HYMNS. THE TRUE HEROES. OR, THE NOBLE ARMY OF MARTYRS You who love a tale of glory, Warriors of the world, avaunt! Saints and martyrs grace my page. Warriors who the world o'ercame Fearful Christian! hear with wonder, Some to savage beasts were hurl'd, Worthy of these wondrous men Some in fiery furnace thrown, Let us crown with deathless fame How the shower of stones descended, See his fierce reviler Saul, How he rails with impious breath! Then observe converted Paul, Oft in perils, oft in death. "Twas that God, whose sovereign power, E'en a woman-women, hear, Seven stout sons she saw expire, F'en in death's acutest anguish, Martyrs who were thus arrested, Though their lot was hard and lowly, Fierce and unbelieving foes But their bodies could destroy; Short, though bitter, were their woes, Everlasting is their joy. A CHRISTMAS HYMN. O HOW wondrous is the story Leaves his heaven to visit earth! Hear with transport, every creature, Comes to pardon our transgression, If the angels who attended To declare the Saviour's birth, Who from heaven with songs descended To proclaim good-will on earth; If, in pity to our blindness, They had brought the pardon needed Still Jehovah's wondrous kindness Had our warmest hopes exceeded: If some prophet had been sent With salvation's joyful news, Who, that heard the blest event, Could their warmest love refuse! But 'twas He to whom in heaven None but He who did create us Had He come, the glorious stranger, Still our tongues with praise o'erflowing, But what wonder should it raise God's own Son a child of sorrow! 'Twas to bring us endless pleasure, Come, ye rich, survey the stable Boast not your ennobled stations, Had not where to lay his head. |