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Christ Crucified. 57
When glorious in the nightly sky
Thy moon and stars I see, O, what is man ! I wondering cry,
To be so loved by Thee !
To him Thou hourly deign'st to give
New mercies from on high ; Didst quit Thy Throne with him to live,
For him in pain to die.
Close to Thine own bright seraphim
His favoured path is trod; And all beside are serving him,
That he may serve his God.
O Lord, how good, how great art Thou,
In heaven and earth the same ! There angels at Thy footstool bow,
Here babes Thy grace proclaim.
Henry Francis Lyte. 1834.
Blow ye the trumpet, blow,
The gladly solemn sound ; Let all the nations know, To earth's remotest bound ; The year of Jubilee is come ; Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.
Jesus, our great High Priest, Hath full atonement made ; Ye weary spirits, rest;
Ye mournful souls, be glad : The year of Jubilee is come ; Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.