Praise Ye the Triune God
Praise ye the Father! For his loving-kindness,
Tenderly cares he for his erring children;
Praise him, ye angels, praise him in the heavens,
Praise ye Jehovah!
Praise ye the Spirit! Great is his compassion,
Graciously cares he for his chosen people;
Young men and maidens, ye old men and children,
Praise ye the Savior!
Praise ye the Spirit! Comforter of Israel,
Sent of the Father and the Son to bless us;
Praise ye the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,
Praise ye the triune God!
poem by Elizabeth Rundle Charles (1858)
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Never Further Than Thy Cross
Never further than Thy cross,
Never higher than Thy feet;
Here earth’s precious things seem dross,
Here earth’s bitter things grow sweet.
Gazing thus our sin we see,
Learn Thy love while gazing thus,
Sin, which laid the cross on Thee,
Love, which bore the cross for us.
Here we learn to serve and give,
And, rejoicing, self deny;
Here we gather love to live,
Here we gather faith to die.
Pressing onward as we can,
Still to this our hearts must tend;
Where our earliest hopes began,
There our last aspirings end.
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poem by Elizabeth Rundle Charles from The Family Treasury (1860)
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First and Last
Thy "little lamb" once more!
My Lord, my life, my rest,
Borne in thine arms the wide world o'er,
A lamb upon thy breast.
Thy sheep across the waste
Were wandering far and wide,
And after them my heart would baste
To bring them to thy side.
Thy lambs were weak and faint,
I could but give my best;
Feebly I sought to still the plaint,
And bear them on my breast.
Great Shepherd of the sheep!
The sheep are thine, not mine!
Thou thy great flock wilt surely keep,
And each one lamb of thine.
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poem by Elizabeth Rundle Charles from Littell's Living Age, Volume 143, Issue 1842
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Is Thy Cruse of Comfort Wasting?
Is thy cruse of comfort wasting?
Rise, and with thy brother share.
And through all the years of famine
On its bounty ye shall fare.
Love divine will fill thy storehouse,
Or thy handful still renew;
Scanty fare for one will often
Make a royal feast for two.
For the heart grows rich in giving;
All its wealth is living grain;
Seeds, which mildew in the garner,
Scattered, fill with gold the plain.
Is thy burden hard and heavy,
Do thy steps drag wearily?
Help to bear thy brother’s burden;
God will bear both it and thee.
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poem by Elizabeth Rundle Charles from The Three Wakings and Other Poems (1859)
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No Gospel like this Feast
No Gospel like this Feast
Spread for Thy Church by Thee;
Nor prophet nor evangelist
Preach the glad news so free.
All our Redemption cost,
All our Redemption won;
All it has won for us, the lost—
All it cost Thee, the Son;--
Thine was the bitter price,
Ours is the free gift given;
Thine was the Blood of Sacrifice,
Ours is the wine of Heaven!
For Thee, the burning thirst,
The shame, the mortal strife,
The broken heart, the side transpierced;
To us, the Bread of Life!
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poem by Elizabeth Rundle Charles (1863)
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The Crucifix
"Into thy hands I commend my spirit."
[This very ancient crucifix is sculptured on the exterior wall of the Abbey Church of Romsey. Its characteristic is a hand reaching down from the clouds, over the cross. It is said to be unique.]
In a quiet nook it standeth,
Which careless eyes might miss,
That image of Thy sorrow,
And fountain of our bliss.
Low within reach it standeth,
Close to the old church, door,
And by the common pathway,
Appealing evermore.
Low on the wall, that never
The dimmest eyes may miss,
And the lips of the little children
May reach the feet to kiss.
That humble, simple image,
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poem by Elizabeth Rundle Charles from Littell's Living Age, Volume 131, Issue 1693
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