| CROSSING THE BAR |
Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar. |
| --Alfred, Lord Tennyson. |
| LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT |
Lead, kindly Light! amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on; The night is dark and I am far from home, Lead Thou me on; Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene; one step enough for me. I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou Shouldst lead me on; I loved to choose and see my path; but now Lead Thou me on: I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years. So long Thy power has blessed me, sure it still Will lead me on O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till The night is gone; And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile! |
| --John H. Newman. |
| MY COUNTRY! 'T IS OF THEE |
My country! 't is of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing; Land where my fathers died! Land of the Pilgrims' pride! From every mountain side Let freedom ring! My native country, thee-- Land of the noble, free-- Thy name I love; I love thy rocks and rills, Thy woods and templed hills; My heart with rapture thrills Like that above. Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet freedom's song: Let mortal tongues awake; Let all that breathe partake; Let rocks their silence break,-- The sound prolong. [{493}] Our fathers' God! to Thee, Author of liberty, To Thee we sing: Long may our land be bright With freedom's holy light; Protect us by Thy might, Great God, our King! |
| --Samuel F. Smith. |
| FROM ALL THAT DWELL BELOW THE SKIES |
From all that dwell below the skies Let the Creator's praise arise; Let the Redeemer's name be sung Through every land, by every tongue. Eternal are Thy mercies, Lord; Eternal truth attends Thy word; Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more. |
| --Isaac Watts. |