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S. M.

WEET feast of love Divine !
'Tis grace that makes us free
To feed upon this bread and wine,
In memory, Lord, of Thee.

Here every welcome guest
Waits, Lord, from Thee to learn
The secrets of Thy Father's breast,
And all Thy grace discern.
Here conscience ends its strife,
And faith delights to prove

The sweetness of the bread of life,
The sun Thyself of love.

The blood that flowed for sin
In symbol here we see,

And feel the blessed pledge within,

That we are loved of Thee.

Oh, if this glimpse of love
Is so Divinely sweet,

What will it be, O Lord, above,

Thy gladdening smile to meet!
To see Thee face to face,
Thy perfect likeness wear;

And all Thy ways of wondrous grace
Through endless years declare!

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E followers of the Prince of Peace,
Who round His table draw,

Remember what His spirit was,
And what His primal law.

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2 The love which His pure bosom filled
Did all His actions guide :

Inspired by love He lived and taught;
Inspired by love He died.

3 Let each His sacred law fulfil;
Like His be every mind;

Be every heart the home of love,
And every action kind.

4 Let none who call themselves His friends
Disgrace the honoured name,
But still by near resemblance prove
The title which they claim.

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THE

Matrimony.

7. 6. 7. 6.

HE voice that breathed o'er Eden,
That earliest wedding-day,

The primal marriage blessing,
It hath not passed away:

2 Still in the pure espousal

Of Christian man and maid
The Holy Three are with us,
The threefold grace is said.
3 For dower of blessed children,
For love and faith's sweet sake,
For high mysterious union

Which nought on earth may break,

4 Be present, awful Father,
To give away this bride,
As Eve Thou gav'st to Adam
Out of his own pierced side;

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5 Be present, Son of Mary,
To join their loving hands,
As Thou didst bind two natures
In Thine eternal bands;

6 Be present, Holiest Spirit,
To bless them as they kneel,
As Thou for Christ, the Bridegroom,
The heavenly spouse dost seal.
7 Oh spread Thy pure wing o'er them,
Let no ill power find place,
When onward to Thine altar
The hallowed path they trace,
8 To cast their crowns before Thee,
In perfect sacrifice,

Till to the home of gladness

With Christ's own Bride they rise.

Burial of the Dead.

MORLEY'S DOUBLE CHANT.

ROTHER, thou art gone before us,

B and thy saintly soul is flown

Where tears are wiped from every eye,
And sorrow is unknown.

2 From the burden of the flesh,

And from care and fear released, Where the wicked cease from troubling, And the weary are at rest.

3 The toilsome way thou'st travelled o'er, And borne the heavy load;

But Christ hath taught thy languid feet
To reach His blest abode.

4 And there thou 'rt sure to meet the good
Whom on earth thou lovedst best,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

5 "Earth to earth," and "dust to dust,"
The solemn priest hath said;
So we lay the turf above thee now,
And we seal thy narrow bed;
6 But thy spirit, brother, soars away
Among the faithful blest,

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Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

7 And when the Lord shall summon us
Whom thou hast left behind,
May we, untainted by the world,
As sure a welcome find;

8 May each, like thee, depart in peace,
To be a glorious guest,

Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest.

8. 8. 8. 8. 8. 8.

TOW rests her soul in Jesu's arms,

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Her body in the grave sleeps well;

No foe her spirit's home alarms,

And peace more calm than tongue can tell,— Her few brief hours of conflict passedShe finds with Christ, her Lord, at last. 2 She hath escaped all danger now, Her pain and sighing all are fled, The crown of joy is on her bow, Eternal glories o'er her shed, In golden robes,-a queen, a bride,She standeth at her Sovereign's side.

3 The child hath now its Father seen,

And feels what kindling love may be,
And knoweth what those words may mean,
"Himself, the Father, loveth thee."
A shoreless ocean, an abyss
Unfathomed, of repose and bliss.

4 We, who yet wander through the waste,
Sister, long after thee on high;
While here the bread of tears we taste,
We think upon thy home of joy,

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Where we, who knows how soon? shall meet,
With all the saints at Jesu's feet.

13. 11. 12. 11.

1 HOU art gone to the grave but we will not

TH deplore thee,

Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb;

The Saviour hath passed through its portal before thee,

And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the gloom.

2 Thou art gone to the grave we no longer behold thee,

Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy

side;

But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee,

And sinners may hope, for the Sinless hath died.

3 Thou art gone to the grave-and, its mansion

forsaking,

Perchance thy tried spirit in fear lingered long;

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