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For never shall my soul despair
Her pardon to procure, Who knows Thy only Son has died
To make that pardon sure.
Joseph Addison. 17
Up to the throne of God is borne The voice of praise at early morn, And He accepts the punctual hymn, Sung as the light of day grows dim.
Nor will He turn His ear aside From holy offerings at noontide : Then here reposing let us raise A song of gratitude and praise.
What though our burthen be not light, We need not toil from morn to night; The respite of the mid-day hour Is in the thankful Creature's power.
Blest are the moments, doubly blest, That, drawn from this one hour of restr Are with a ready heart bestowed Upon the service of our God.
Each field is then a hallowed spot, An altar is in each man's cot, A church in every grove that spreads Its living roof above our heads.