Hymns from the Morningland: Being Translations, Centos and Suggestions from the Service Books of the Holy Eastern Church
Religion
Hymns from the Morningland: Being Translations, Centos and Suggestions from the Service Books of the Holy Eastern Church
Hymns, Greek -- Translations into English; Orthodox Eastern Church -- Hymns
Come, praise with gladness the Lord of all creation,
Heaven tells His glory, earth His bounty shews;
Lowly He sought us, and won for us salvation,
Grace fills our lives with goodness He bestows.
_Refrain._
Bountiful Giver, Thine be the praise,
Blessing, and honour, and glory, always.
II
Spring time and harvest, and cloud and summer gladness,
Come to our earth because His promise lives;
Morn smiles with beauty, and evening soothes our sadness;--
Such are the treasures that His bounty gives.
_Refrain._
III
Spring time is now, and summer with its beauty;
Brightness and sadness here alternate come;
Lord, may the flowers, and fruits of love and duty,
Blossom and ripen for Thy harvest home.
_Refrain._
IV
Then when the angels, the reapers at the ending,
Gather the fruitage which our lives have grown,
May we with gladness, angel toil attending,
Sing of the harvest at the heavenly home.
_Refrain._
Bountiful Giver, Thine be the praise,
Blessing, and honour, and glory, always.
PENITENCE AND LOVE
I
Now with my weeping would I cleanse my soul,
And with my grief would shame my sin away;
But tears no virtue have to make me whole,
Nor sorrow power to end sin's hateful sway.
II
But yet the heart in sore distress that sighs,
Looks to the Christ His succour to impart;
And God receives the pleasing sacrifice,
A broken spirit, and a contrite heart.
III
Nailed to the cross I see my Saviour bleed,--
This is the sacrifice my soul requires;
Here is the cleansing, and the power I need,
To quell the rising of my vain desires.
IV
Speak to my heart, O Jesus Christ, Who came
Fired by Thy love, an offering for sin;
And by a love enkindled at that flame,
Win me forever from the self within.
I
O God of love, on bended knee,
We, guilty sinners, call on Thee;
Now, by the cross that Jesus bore,
Extend Thy mercy, we implore.
II
We have no plea to urge but this,
Our own exceeding sinfulness,
And all the love to sinners shown
Who claim His merits as their own.
III
Ah, weary with the toil of sin,
We seek Thy matchless grace to win;
Lord, break the fetters that enslave,
And let us know Thy power to save.
IV
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account