2 Thus low the Lord of life was brought; Thus cold in death that bosom lay, 3 Then raise your eyes and tune your songs; The Saviour lives again! Not all the bolts and bars of death 4 High o'er the angelic bands, he rears And through unnumbered years he reigns, 5 With joy like his shall every saint 7s. M. 285. COLLYER. Resurrection of Christ. 1 MORNING breaks upon the tomb! Day of triumph through the skies! 2 Christians, dry your flowing tears; 3 Ye who are of death afraid, 4 So the rising sun appears, 1 ANGEL! roll the stone away! 2 Now, ye saints, lift up your eyes! Mark his progress through the sky, 3 Heaven unfolds its crystal gate; 4 Praise him, all ye heavenly choirs; 7s. M. 287. SALISBURY COL. The Ascension. 1 HAIL the day that sees him rise, 2 There the splendid triumph waits; 3 Him though highest heaven receives, 4 Ever upwards let us move, 5 There with thee may we remain, Christ seen of Angels. 1 O YE immortal throng Doddridge. Of angels round the throne, To make the Saviour known: On earth ye knew His wondrous grace; In heaven ye 2 Ye saw the heaven-born child And in a manger laid; And praise to God, And peace on earth, view. For such a birth, 3 Around his sacred tomb Then rolled the stone, Your rising Lord, And all adored With joy unknown. 4 When, all arrayed in light, And waved around And struck your strings Your golden wings, Of sweetest sound. 5 The warbling notes pursue, Their own Redeemer's praise: And thou, my heart, And joy the same, With equal flame, Perform thy part! The Cross of Christ. BOWRING. 1 IN the cross of Christ I glory, Towering o'er the wrecks of time; All the light of sacred story Gathers round its head sublime. 2 When the woes of life o'ertake me, 3 When the sun of bliss is beaming 4 Bane and blessing, pain and pleasure, By the cross are sanctified; Peace is there that knows no measure, Joys that through all time abide. 5 In the cross of Christ I glory, Towering o'er the wrecks of time; All the light of sacred story Gathers round its head sublime. 7s. M. 290. Sun of Righteousness. C. WESLEY. 1 CHRIST, Whose glory fills the skies, 2 Dark and cheerless is the morn, 3 Visit, then, this soul of mine; |