945 ANSELM. L. M. L. H. HAYNE. 1. E-ternal Source of every joy, Thy praise may well our lips em-ploy, 1. Come, ye thank - ful people, come, Raise the song of harvest home; O Come to God's own tem- ple, come, Raise the song of harvest home. 2 1 Come, ye thankful people, come, 2 All the world is God's own field, 3 For the Lord our God shall come, 4 Even so, Lord, quickly come To thy final harvest home : Gather thou thy people in, Free from sorrow, free from sin; 1 Praise to God, immortal praise, 2 Flocks that whiten all the plain, 3 These, to that dear Source we owe, A. L. BARBAULD. 948 AMERICA. 6s & 4s. ENGLISH HYMN. 1. My country, 'tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing : Land where my fathers died, Land of the pilgrim's pride, From every mountain side Let freedom ring! 1 Lord, while for all mankind we pray, Of every clime and coast, O hear us for our native land, |: The land we love the most! :|| 2 Our fathers' sepulchres are here, And here our kindred dwell: Our children, too; how should we love ||: Another's land so well? :|| 3 O guard our shores from every foe, 4 Lord of the nations, thus to thee 951 J. R. WREFORD. 1 O Lord, our fathers oft have told, In our attentive ears, Thy wonders in their days performed, ||: Ánd in more ancient years. :|| 2 'Twas not their courage, nor their sword, To them salvation gave; 'Twas not their number, nor their strength, ||: That did their country save ; :|| 3 But thy right hand, thy powerful arm, Whose succor they implored; Thy providence protected them, ||: Who thy great name adored. :|| 4 As thee their God our fathers owned, So thou art still our King; O therefore, as thou didst to them, 952 TATE & BRADY. 1 Great King of nations, hear our prayer, While at thy feet we fall; And humbly with united cry, ||: To thee for mercy call. :|| 2 When dangers, like a stormy sea, Beset our country round, To thee we looked, to thee we cried, ||: And help in thee was found. :|| 3 With one consent we meekly bow Beneath thy chastening hand, And, pouring forth confession meet, ||: Mourn with our mourning land. :|| 4 With pitying eye behold our need, As thus we lift our prayer; Correct us with thy judgments, Lord, |: Then let thy mercy spare. :|| 387 J. H. GURNEY. |