O God, our Help in Ages past. GOD, our help in ages past, Under the shadow of Thy throne Before the hills in order stood, A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone, Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun. O God, our help in Ages past. Time, like an ever rolling stream, Bears all its sons away; They fly forgotten, as a dream O God, our help in ages past, Be Thou our Guard while life shall last, And our eternal home! ISAAC WATTS. (Sung at the funeral of BISHOP BROOKS.) 170 Come Quickly, Sweetest Lord. EVER weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore, Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more, Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast. Oh, come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest! Ever blooming are the joys of heaven's high Paradise, Cold age deafs not there our ears, nor vapor dims our eyes; Glory there the sun outshines; whose beams the Blessed only see. Oh, come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite to Thee! THOMAS CAMPION. |