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God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears, God shall lift up thy head.

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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
He gently clears thy way:

Wait thou His time; so shall this night
Soon end in joyous day.

3 Leave to His sovereign sway

To choose and to command;

So shalt thou wondering own. His way
How wise, how strong His hand!

4 Far, far above thy thought

His counsel shall appear,

When fully He the work hath wrought
That caused thy needless fear.

5 Thou seest our weakness, Lord;
Our hearts are known to Thee;
O lift Thou up the sinking hand,
Confirm the feeble knee.

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

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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,
His loving Spirit the sweet gale
That wafts you smooth along;

Or should the surges rise,

And peace delay to come,

Blest is the sorrow, kind the storm,
That drives us nearer home.

3 Soon shall our doubts and fears
Subside at His control;

His loving-kindness shall break through
The midnight of the soul:
Still on His plighted love

At all events rely;

The very hidings of His face
Shall train thee up to joy.

4 Tarry His leisure then,

Although He seem to stay;

A moment's intercourse with Him
Thy grief will overpay.
Blest is the man, O God,

That stays himself on Thee;

Who waits for Thy salvation, Lord,

Shall Thy salvation see.

Augustus M. Toplady, 1772

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Strong in the strength which God sup- plies Through His e

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THE Son of God goes forth te war,
A kingly crown to gain;

His blood-red banner streams afar:
Who follows in His train?

Who best can drink his cup of woe,

Triumphant over pain,

Who patient bears his cross below,
He follows in His train.

2 The martyr first, whose eagle eye
Could pierce beyond the grave,
Who saw his Master in the sky,

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:
Who follows in their train?

4 A noble army, men and boys,
The matron and the maid,
Around the Saviour's throne rejoice,
In robes of light arrayed;

They climbed the steep ascent of heaven
Through peril, toil and pain:

O God, to us may grace be given

To follow in their train!

Reginald Heber, 1783-1826

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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
For more than death or life.
Ye armies of the living God,

His sacramental host,

Where hallowed footsteps never trod
Take your appointed post.

3 Though few and small and weak your bands, Strong in your Captain's strength

Go to the conquest of all lands;
All must be His at length:
Those spoils at His victorious feet
You shall rejoice to lay,
And lay yourselves, as trophies meet,
In His great judgment-day.

4 O fear not, faint not, halt not now;
Quit you like men, be strong!
To Christ shall all the nations bow,
And sing with you this song:
"Uplifted are the gates of brass,
The bars of iron yield;
Behold the King of glory pass;

The cross hath won the field."

James Montgomery, 1843, v: 4, line 3 alt.

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