HYMNS.

THE

TRUE HEROES.

OR,

THE NOBLE ARMY OF MARTYRS

You who love a tale of glory,
Listen to the song I sing;
Heroes of the Christian story,
Are the heroes I shall bring.

Warriors of the world, avaunt!
Other heroes me engage;
'Tis not such as you I want,

Saints and martyrs grace my page.

Warriors who the world o'ercame
Were in brother's blood embrued;
While the saints of purer fame,
Greater far-themselves subdued.

Fearful Christian! hear with wonder,
Of the saints of whom I tell ;
Some were burnt, some sawn asunder,
Some by fire or torture fell;

Some to savage beasts were hurl'd,
One escaped the lion's den;
Was a persecuting world

Worthy of these wondrous men

Some in fiery furnace thrown,
Yet escap'd, unsinged their hair;
There Almighty power was shown;
For the Son of God was there.

Let us crown with deathless fame
Those who scorn'd and hated fell;
Martyrs met contempt and shame,
Fearing nought but sin and hell.

How the shower of stones descended,
Holy Stephen, on thy head!
While his tongue the truth defended,
How the glorious martyr bled!

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,
Did the lion's fury 'suage,
Could alone, in one short hour,
Still the persecutor's rage.

E'en a woman-women, hear,
Read in Maccabees the story!
Conquer'd nature, love, and fear,
To obtain a crown of glory.

Seven stout sons she saw expire,
(How the mother's soul was pain'd!)
Some by sword, and some by fire,
(How the martyr was sustained!)

F'en in death's acutest anguish,
Each the tyrant still defied;
Each she saw in torture languish,
Last of all the mother died.

Martyrs who were thus arrested,
In their short but bright career;
By their blood the truth attested,
Proved their faith and love sincere.

Though their lot was hard and lowly,
Though they perish'd at the stake,
Now they live with Christ in glory,
Since they suffer'd for his sake.

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
Of our blest Redeemer's birth!
See the mighty Lord of glory

Leaves his heaven to visit earth!

Hear with transport, every creature,
Hear the gospel's joyful sound;
Christ appears in human nature,
In our sinful world is found;

Comes to pardon our transgression,
Like a cloud our sins to blot;
Comes to his own favour'd nation,
But his own receive him not.

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
Hallelujahs never cease;
He, the mighty God, was given,
Given to us a Prince of peace.

None but He who did create us
Could redeem from sin and hell;
None but He could re-instate us
In the rank from which we fell.

Had He come, the glorious stranger,
Deck'd with all the world calls great;
Had He lived in pomp and grandeur,
Crown'd with more than royal state;

Still our tongues with praise o'erflowing,
On such boundless love would dwell;
Still our hearts, with rapture glowing,
Feel what words could never tell.

But what wonder should it raise
Thus our lowest state to borrow!
O the high mysterious ways,

God's own Son a child of sorrow!

'Twas to bring us endless pleasure,
He our suffering nature bore;
'Twas to give us heavenly treasure,
He was willing to be poor.

Come, ye rich, survey the stable
Where your infant Saviour lies;
From
your full o'erflowing table
Send the hungry good supplies.

Boast not your ennobled stations,
Boast not that you're highly fed;
Jesus, hear it, all ye nations,

Had not where to lay his head.