 | Wood-notes and Church-bells |  |
A THANKSGIVING.
My heart is now inditing
An anthem to the King,
The Spirit's voice inviting,
To Thee, O Lord, I sing:
Thy mighty love amazes
My soul yet more and more;
Fain would I utter praises
And at Thy feet adore.
An anthem to the King,
The Spirit's voice inviting,
To Thee, O Lord, I sing:
Thy mighty love amazes
My soul yet more and more;
Fain would I utter praises
And at Thy feet adore.
The boon of my creation,
A free and sovereign gift,
And life-long preservation,
For these my thanks I lift;
A mother's soft caressings,
A father's loving care,
And all the priceless blessings
Which crowned a home of prayer.
A free and sovereign gift,
And life-long preservation,
For these my thanks I lift;
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A father's loving care,
And all the priceless blessings
Which crowned a home of prayer.
For store of various knowledge,
For training in God's fear,
Bestowed at school and college,
Through many a favoured year:
For helpful words in season
From lips as wise as kind,
To elevate the reason,
And cultivate the mind.
For training in God's fear,
Bestowed at school and college,
Through many a favoured year:
For helpful words in season
From lips as wise as kind,
To elevate the reason,
And cultivate the mind.
Praise for the Spirit's calling
Which came to me in youth,
God's early rain soft-falling,
Quickening the seeds of Truth;
Revealing Christ the Saviour
As all my hope and stay,
And ruling my behaviour
Along the peaceful way.
Which came to me in youth,
God's early rain soft-falling,
Quickening the seeds of Truth;
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As all my hope and stay,
And ruling my behaviour
Along the peaceful way.
For that transcendent Treasure,
That Jewel of the skies,
Whose worth no tongue can measure,
My highest praise arise,—
For that most precious story
Of Him who bled and died,
That I might live to glory
In Jesus crucified.
That Jewel of the skies,
Whose worth no tongue can measure,
My highest praise arise,—
For that most precious story
Of Him who bled and died,
That I might live to glory
In Jesus crucified.
Praise for this world of beauty
Spread round me day by day,
And for the light of Duty
Which shines upon my way;
For chorus of birds' voices,
And, sweeter still to me,
A conscience that rejoices
Because by Truth made free.
Spread round me day by day,
And for the light of Duty
Which shines upon my way;
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And, sweeter still to me,
A conscience that rejoices
Because by Truth made free.
Blue sky and sunset splendour,
Green field and garden bower,
For all, my thanks I render—
For river, tree, and flower;
For swell of mighty ocean,
For mountain's lofty erest,
For cloud with stately motion,
For lake with placid breast.
Green field and garden bower,
For all, my thanks I render—
For river, tree, and flower;
For swell of mighty ocean,
For mountain's lofty erest,
For cloud with stately motion,
For lake with placid breast.
Praise for my home-enjoyments,
For friendship's grateful balm,
Each happy day's employments,
Each welcome evening's calm:
The tenderness which graces
A wife and mother true,
The joy of children's faces
Who keep their early dew.
For friendship's grateful balm,
Each happy day's employments,
Each welcome evening's calm:
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A wife and mother true,
The joy of children's faces
Who keep their early dew.
And not of mercy only,
Of judgment will I sing,
Of hours, ah, dark and lonely
Which drooped on heavy wing,
O'ershadowing all life's gladness
With pain and grief and loss;
But Thou couldst soothe the sadness,
And sanctify the cross!
Of judgment will I sing,
Of hours, ah, dark and lonely
Which drooped on heavy wing,
O'ershadowing all life's gladness
With pain and grief and loss;
But Thou couldst soothe the sadness,
And sanctify the cross!
Praise for the service holy
Wherein I spend my years
In bearing to the lowly
The Gospel-wine which cheers:
An open door before me
To speak and write for God,
His promised blessing o'er me
To waft His Word abroad.
Wherein I spend my years
In bearing to the lowly
The Gospel-wine which cheers:
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To speak and write for God,
His promised blessing o'er me
To waft His Word abroad.
Praise for each hopeful token
I have not sown in vain,
But when His Word was spoken
He gave the “gracious rain;”
And that, though oft in sorrow
I sigh for fruitless toil;
There comes a joyful morrow
With golden harvest spoil.
I have not sown in vain,
But when His Word was spoken
He gave the “gracious rain;”
And that, though oft in sorrow
I sigh for fruitless toil;
There comes a joyful morrow
With golden harvest spoil.
Oh, praise the Lord who lightens
With peace earth's toil and strife,
And with a glory brightens
The verge of this brief life:
Who with His finger beckons
To yon fair Home above,
Where Time no longer reckons
The cycles of His love!
With peace earth's toil and strife,
And with a glory brightens
The verge of this brief life:
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To yon fair Home above,
Where Time no longer reckons
The cycles of His love!
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