 | The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770 |  |
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Seven Hymns
Hymn for Christmas
1
Rejoice, ye servants of the Lord:Be this great name ador'd:
Exalt your voices high:
For lo! He comes; the Godhead comes;
Our nature to His own assumes,
That he for us may die.
2
This blessed day, glad Earth receivesThe Prince of Peace: a Virgin gives
The Savior to the light:
Angelic hosts the wonder sing;
The Shepherds haste to hail their King,
And bless the awful sight.
3
And see, the Magi from afar,Directed by a radiant star,
To where their Maker lay;
Offer, with mingled joy and fear,
Their gold, frankincense, and their myrrh,
And adoration pay.
4
And shall not we, with equal fear,With equal warmth and joy revere,
His great and glorious name!
And shall not we in loftiest hymns,
With Seraphs and Cherubims,
The Saviour God proclaim!
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Hymn for Whitsunday
1
Thou Holy Ghost; mysterious power!To thee we fly for aid;
Teach us, on wings of Faith to soar,
Our inmost hearts purvey'd.
2
O still, as erst Thou didst inspire,The chosen of the Lord,
When first they felt the Sacred fire,
Instruct me in Thy Word.
3
With wonder, heard the mingled throng!They saw and were amazed!
The rushing wind, the cloven tongues—
They trembled as they gazed.
4
But what astonishment was theirs!Who can their joy unfold!
While each, in his own language hears
Th' important tidings told.
5
This wond'rous work, all clement power,Didst then for man ordain!
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Might hold their hated reign.
6
Therefore, our gratitude to Thee,Breaks forth in hymns of joy;
And thus, thro' all eternity,
May we our tongues employ.
Sacremental Hymn
1
The feast's prepared; the table's set;The chosen of the Lord are met.
Blest visitants! how happy all,
Who haste to obey the gracious call.
2
Hark! 'tis the Saviour Who invites!Such condescension, sure excites
Each fervent heart to join the feast;
Who would not be the Saviour's guest?
3
Haste then, with ardor to your bliss!“O taste and see how good He is!”
Feast your glad souls, in what will prove
Sweet earnest of your bliss above.
Resignation
1
What e'er, all-clement God,Thy justice shall ordain;
I'll bow, submissive to thy rod,
And never will complain.
2
Though ills, successive fall,On my devoted head,
With patient heart, I'll bear them all,
And to thy mercy plead.
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3
For well, I know, the causeOf thy consuming wrath;
Too long I've disobey'd thy laws,
I've merited my death.
4
I know, whate'er I feel,The Saviour suffer'd more;
And man's distempered heart to heal,
Severest tortures bore.
5
Hear this! my soul, thou'lt say,Since God's such tender love,
I'll bear life's sorrows as I may,
My gratitude to prove.
Hymn for Ascension
1
He springs, he rises from the groundHe cleaves the yielding sky.
Then Earth, the heavens with joy resound,
That Savior mounts on high.
2
O Wondrous proof of power divineThe God, the God ascends;
With what a lustre does he shine,
And what a train attends.
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3
The cherubim & seraphimCrowd thick his azure way;
And hark in one continued hymn
Their duteous homage pay.
4
Hear this ye nations and adore;The Era is begun,
When time and death—their ravage o'er—
Lie vanquished by the Son.
5
Again he'll in the clouds appear;When—all-tremendous thought—
For what we've live & acted here,
Shall be to judgement brought.
6
The wicked in the depths of hell,To wail eternal woe;
The righteous with their Lord to dwell,
Where joys immortal flow.
Funeral Hymn
1
Fruitless the toils which harrass man;His anxious cares for wealth or pow'r;
Life's longest period's but a span,
And soon he meets his destined hour.
2
Death strikes! fell tyrant! less he lies,And those that loved him round him mourn;
But vain their tears & vain their sighs,
For life once fled has no return.
3
And is there nothing that can boast,Its various ills to make us bear?
Is all in disappointment lost,
Without one prospect worth our care?
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4
Yes, there's a brighter, a heavenly prizeDeserves our care, our utmost pains;
You blooming fields above the skies,
Where Seraphs sing, where Jesus reigns.
5
With these in view & these our aim,Life's deepest woes we can support.
And immortality our claim,
Who'll dare to say that life is short?
On Viewing the Grave of Arthur Cradock
1
In the dark Earth his body lies—Deep hid from mortal sight;
Clos'd, ever clos'd, those beaming eyes—
That gave me such delight.
2
Cold as the turf that covers him—He whom the parent mourns;
Corruption triumphs o'er each limb—
And dust to dust returns.
3
O with what rapture viewed we all—His sweet, his manly form;
Ah, could we think so soon he'd fall—
A victim to the worm.
4
And yet that body cloth'd a mind—That with devotion glow'd;
And could no solid pleasure find—
But in the love of God.
5
And yet those eyes so mildly bright—Trac'd out creation's laws;
And guided by celestial light—
Discern'd th'Almighty Cause.
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6
And yet that form display'd a Soul—In every grace complete;
Which every passion could control—
Serene, sublimely great.
7
Is then my dear loved son no more?—Ah yes! he lives above;
No longer then, fond heart, deplore—
The loss of filial love.
| The Poetic Writings of Thomas Cradock, 1718-1770 | |