HYMN XXIII. PEACE.
I
The Mount of Olives was thy seat,
O Angel, heav'nly fair;
And thou, sweet Peace, didst often meet
Thy Prince and Saviour there.
II
But now abroad condemn'd to roam,
From Salem lov'd and bless'd;
A quiet conscience is thine home,
In every faithful breast.
III
Thou didst Augustus first inspire,
That bloody war should cease;
And to Melchisedec retire,
The Sov'reign of our peace.
IV
O come unto the Church repair,
And her defects review;
Of old thou plantedst olives there,
Which to redundance grew.
V
Sustain the pillars of the state,
Be health and wealth conjoin'd;
And in each house thy turtles mate,
To multiply mankind.
