Lyra Britannica: A Collection of British Hymns, Printed from the Genuine Texts, with Biographical Sketches of the Hymn Writers

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Longmans, Green, 1868 - 680 pāgines
 

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Pāgina 548 - Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to Thy cross I cling; ' Naked, come to Thee for dress, Helpless, look to Thee for grace; Foul, I to the fountain fly; Wash me, Saviour, or I die.
Pāgina 74 - I came to Jesus as I was, Weary and worn and sad ; I found in Him a resting-place, And He has made me glad. 2 I heard the voice of Jesus say Behold I freely give The living water; thirsty one, Stoop down and drink, and live.
Pāgina 425 - THOU art, O GOD, the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from Thee. Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are Thine...
Pāgina 7 - And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth ; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll, And spread the truth from pole to pole. What, though in solemn silence all Move round the dark terrestrial ball ; What, though no real voice nor sound...
Pāgina 376 - tis not in grief to harm me, While Thy love is left to me : Oh, 'twere not in joy to charm me, Were that joy unmixed with Thee. 3 Take, my soul, thy full salvation ; Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care ; Joy to find in every station Something still to do or bear...
Pāgina 660 - How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, Is laid for your faith in his excellent word ! What more can he say than to you he hath said ? You, who unto Jesus for refuge have fled.
Pāgina 160 - There, if thy Spirit touch the soul, And grace her mean abode, Oh ! with what peace, and joy, and love, She communes with her God ! There like the nightingale she pours Her solitary lays ; Nor asks a witness of her song, Nor thirsts for human praise.
Pāgina 579 - Sweet fields, beyond the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living green: So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between.
Pāgina 275 - Let not conscience make you linger, Nor of fitness fondly dream ; All the fitness he requireth, Is to feel your need of him ; This he gives you ; 'Tis the Spirit's rising beam.
Pāgina 118 - And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.

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