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The Book of Praise.
Though thou art fill'd, alas !
And drunk with misery,
That cup begins to pass
To them that hated thee: But know, we honour Israel's name, Our God and Abraham's is the same.
Rise, Jacob, from thy woes,
And thy Messiah see;
He, Who thy fathers chose,
Has not forgotten thee : At His command, we bid you come ; Her Israel Zion welcomes home.
William Hurn. |
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LXXXVII.
The Lord of Might from Sinai's brow Gave forth His voice of thunder;
And Israel lay on earth below, Outstretch'd in fear and wonder :
Beneath His feet was pitchy night,
And at His left hand and His right The rocks were rent asunder.
The Lord of Love on Calvary, A meek and suffering stranger,
Upraised to heaven His languid eye In nature's hour of danger ;
For us He bore the weight of woe,
For us He gave His blood to flow, And met His Father's anger. |
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