At a Solemn Music
Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'n's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais'd fantasy present
That undisturbed Song of pure concent,
Ay sung before that saphire-colour'd throne
To Him that sits thereon
With Saintly shout and solemn Jubilee,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow,
And the Cherubic host in thousand choirs
Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires,
With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms,
Hymns devout and holy Psalms
Singing everlastingly;
That we on Earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportion'd sin
Jarr'd against Nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair music that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd
In first obedience, and their state of good.
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To His celestial consort us unite,
To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light.
poem by John Milton
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Related quotes
Songs of Praise the Angels Sang
Songs of praise the angels sang,
Heav’n with alleluias rang,
When creation was begun,
When God spoke and it was done.
Songs of praise awoke the morn
When the Prince of Peace was born;
Songs of praise arose when He
Captive led Captivity.
Heav’n and earth must pass away!
Songs of praise shall crown that day!
God will make new heav’ns and earth;
Songs of praise shall hail their birth.
And can man alone be dumb,
Till that glorious kingdom come?
No: the church delights to raise
Psalms, and hymns, and songs of praise.
Saints below, with heart and voice,
Still in songs of praise rejoice,
Learning here, by faith and love,
Songs of praise to sing above.
Borne upon their latest breath,
Songs of praise shall conquer death;
Then amidst eternal joy,
Songs of praise their powers employ.
Hymns of glory, songs of praise,
Father, unto Thee we raise;
Jesus, glory unto Thee,
With the Spirit, ever be.
poem by James Montgomery
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Hymn 43
Christ's sufferings and glory.
Now for a tune of lofty praise
To great Jehovah's equal Son!
Awake, my voice, in heav'nly lays
Tell the loud wonders he hath done.
Sing how he left the worlds of light,
And the bright robes he wore above;
How swift and joyful was his flight,
On wings of everlasting love!
[Down to this base, this sinful earth,
He came to raise our nature high;
He came t' atone Almighty wrath;
Jesus, the God, was born to die.]
[Hell and its lions roared around,
His precious blood the monsters spilt;
While weighty sorrows pressed him down,
Large as the loads of all our guilt.]
Deep in the shades of gloomy death
Th' almighty Captive pris'ner lay,
Th' almighty Captive left the earth,
And rose to everlasting day.
Lift up your eyes, ye sons of light,
Up to his throne of shining grace;
See what immortal glories sit
Round the sweet beauties of his face!
Amongst a thousand harps and songs,
Jesus, the God, exalted reigns;
His sacred name fills all their tongues,
And echoes through the heav'nly plains.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 47
Christ ascending and reigning.
O for a shout of sacred joy
To God the sovereign King!
Let every land their tongues employ,
And hymns of triumph sing.
Jesus our God ascends on high,
His heav'nly guards around
Attend him rising through the sky,
With trumpets' joyful sound.
While angels shout and praise their King,
Let mortals learn their strains;
Let all the earth his honors sing;
O'er all the earth he reigns.
Rehearse his praise with awe profound,
Let knowledge lead the song,
Nor mock him with a solemn sound
Upon a thoughtless tongue.
In Isr'el stood his ancient throne,
He loved that chosen race;
But now he calls the world his own,
And heathens taste his grace.
The British islands are the Lord's,
There Abraham's God is known;
While powers and princes, shields and swords,
Submit before his throne.
poem by Isaac Watts
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A Song For St. Cecilia's Day, At Oxford
I.
Cecilia, whose exalted hymns
With joy and wonder fill the blest,
In choirs of warbling seraphims
Known and distinguish'd fom the rest;
Attend, harmonious saint, and see
Thy vocal sons of harmony;
Attend, harmonious saint, and hear our prayers;
Enliven all our earthly airs,
and, as thou sing'st thy God, teach us to sing of thee:
Tune every string and every tongue,
Be thou the Muse and subject of our song.
II.
Let all Cecilia's praise proclaim,
Enploy the echo in her name.
Hark how the flutes and trumpets raise,
At bright Cecilia's name, their lays;
The organ labours in her praise.
Cecilia's name does all our numbers grace,
From every voice the tuneful accents fly,
In soaring trebles now it rises high,
And now it sinks, and dwells upon the base.
Cecilia's name through all the notes we sing,
The work of every skilful tongue
The sound of every trembling string,
The sound and triumph of our song.
III.
For ever consecrate the day,
To music and Cecilia;
Music, the greatest good that mortals know,
And all of heaven we have below.
Music can noble hints impart,
Engender fury, kindle love;
With unsuspected eloquence can move,
And manage all the man with secret art.
When Orpheus strikes the trembling lyre
The streams stand still, the stones admire;
The listening savages advance,
The world and lamb around him trip
The bears in aukward measures leap,
And tigers mingle in the dance
The moving woods attended as he played
And Rhodope was left without a shade.
IV.
Music religious heats inspires,
It wakes the soul, and lifts it high,
And wings it with sublime desires,
And fits it to bespeak the Deity.
Th' Almighty listens to a tuneful tongue,
And seems well-pleas'd and courted with a song.
Soft moving sounds and heavenly airs
Give forece to every word, and recommend our prayers
When time itself shall be no more,
And all things in confusion hurl'd,
Music shall then exert its power,
And sound survive the ruins of the world:
Then saints and angels shall agree
In one eternal jubilee:
All heaven shall echo with their hymns divine,
And God himself with pleasure see
The whole creation in a chorus join.
C H O R U S.
Consecrate the place and day,
To music and Cecilia Let no rough winds approach, nor dare
Invade the hallow'd bounds,
Nor rudely shake the tuneful air,
Nor spoil the fleeting sounds.
Nor mournful sigh nor groan be heard,
But gladness dwell on every tongue;
Whilst all, with voice and strings prepar'd,
Keep u; the loud harmonious song.
And imitate the blest above,
In joy, and harmony, and love.
poem by Joseph Addison
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Christmas Carol
FAIR Gratitude! in strain sublime,
Swell high to heav'n thy tuneful zeal;
And, hailing this auspicious time,
Kneel, Adoration! kneel!
CHORUS.
For lo! the day, th' immortal day,
When Mercy's full, benignant ray,
Chas'd ev'ry gathering cloud away,
And pour'd the noon of light!
Rapture! be kindling, mounting, glowing.
While from thine eye the tear is flowing,
Pure, warm, and bright!
'Twas on this day, oh, love divine!
The orient star's effulgence rose;
Then wak'd the moon, whose eye benign,
Shall never, never close!
CHORUS.
Messiah! be thy Name ador'd;
Eternal, high, redeeming Lord!
By grateful worlds be anthems pour'd,
Emanuel! Prince of Peace!
This day, from Heav'n's empyreal dwelling,
Harp, lyre, and voice, in concert swelling,
Bade discord cease!
Wake the loud Pæan, tune the voice,
Children of heav'n and sons of earth!
Seraphs and men! exult, rejoice,
To bless the Saviour's birth!
CHORUS.
Devotion! light thy purest fire!
Transport! on cherub-wing aspire!
Praise! wake to him thy golden lyre,
Strike ev'ry thrilling chord!
While at the ark of Mercy kneeling,
We own thy grace, reviving, healing,
Redeemer! Lord!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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The Memory Of Burns
How sweetly come the holy psalms
From saints and martyrs down,
The waving of triumphal palms
Above the thorny crown
The choral praise, the chanted prayers
From harps by angels strung,
The hunted Cameron's mountain airs,
The hymns that Luther sung!
Yet, jarring not the heavenly notes,
The sounds of earth are heard,
As through the open minster floats
The song of breeze and bird
Not less the wonder of the sky
That daisies bloom below;
The brook sings on, though loud and high
The cloudy organs blow!
And, if the tender ear be jarred
That, haply, hears by turns
The saintly harp of Olney's bard,
The pastoral pipe of Burns,
No discord mars His perfect plan
Who gave them both a tongue;
For he who sings the love of man
The love of God hath sung!
To-day be every fault forgiven
Of him in whom we joy
We take, with thanks, the gold of Heaven
And leave the earth's alloy.
Be ours his music as of spring,
His sweetness as of flowers,
The songs the bard himself might sing
In holier ears than ours.
Sweet airs of love and home, the hum
Of household melodies,
Come singing, as the robins come
To sing in door-yard trees.
And, heart to heart, two nations lean,
No rival wreaths to twine,
But blending in eternal green
The holly and the pine!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Music's Empire
First was the world as one great cymbal made,
Where jarring winds to infant Nature played.
All music was a solitary sound,
To hollow rocks and murm'ring fountains bound.
Jubal first made the wilder notes agree;
And Jubal tuned music's Jubilee;
He call'd the echoes from their sullen cell,
And built the organ's city where they dwell.
Each sought a consort in that lovely place,
And virgin trebles wed the manly bass.
From whence the progeny of numbers new
Into harmonious colonies withdrew.
Some to the lute, some to the viol went,
And others chose the cornet eloquent,
These practicing the wind, and those the wire,
To sing men's triumphs, or in Heaven's choir.
Then music, the mosaic of the air,
Did of all these a solemn noise prepare;
With which she gain'd the empire of the ear,
Including all between the earth and sphere.
Victorious sounds! yet here your homage do
Unto a gentler conqueror than you;
Who though he flies the music of his praise,
Would with you Heaven's Hallelujahs raise.
poem by Andrew Marvell
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Psalm 148 Paraphrased
Universal praise to God.
Loud hallelujahs to the Lord,
From distant worlds where creatures dwell;
Let heav'n begin the solemn word,
And sound it dreadful down to hell.
The Lord, how absolute he reigns!
Let every angel bend the knee;
Sing of his love in heav'nly strains,
And speak how fierce his terrors be.
High on a throne his glories dwell,
An awful throne of shining bliss;
Fly through the world, O sun! and tell
How dark thy beams compared to his.
Awake, ye tempests, and his fame
In sounds of dreadful praise declare;
And the sweet whisper of his name
Fill every gentler breeze of air.
Let clouds, and winds, and waves agree
To join their praise with blazing fire;
Let the firm earth and rolling sea
In this eternal song conspire.
Ye flowery plains, proclaim his skill;
Valleys, lie low before his eye;
And let his praise from every hill
Rise tuneful to the neighb'ring sky.
Ye stubborn oaks, and stately pines,
Bend your high branches and adore:
Praise him, ye beasts, in diff'rent strains;
The lamb must bleat, the lion roar.
Birds, ye must make his praise your theme;
Nature demands a song from you;
While the dumb fish that cut the stream
Leap up, and mean his praises too.
Mortals, can you refrain your tongue,
When nature all around you sings?
O for a shout from old and young,
From humble swains and lofty kings!
Wide as his vast dominion lies
Make the Creator's name be known;
Loud as his thunder shout his praise,
And sound it lofty as his throne.
Jehovah! 'tis a glorious word:
O may it dwell on every tongue!
But saints, who best have known the Lord,
Are bound to raise the noblest song.
Speak of the wonders of that love
Which Gabriel plays on every chord:
From all below, and all above,
Loud hallelujahs to the Lord!
poem by Isaac Watts
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Charity : A Paraphrase On 1 Cor. Chap. 13
Did sweeter Sounds adorn my flowing Tongue,
Than ever Man pronounc'd, or Angel sung:
Had I all Knowledge, Human and Divine,
That Thought can reach, or Science can define;
And had I Pow'r to give that Knowledge Birth,
In all the Speeches of the babbling Earth:
Did Shadrach's Zeal my glowing Breast inspire,
To weary Tortures, and rejoice in Fire:
Or had I Faith like That which Israel saw,
When Moses gave them Miracles, and Law:
Yet, gracious Charity, indulgent Guest,
Were not Thy Pow'r exerted in my Breast;
Those Speeches would send up unheeded Pray'r:
That Scorn of Life would be but wild Despair:
A Tymbal's Sound were better than my Voice:
My Faith were Form: my Eloquence were Noise.
Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,
Softens the high, and rears the abject Mind;
Knows with just Reins, and gentle Hand to guide,
Betwixt vile Shame, and arbitrary Pride.
Not soon provok'd, She easily forgives;
And much She suffers, as She much believes.
Soft Peace She brings where-ever She arrives:
She builds our Quiet, as She forms our Lives;
Lays the rough Paths of peevish Nature ev'n;
And opens in each Heart a little Heav'n.
Each other Gift, which GOD on Man bestows,
It's proper Bounds, and due Restriction knows;
To one fixt Purpose dedicates it's Pow'r;
And finishing it's Act, exists no more.
Thus, in Obedience to what Heav'n decrees,
Knowledge shall fail, and Prophecy shall cease:
But lasting Charity's more ample Sway,
Nor bound by Time, nor subject to Decay,
In happy Triumph shall for ever live,
And endless Good diffuse, and endless Praise receive.
As thro' the Artist's intervening Glass,
Our Eye observes the distant Planets pass;
A little we discover; but allow,
That more remains unseen, than Art can show:
So whilst our Mind it's Knowledge wou'd improve;
(It's feeble Eye intent on Things above)
High as We may, We lift our Reason up,
By Faith directed, and confirm'd by Hope:
Yet are We able only to survey
Dawnings of Beams, and Promises of Day.
Heav'n's fuller Effluence mocks our dazl'd Sight;
Too great it's Swiftness, and too strong it's Light.
But soon the mediate Clouds shall be dispell'd;
The Sun shall soon be Face to Face beheld,
In all His Robes, with all His Glory on,
Seated sublime on His Meridian Throne.
Then constant Faith, and holy Hope shall dye,
One lost in Certainty, and One in Joy:
Whilst Thou, more happy Pow'r, fair Charity,
Triumphant Sister, greatest of the Three,
Thy Office, and Thy Nature still the same,
Lasting thy Lamp, and unconsum'd thy Flame,
Shalt still survive -
Shalt stand before the Host of Heav'n confest,
For ever blessing, and for ever bless'd.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Psalm 148
Proper Metre.
Praise to God from all creatures.
Ye tribes of Adam, join
With heav'n, and earth, and seas,
And offer notes divine
To your Creator's praise:
Ye holy throng
Of angels bright,
In worlds of light,
Begin the song.
Thou sun with dazzling rays,
And moon that rules the night,
Shine to your Maker's praise,
With stars of twinkling light:
His power declare,
Ye floods on high,
And clouds that fly
In empty air.
The shining worlds above
In glorious order stand,
Or in swift courses move,
By his supreme command:
He spake the word,
And all their frame
From nothing came,
To praise the Lord.
He moved their mighty wheels
In unknown ages past,
And each his word fulfils
While time and nature last:
In diff'rent ways
His works proclaim
His wondrous name,
And speak his praise.
PAUSE.
Let all the earth-born race,
And monsters of the deep
The fish that cleave the seas,
Or in their bosom sleep;
From sea and shore
Their tribute pay,
And still display
Their Maker's power.
Ye vapors, hail, and snow,
Praise ye th' almighty Lord,
And stormy winds that blow,
To execute his word:
When lightnings shine,
Or thunders roar,
Let earth adore
His hand divine.
Ye mountains near the skies,
With lofty cedars there,
And trees of humbler size,
That fruit in plenty bear;
Beasts wild and tame,
Birds, flies, and worms,
In various forms,
Exalt his name.
Ye kings and judges, fear
The Lord, the sovereign King;
And while you rule us here,
His heav'nly honors sing;
Nor let the dream
Of power and state
Make you forget
His power supreme.
Virgins and youths, engage
To sound his praise divine,
While infancy and age
Their feebler voices join:
Wide as he reigns
His name be sung
By every tongue
In endless strains.
Let all the nations fear
The God that rules above;
He brings his people near,
And makes them taste his love:
While earth and sky
Attempt his praise,
His saints shall raise
His honors high.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm CXLVIII
Come, oh! come, with sacred lays,
Let us sound th' Almighty's praise;
Hither bring in true concent,
Heart, and voice, and instrument.
Let the orpharion sweet,
With the harp and viol meet:
To your voices tune the lute:
Let not tongue nor string be mute;
Nor a creature dumb be found,
That hath cither voice or sound.
Let such things as do not live,
In still music praises give:
Lowly pipe, ye worms that creep
On the earth or in the deep;
Loud aloft your voices strain,
Beasts and monsters of the main,
Birds, your warbling treble sing;
Clouds, your peals of thunder ring;
Sun and moon exalted higher,
And you, stars, augment the choir.
Come, ye sons of human race,
In this chorus take your place,
And amid this mortal throng,
Be you masters of the song.
Angels and celestial powers,
Be the noblest tenor yours.
Let, in praise of God, the sound
Run a never-ending round;
That our holy hymn may be
Everlasting, as is He.
From the earth's vast hollow womb,
Music's deepest bass shall come.
Sea and floods, from shore to shore,
Shall the counter-tenor roar.
To this concert, when we sing,
Whistling winds, your descant bring:
Which may bear the sound above,
Where the orb of fire doth move;
And so climb from sphere to sphere,
Till our song th' Almighty hear.
So shall He from heaven's high tower
On the earth His blessing shower;
All this huge wide orb we see,
Shall one choir, one temple be;
There our voices we will rear,
Till we fill it everywhere:
And enforce the fiends that dwell
In the air to sink to hell.
Then, oh! come, with sacred lays,
Let us sound th' Almighty's praise.
poem by George Wither
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Hymn 23
The sight of God and Christ in heaven.
Descend from heav'n, immortal Dove,
Stoop down and take us on thy wings,
And mount and bear us far above
The reach of these inferior things:
Beyond, beyond this lower sky,
Up where eternal ages roll;
Where solid pleasures never die,
And fruits immortal feast the soul.
O for a sight, a pleasing sight
Of our Almighty Father's throne!
There sits our Savior crowned with light,
Clothed in a body like our own.
Adoring saints around him stand,
And thrones and powers before him fall;
The God shines gracious through the man,
And sheds sweet glories on them all.
O what amazing joys they feel
While to their golden harps they sing,
And sit on every heav'nly hill,
And spread the triumphs of their King!
When shall the day, dear Lord, appear,
That I shall mount to dwell above,
And stand and bow amongst them there,
And view thy face, and sing, and love?
poem by Isaac Watts
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A Desire To Praise
Propitious Son of God to thee
With all my soul I bend my knee,
My wish I send my want impart,
And dedicate my mind and heart,
For as an absent parent's son
Whose second year is only run,
When no protecting friend is near,
Void of wit and void of fear,
With things that hurt him fondly plays,
Or here he falls, or there he strays;
So shou'd my soul's eternal guide
The sacred spirit be deny'd,
Thy servant soon the loss wou'd know,
And sink in sin, or run to woe.
O spirit bountifully kind,
Warm, possess, and fill my mind,
Disperse my sins with light divine
And raise the flames of love with thine,
Before thy pleasures rightly priz'd
Let wealth and honour be despis'd,
And let the Father's glory be
More dear itself than life to me.
Sing of Jesus! virgins sing
Him your everlasting King;
Sing of Jesus! chearful youth,
Him the God of love and truth:
Write and raise a song divine
Or come and hear, and borrow mine.
Son Eternal, word supreme,
Who made the universal frame,
Heav'n and all its shining show,
Earth and all it holds below;
Bow with mercy bow thine ear
While we sing thy praises here;
Son Eternal ever bless'd,
Resting on the Father's breast,
Whose tender love for all provides,
Whose power over all presides;
Bow with pity, bow thine ear
While we sing thy praises, hear.
Thou, by pity's soft extream,
Mov'd, and won, and set on flame,
Assum'd the form of man, and fell
In pains, to rescue man from hell;
How bright thine humble glories rise
And match the lustre of the skies,
From death and hell's dejected state
Arising, thou resum'd thy seat,
And golden thrones of bliss prepar'd
Above, to be thy saints reward.
How bright thy glorious honours rise,
And with new lustre grace the skies.
For thee, the sweet seraphick Choir
Raise the voice and tune the Lyre,
And praises with harmonious sounds
Through all the highest heav'n rebounds.
O make our notes with theirs agree
And bless the souls that sing of thee:
To thee, the churches here rejoice,
The solemn organs aid the voice:
To sacred roofs the sound we raise,
The sacred roofs resound thy praise:
And while our notes in one agree,
O! bless the church that sings to thee.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Upon The Translation Of The Psalms By Sir Philip Sidney And The Countess Of Pembroke, His Sister
ETERNAL God—for whom who ever dare
Seek new expressions, do the circle square,
And thrust into straight corners of poor wit
Thee, who art cornerless and infinite—
I would but bless Thy name, not name Thee now
—And Thy gifts are as infinite as Thou—
Fix we our praises therefore on this one,
That, as thy blessed Spirit fell upon
These Psalms' first author in a cloven tongue
—For 'twas a double power by which he sung
The highest matter in the noblest form—
So thou hast cleft that Spirit, to perform
That work again, and shed it here, upon
Two, by their bloods, and by Thy Spirit one ;
A brother and a sister, made by Thee
The organ, where Thou art the harmony.
Two that make one John Baptist's holy voice,
And who that Psalm, 'Now let the Isles rejoice,'
Have both translated, and applied it too,
Both told us what, and taught us how to do.
They show us islanders our Joy, our King ;
They tell us why, and teach us how to sing.
Make all this all three choirs, heaven, earth, and spheres ;
The first, Heaven, hath a song, but no man hears ;
The spheres have music, but they have no tongue,
Their harmony is rather danced than sung ;
But our third choir, to which the first gives ear
—For Angels learn by what the Church does here—
This choir hath all. The organist is he
Who hath tuned God and man, the organ we ;
The songs are these, which heaven's high holy Muse
Whisper'd to David, David to the Jews ;
And David's successors in holy zeal,
In forms of joy and art do re-reveal
To us so sweetly and sincerely too,
That I must not rejoice as I would do,
When I behold that these Psalms are become
So well attired abroad, so ill at home,
So well in chambers, in Thy Church so ill,
As I can scarce call that reform'd until
This be reform'd ; would a whole state present
A lesser gift than some one man hath sent ?
And shall our Church unto our Spouse and King
More hoarse, more harsh than any other, sing ?
For that we pray, we praise Thy name for this,
Which, by this Moses and this Miriam, is
Already done ; and as those Psalms we call,
—Though some have other authors—David's all,
So though some have, some may some Psalms translate,
We Thy Sidneian psalms shall celebrate,
And, till we come th' extemporal song to sing
—Learn'd the first hour that we see the King,
Who hath translated those translators—may
These their sweet learned labours all the way
Be as our tuning, that when hence we part,
We may fall in with them, and sing our part !
poem by John Donne
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Ps: 113
Ye who ye Ld of host adore
O praise his name alone
O send his praises to ye skyes
Untill they reach his throne
his throne who's ever ever blest
Whose great whose holy name
still great still holy will endure
Who ever is ye same
Morning & night letts praise yt god
Who gave us morn & night.
Above all thinges yt are he is
Above ye heav'ns his might
tell of his mercy humbleness
yt tho so high he be
yet he will stoop to mind such poor
such wretched things as we
Tell of his Justice too yt from
A mean & lowly state
ye poor & innocent he does
among ev'n princes sett
Those who with barreness were curst
he blesses wth increase,
That happy thus in all they wish
They might his goodness praise.
poem by Thomas Parnell
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Psalm 57
Praise for protection, grace, and truth.
My God, in whom are all the springs
Of boundless love, and grace unknown,
Hide me beneath thy spreading wings,
Till the dark cloud is overblown.
Up to the heav'ns I send my cry,
The Lord will my desires perform;
He sends his angel from the sky,
And saves me from the threat'ning storm.
Be thou exalted, O my God,
Above the heav'ns, where angels dwell;
Thy power on earth be known abroad,
And land to land thy wonders tell.
My heart is fixed; my song shall raise
Immortal honors to thy name;
Awake, my tongue, to sound his praise,
My tongue, the glory of my frame.
High o'er the earth his mercy reigns,
And reaches to the utmost sky;
His truth to endless years remains,
When lower worlds dissolve and die.
Be thou exalted, O my God,
Above the heav'ns, where angels dwell;
Thy power on earth be known abroad,
And land to land thy wonders tell.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 3
The nativity of Christ.
Luke 1:30ff; 2:10ff
Behold, the grace appears!
The promise is fulfilled;
Mary, the wondrous virgin, bears,
And Jesus is the child.
[The Lord, the highest God,
Calls him his only Son;
He bids him rule the lands abroad,
And gives him David's throne.
O'er Jacob shall he reign
With a peculiar sway;
The nations shall his grace obtain,
His kingdom ne'er decay.]
To bring the glorious news
A heav'nly form appears;
He tells the shepherds of their joys,
And banishes their fears.
"Go, humble swains," said he,
"To David's city fly;
The promised infant born to-day
Doth in a manger lie."
"With looks and hearts serene,
Go visit Christ your King;
And straight a flaming troop was seen:
The shepherds heard them sing:
"Glory to God on high!
And heav'nly peace on earth;
Goodwill to men, to angels joy,
At the Redeemer's birth!
[In worship so divine,
Let saints employ their tongues;
With the celestial hosts we join,
And loud repeat their songs:
"Glory to God on high!
And heav'nly peace on earth;
Goodwill to men, to angels joy,
At our Redeemer's birth!"]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Bible in Poetry: Revelation 4
1And then, I looked and saw a door
Before me, open in heaven.
The voice I had first heard, then spoke,
A trumpet-like to me and said,
'You come up here, and I’ll show you
What ought to take place after this.'
2At once, I was in Spirit’s way,
And there before me lay a throne,
In heaven, on which someone sat.
3 The one who sat upon it looked
Akin to jasper, carnelian.
An emerald-like rainbow lay,
Encircling throne in gorgeous way.
4Around the throne were twenty-four
More thrones, and elders sat on them.
They’re clad in dress of purest white,
And wore gold crowns upon their heads.
5 And from the throne arose flashes
Of lightning and peals of thunder.
Before the throne, blazed seven lamps,
And these were God’s seven Spirits.
6 Before the throne, there was a sea
Of glass that appeared crystal-clear.
Around the throne, in the center,
There were four living creatures, who
Had eyes both in front and in back.
7The first creature was lion-like,
The second one was like an ox,
The third one had a face like man,
The fourth looked flying eagle-like.
8Each of the creatures had six wings,
Covered with many eyes around,
And present ev’n under its wings.
All day and night, they said non-stop:
'Holy, holy, holy Lord, God,
The Almighty, who was, and is,
And is to come.'
9And whenever the creatures gave
Glory, honor and thanks to Him,
Who sits upon the mighty throne,
And who lives for ever and ever,
10 The elders fell down before Him,
Who sat upon the heav’nly throne,
And worshipped Him who lives forev’r.
They lay their crowns before the throne and say:
11'You are worthy, our Lord and God,
to receive glory, honor, pow’r,
For You created all the things,
And by Your will, were they created,
And have their being forever.'
poem by John Celes
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Holy Is The Lord
Holy is your name, in all the earth I worship you
Holy is your name, in all the earth I come to you
Holy is your name, in all the earth I sing to you
Holy, Holy, Holy is your name
Holy are you Lord, I come before your throne and bow
Holy are you Lord, I come into your presence now
Holy are you Lord I listen to the angels sing
Holy, Holy, Holy are you Lord
Holy are you Lord, my heart it leaps within my chest
Holy are you Lord, Its in your arms I find my rest
Holy are you Lord, the saints around the world they sing
Holy, Holy, Holy are you Lord
Now listen to the saints, they sing Holy are you Lord
Now listen to them cry to you, Holy are you Lord
There is a cry around the world, they lift their voice and sing
Holy, Holy, Holy are you Lord
I come before your throne to sing, Holy is your name
I come before your throne to sing, I'll never be the same
Pour our out your fire of love on me, this is what I sing
Holy, Holy, to the risen King
poem by Frank McEleny
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Psalm 86
v.8-13
C. M.
A general song of praise to God.
Among the princes, earthly gods,
There's none hath power divine;
Nor is their nature, mighty Lord,
Nor are their works, like thine.
The nations thou hast made shall bring
Their off'rings round thy throne;
For thou alone dost wondrous things,
For thou art God alone.
Lord, I would walk with holy feet;
Teach me thine heav'nly ways,
And my poor scattered thoughts unite
In God my Father's praise.
Great is thy mercy, and my tongue
Shall those sweet wonders tell,
How by thy grace my sinking soul
Rose from the deeps of hell.
poem by Isaac Watts
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