God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears, God shall lift up thy head. 1 IVE to the winds thy fears; GIVE Hope and be undismayed; God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears, God shall lift up thy head. 2 Through waves and clouds and storms Wait thou His time; so shall this night 3 Leave to His sovereign sway To choose and to command; So shalt thou wondering own. His way 4 Far, far above thy thought His counsel shall appear, When fully He the work hath wrought 5 Thou seest our weakness, Lord; 6 Let us in life, in death, Thy steadfast truth declare, And publish with our latest breath, Thy love and guardian care. Paul Gerhardt, 1656; tr. John Wesley, 1739 Loud to the praise of love di - vine, Bid ev 'ry string a- wake. Though in a foreign land, We are not far from home, And near- er to our house a - bove We ev'ry mo-ment come. A-men. 1 YOUR harps, ye trembling saints, Down from the willows take; Loud to the praise of love divine, Bid every string awake. Though in a foreign land, We are not far from home, And nearer to our house above We every moment come. 2 Fastened within the veil, Hope be your anchor strong, Or should the surges rise, And peace delay to come, Blest is the sorrow, kind the storm, 3 Soon shall our doubts and fears His loving-kindness shall break through At all events rely; The very hidings of His face 4 Tarry His leisure then, Although He seem to stay; A moment's intercourse with Him That stays himself on Thee; Who waits for Thy salvation, Lord, Shall Thy salvation see. Augustus M. Toplady, 1772 1 THE Son of God goes forth te war, His blood-red banner streams afar: Who best can drink his cup of woe, Triumphant over pain, Who patient bears his cross below, 2 The martyr first, whose eagle eye And called on Him to save; Like Him, with pardon on his tongue In midst of mortal pain, He prayed for them that did the wrong: Who follows in his train? 3 A glorious band, the chosen few On whom the Spirit came, Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew, And mocked the cross and flame; They met the tyrant's brandished steel, The lion's gory mane, They bowed their necks the death to feel: 4 A noble army, men and boys, They climbed the steep ascent of heaven O God, to us may grace be given To follow in their train! Reginald Heber, 1783-1826 1 L IFT up your heads, ye gates of brass, Ye bars of iron, yield, And let the King of glory pass; The cross is in the field: That banner, brighter than the star That leads the train of night, Shines on their march, and guides from far His servants to the fight. 2 A holy war those servants wage; Mysteriously at strife, The powers of heaven and hell engage His sacramental host, Where hallowed footsteps never trod 3 Though few and small and weak your bands, Strong in your Captain's strength Go to the conquest of all lands; 4 O fear not, faint not, halt not now; The cross hath won the field." James Montgomery, 1843, v: 4, line 3 alt. |