

And foes conspire in vain.

Along the shores, angelic bands

Watch every moving wave ;
With holy joy their breast expands,

When men the waters crave.

To them distressed souls repair,

The Lord invites them nigh ;
They leave their cares and sorrows there,

They drink, and never die.

Flow on, sweet Stream, more largely flow,

The earth with glory fill ;
Flow on, till all the Saviour know,

And all obey His will.

William Hum.

J 2

j 1 6 The Book of Praise.


There is a Stream, which issues forth

From God's eternal Throne,
And from the Lamb, a living stream

Clear as the crystal stone.

The stream doth water Paradise ;

It makes the angels sing ;
One cordial drop revives my heart ;

Hence all my joys do spring.

Such joys as are unspeakable,

And full of glory too ;
Such hidden manna, hidden pearls,

As worldlings do not know.

Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard,

From fancy 'tis concealed,
What Thou, Lord, hast laid up for Thine,

And hast to me revealed.

I see Thy face, I hear Thy voice,

I taste Thy sweetest love :
My soul doth leap : but O for wings,

The wings of Noah's dove !

Then should I flee far hence away,

Leaving this world of sin !
Then should my Lord put forth His hand,

And kindly take me in !

Then should my soul with angels feast

On joys that always last !
Blest be my God, the God of joy,

Who gives me here a taste.

John Mason. 1683

God the Holy Ghost. 1 1 7


Ye sons of earth, prepare the plough,

Break up your fallow ground ;
The Sower is gone forth to sow,

And scatter blessings round.

The seed that finds a stony soil

Shoots forth a hasty blade ;
But ill repays the sower's toil,

Soon wither' d, scorch' d, and dead.

The thorny ground is sure to balk

All .hopes of harvest there ;
We find a tall and sickly stalk,

But not the fruitful ear.

The beaten path and highway side

Receive the trust in vain ;
The watchful birds the spoil divide,

And pick up all the grain.

But when the Lord of grace and power

Has bless'd the happy field,
How plenteous is the golden store

The deep-wrought furrows yield !

Father of mercies ! we have need

Of Thy preparing grace :
Let the same Hand, that gives the seed,

Provide a fruitful place !

William Cowper. 1779.

1 1 3 The Book of Praise.


Behold, the morning sun
Begins his glorious way ;
His beams through all the nations run,
And life and light convey.

But where the gospel comes,
It spreads diviner light,
It calls dead sinners from their tombs,
And gives the blind their sight.

How perfect is Thy word !
And all Thy judgments just !
For ever sure Thy promise, Lord ;
And men securely trust.

While with my heart and tongue
I spread Thy praise abroad,
Accept the worship and the song,
My Saviour and my God !

Isaac Watts, 1719.



The starry firmament on high,
And all the glories of the sky,
Yet shine not to Thy praise, O Lord,
So brightly as Thy written word ;
The hopes that holy word supplies,
Its truths divine, and precepts wise,
In each a heavenly beam I see,
And every beam conducts to Thee.

God the Holy Ghost. \ \ )

When, taught by painful proof to kno\v
That all is vanity below,
The sinner roams from comfort far,
And looks in vain for sun or star ;
Soft gleaming then those lights divine
Through all the cheerless darkness shine,
And sweetly to the ravish'd eye
Disclose the Day-spring from on high.

The heart, in sensual fetters bound,
And barren as the wintry ground,
Confesses, Lord, Thy quickening ray ;
Thy word can charm the spell away ;
With genial influence can beguile
The frozen wilderness to smile
Bid living waters o'er it flow,
And all be paradise below.

Almighty Lord, the sun shall fail,
The moon forget her nightly tale,
And deepest silence hush on high
The radiant chorus of the sky ;
But, fix'd for everlasting years,
Unmoved amid the wreck of spheres,
Thy word shall shine in cloudless day,
When heaven and earth have pass'd away
Sir Robert Grant. [1839.

i2O The Book of Pratse.


And I believe one Catholic and Apostolic Church.

Jerusalem, my happy home,

When shall I come to thee ?
When shall my sorrows have an end,

Thy joys when shall I see ?

O happy harbour of the saints !

O sweet and pleasant soil !
In thee no sorrow may be found,

No grief, no care, no toil.

There lust and lucre cannot dwell,

There envy bears no sway ;
There is no hunger, heat, nor cold,

But pleasure every way.

Thy walls are made of precious stones,
Thy bulwarks diamonds square ;

Thy gates are of right orient pearl,
Exceeding rich and rare.

Thy turrets and thy pinnacles

With carbuncles do shine ;
Thy very streets are paved with gold,

Surpassing clear and fine.

.\h, my sweet home, Jerusalem,

Would God I were in thee !
Would God my woes were at an end,

Thy joys that I might see !

The Holy Catholic Cfturch. i

Thy saints are crown' d with glory great ;

They see God face to face ;
They triumph still, they still rejoice,

Most happy is their case.

We that are here in banishment

Continually do moan,
We sigh, and sob, we weep, and wail,

Perpetually we groan.

Our sweet is mix'd with bitter gall,

Our pleasure is but pain,
Our joys scarce last the looking on,

Our sorrows still remain.

But there they live in such delight,

Such pleasure and such play,
As that to them a thousand years

Doth seem as yesterday.

Thy gardens and thy gallant walks

Continually are green,
There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers

As nowhere else are seen.

Quite through the streets, with silver sound,
~ The flood of Life doth flow ;
Upon whose banks on every side
The wood of Life doth grow.

There trees for evermore bear fruit,

And evermore do spring ;
There evermore the angels sit,

And evermore do sing:.

1 22 The Book of Praise.

Jerusalem, my happy home,

Would God I were in thee !
Would God my woes were at an end,

Thy joys that I might see !

Anon. "F. B.P? [1616.


Sweet place, sweet place alone !
The court of God most High,
The Heaven of Heavens, the Throne
Of spotless majesty !
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

The stranger homeward bends,
And sigheth for his rest :
Heaven is my home, my friends
Lodge there in Abraham's breast :
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

Earth's but a sorry tent
Pitch'd for a few frail days,
A short-leas'd tenement ;
Heaven's still my song, my praise.
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

The Holy Catholic Church. 123

No tears from any eyes
Drop in that holy quire ;
But Death itself there dies,
And sighs themselves expire.
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

There should temptations cease,
My frailties there should end ;
There should I rest in peace
In the arms of my best Friend.
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

Jerusalem on high
My song and City is,
My home whene'er I die,
The centre of my bliss :
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

Thy walls, sweet city, thine,
With pearls are garnished ;
Thy gates with praises shine.
Thy streets with gold are spread j
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

1 24 The Rook of Praise.

No sun by day shines there,
Nor moon by silent night ;
Oh no ! these needless are ;
The Lamb's the city's Light :
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

There dwells my Lord, my King,
Judged here unfit to live ;
There angels to Him sing,
And lowly homage give :
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

The Patriarchs of old
There from their travels cease ;
The Prophets there. behold
Their long'd-for Prince of Peace :
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

The Lamb's Apostles there
I might with joy behold,
The Harpers I might hear
Harping on harps of gold :
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

The Holy Catholic Church, 125

The bleeding Martyrs, they
Within those courts are found,
Clothed in pure array,
Their scars with glory crovvn'd :
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

Ah me ! Ah me ! that I
In Kedar's tents here stay !
No place like this on high !
Thither, Lord ! guide my way !
O happy place !
When shall I be,
My God, with Thee,
To see Thy face ?

Samuel Grossman. 1664.


Jerusalem, my happy home,

Name ever dear to me !
When shall my labours have an end,

In joy and peace, and thee ?

When shall these eyes thy heaven-built walls,

And pearly gates behold ?
Thy bulwarks with salvation strong,

And streets of shining gold ?

There happier bowers than Eden's bloom,

Nor sin nor sorrow know :
Blest seats ! through rude and stormy scenes

I onward press to you.

1 26 The Book of Praise.

Why should I shrink from pain and woe,

Or feel at death dismay ?
I've Canaan's goodly land in view,

And realms of endless day.

Apostles, martyrs, prophets, there

Around my Saviour stand ;
And soon my friends in Christ below

Will join the glorious band.

Jerusalem, my happy home !

My soul still pants for thee :
Then shall my labours have an end,

When I thy joys shall see.

Anon. [1801.]


REV. VII. 1317.

VVhat are these in bright array,

This innumerable throng,
Round the altar, night and day,

Hymning one triumphant song ?
" Worthy is the Lamb, once slain,

Blessing, honour, glory, power,
Wisdom, riches, to obtain,

New dominion every hour."

These through fiery trials trod ;

These from great affliction came ;
Now, before the Throne of God,

Seal'd with His Almighty Name,
Clad in raiment pure and white,

Victor-palms in every hand,
Through their dear Redeemer's might,

More than conquerors they stand.

The Holy Catholic Church. 127

Hunger, thirst, disease unknown,

On immortal fruits they feed ;
Them the Lamb amidst the Throne

Shall to living fountains lead :
Joy and gladness banish sighs ;

Perfect love dispels all fear ;
And for ever from their eyes

God shall wipe away the tear.

James Montgomery. 1819.


REV. VII. 1317.

Exalted high at God's right hand,
Nearer the throne than cherubs stand,
With glory crown'd, in white array,
My wondering soul says, who are they ?

These are the saints beloved of God,
Wash'd are their robes in Jesus' blood,
More spotless than the purest white
They shine in uncreated light.

Brighter than angels, lo ! they shine,
Their glories great, and all divine :
Tell me their origin, and say,
Their order what, and whence came they /

Through tribulation great they came,
They bore the cross, and scorn'd the shame :
Within the Living Temple blest,
In God they dwell, and on Him rest.

And does the cross thus prove their gain ?
And shall they thus for ever reign,
Seated on sapphire thrones, to praise
The wonders of Redeeming grace ?

128 The Book of Praise.

Hunger they ne'er shall feel again,
Nor burning thirst shall they sustain :
To wells of living water led,
By God the Lamb for ever fed.

Unknown to mortal ears, they sing
The secret glories of their King :
Tell me the subject of their lays,
And whence their loud exalted praise ?

Jesus, the Saviour, is their theme ;
They sing the wonders of His Name ;
To Him ascribing power and grace,
Dominion, and eternal praise.

Amen ! they cry, to Him alone,
Who dares to fill His Father's throne ;
They give Him glory, and again
Repeat His praise, and say, Amen !

Rowland Hill. 1783.


O happy saints, who dwell in light,
And walk with Jesus, clothed in white ;
Safe landed on that peaceful shore,
Where pilgrims meet to part no more.

Released from sin, and toil, and grief.
Death was their gate to endless life ;
An open'd cage, to let them fly
And build their happy nest on high.

And now they range the heavenly plains,
And sing their hymns in melting strains ;
And now their souls begin to prove
The heights and depths of Jesus' love.

The Holy Catholic Church. 129

He cheers them with eternal smile ;
They sing hosannas all the while ;
Or, ovenvhelm'd with rapture sweet,
Sink down adoring at His feet.

Ah ! Lord ! with tardy steps I creep,
And sometimes sing, and sometimes weep ;
Yet strip me of this house of clay,
And I will sing as loud as they.

John Berridge. 1785

REV. VII. 1317.

How bright these glorious spirits shine :
Whence all their white array ?

How came they to the blissful seats
Of everlasting day ?

Lo ! these are they from sufferings great
Who came to realms of light ;

And in the blood of Christ have wash'd
Those robes which shine so bright.

Now with triumphal palms they stand

Before the throne on high,
And serve the God they love, amidst

The glories of the sky.

His presence fills each heart with joy.

Tunes every mouth to sing ;
By day, by night, the sacred courts

With glad hosannas ring.


130 The Book of Praise.

Hunger and thirst are felt no more,

Nor suns with scorching ray ;
God is their Sun, whose cheering beams

Diffuse eternal day.

The Lamb, which dwells amidst the throne,

Shall o'er them still preside,
Feed them with nourishment divine,

And all their footsteps guide.

'Mong pastures green He'll lead His flock,

Where living streams appear ;
And God the Lord from every eye
Shall wipe off every tear.

William Cameron. 1770.
(Variation from Isaac Watts. 1709.)

REV. VII. 1317.

Palms of glory, raiment bright,
Crowns that never fade away,
Gird and deck the saints in light,
Priests, and kings, and conquerors they.

Yet the conquerors bring their palms
To the Lamb amidst the throne,
And proclaim in joyful psalms
Victory through His cross alone.

Kings for harps their cro\vns resign,
Crying, as they strike the chords,
" Take the kingdom, it is Thine,
King of kings, and Lord of lords ! "

The Holy Catholic Church. 131

Round the altar priests confess,
If their robes are white as snow,
'Twas the Saviour's righteousness,
Arid His blood, that made them so.

Who were these ? on earth they dwelt ;
Sinners once, of Adam's race ;
Guilt, and fear, and suffering felt ;
But were saved by sovereign grace.

They were mortal, too, like us :
Ah ! when we, like them, must die,
May our souls, translated thus,
Triumph, reign, and shine on high !

James Montgomery. [1853.]



Glorious things of thee are spoken,

Zion, city of our God ;
He, whose word cannot be broken,

Form'd thee for His own abode:
On the Rock of Ages founded,

What can shake thy sure repose ?
With salvation's walls surrounded,

Thou mayst smile at all thy foes.

See, the streams of living waters,

Springing from eternal love,
Well supply thy sons and daughters,

And all'fear of want remove :
Who can faint, while such a river

Ever flows their thirst to assuage ;
Grace, which, like the Lord the giver,

Never fails from age to age ?

K 2

1 3 2 Th e Book of Praise.

Round each habitation hovering,

See the cloud and fire appear,
For a glory and a covering ;

Showing that the Lord is near.
Thus deriving from their banner

Light by night, and shade by day,
Safe they feed upon the manna,

Which He gives them when they pray.

Saviour, if of Zion's city

I, through grace, a member am,
Let the world deride or pity,

I will glory in Thy Name :
Fading is the worldling's pleasure,

All his boasted pomp and show ;
Solid joys and lasting treasure

None but Zion's children know.

John Newton . 1 7 79


The Son of God goes forth to war,

A kingly crown to gain ;
His blood-red banner streams afar :

Who follows in His train ?

Who best can drink His cup of woe,

Triumphant over pain,
Who patient bears His cross below,

He follows in his train.

The martyr, first, whose eagle eye
Could pierce beyond the grave ;

Who saw his Master in the sky,
And call'd on Him to save.

The Holy Catholic Church. 133

Like Him, with pardon on his tongue,

In midst of mortal pain,
He prayed for them that did the wrong :

Who follows in his train ?

A glorious band, the chosen few,

On whom the Spirit came ;
Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew.

And mock'd the cross and flame.

They met the tyrant's brandish'd steel,

The lion's gory mane ;
They bow'd their necks the death to feel :

Who follows in their train ?

A noble army, men and boys,

The matron and the maid,
Around the Saviour's throne rejoice,

In robes of light arrayed.

They climb'd the steep ascent of heaven,

Through peril, toil, and pain ;
O God ! to us may grace be given

To follow in their train !

Bishop Reginald Hebcr. 1827.


Ye servants of the Lord,
Each in his office wait,
Observant of His heavenly word,
And watchful at His gate.

Let all your lamps be bright,
And trim the golden flame ;
Gird up your loins, as in His sight,
For awful is His name.

134 The Book of Praise.

Watch ; 'tis your Lord's command ;
And, while we speak, He's near ;
Mark the first signal of His hand,
And ready all appear.

O happy servant he,
In such a posture found !
He shall his Lord with rapture see,
And be with honour crown' d.

Christ shall the banquet spread
With His own Royal hand ;
And raise that favourite servant's head
Amid the angelic band.

Philip Doddridge. 1 755


A soldier's course, from battles won

To new-commencing strife ;
A pilgrim's, restless as the sun

Behold the Christian's life !

Prepared the trumpet's call to greet,

Soldier of Jesus, stand !
Pilgrim of Christ, with ready feet

Await thy Lord's command.

The hosts of Satan pant for spoil ;

How can thy warfare close ?
Lonely, thou tread'st a foreign soil ;

How canst thou hope repose ?

Seek, soldier ! pilgrim ! seek thine home,

Reveal'd in sacred lore ;
The land, whence pilgrims never roam,

Where soldiers war no more :

The Holy Catholic Church. 135

Where grief shall never wound, nor death

Disturb the Saviour's reign ;
Nor sin, with pestilential breath,

His holy realm profane :

The land, where, (suns and moons unknown,

And night's alternate sway,)
Jehovah's ever-burning throne

Upholds unbroken day :

The land, (for Heaven its bliss unseen

Bids earthly types suggest,)
Where healing leaves and fadeless green

Fruit-laden groves invest :

Where founts of life their treasures yield

In streams that never cease ;
Where everlasting mountains shield

Vales of eternal peace :

Where they who meet shall never part ;

Where grace achieves its plan ;
And God, uniting every heart,

Dwells face to face with man.

Thomas Gisborne. 1803.


Hark, 'tis a martial sound !

To arms, ye saints, to arms !

Your foes are gathering round,

And peace has lost its charms :
Prepare the helmet, sword, and shield ;
The trumpet calls you to the field.

No common foes appear
To dare you to the fight,
But such as own no fear
And glory in their might :

136 The Book of Praise.

The Powers of Darkness are at hand ;
Resist, or bow to their command.

An arm of flesh must fail

In such a strife as this ;

He only can prevail

Whose arm immortal is :
'Tis Heaven itself the strength must yield,
And weapons fit for such a field.

And Heaven supplies them too :

The Lord, who never faints,

Is greater than the foe,

And He is with His saints :
Thus arm'd, they venture to the fight ;
Thus arm'd, they put their foes to flight.

And, when the conflict's past,

On yonder peaceful shore

They shall repose at last,

And see their foes no more ;
The fruits of victory enjoy,
And never more their arms employ.

Thomas Kelly. 1809

O Israel, to thy tents repair :

Why thus secure on hostile ground ?
Thy King commands thee to beware,

For many foes thy camp surround,

The trumpet gives a martial strain :
O Israel, gird thee for the fight !

Arise, the combat to maintain,
And put thine enemies to flight. 1

The Holy Catholic Church. 137

Thou shouldst not sleep, as others do ;

Awake ; be vigilant ; be brave !
The coward, and the sluggard too,

Must wear the fetters of the slave.

A nobler lot is cast for thee ;

A kingdom waits thee in the skies :
With such a hope, shall Israel flee,

Or yield, through weariness, the prize ?

No ! let a careless world repose

And slumber on through life's short day.

While Israel to the conflict goes,
And bears the glorious prize away !

Thomas Kelly. \ 806


Much in sorrow, oft in woe,
Onward, Christians, onward go ;
Fight the fight, and, worn with strife,
Steep with tears the Bread of Life.

Onward, Christians, onward go ;
Join the war, and face the foe ;
Faint not ! much doth yet remain ;
Dreary is the long campaign.

Shrink not, Christians ! will ye yield ?
Will ye quit the painful field ?
Will ye flee in danger's hour ?
Know ye not your Captain's power ?

Let your drooping hearts be glad ;
March, in heavenly armour clad ;
Fight, nor think the battle long ;
Victory soon shall tune your song.

138 The Book of Praise.

Let not sorrow dim your eye,

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