Dear Savior Of A Dying World
“The Lord is risen.”
Dear Savior of a dying world,
Where grief and change must be,
In the new grave where Thou wast laid
My heart lies down with Thee.
O, not in cold despair of joy,
Or weariness of pain,
But from a hope that shall not die,
To rise and live again.
I would arise in all Thy strength
My place on earth to fill,
To work out all my time of war
With love's unflinchng will.
Firm against every doubt of Thee
For all my future way —
To walk in Heaven's eternal light
Throughout the changing day.
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poem by Anna Laetitia Waring
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A New Year's Morning Song
Thanksgiving and the voice of melody,
This new year's morning, call me from my sleep;
A new, sweet song is in my heart for Thee,
Thou faithful, tender Shepherd of the sheep;
Thou knowest where to find, and how to keep
The feeble feet that tremble where they stray, —
O'er the dark mountains — through the whelming deep —
Thy everlasting mercy makes its way.
The past is not so dark as once it seemed,
For there Thy footprints, now distinct, I see;
And seed in weakness sown, from death redeemed,
Is springing up, and bearing fruit in Thee.
Not all that hath been, Lord, henceforth shall be;
A low, sweet, cheering strain is in mine ear,
Thanksgiving, and the voice of melody,
Are leading in, from Heaven, a blest new year.
With voice subdued, my listening spirit sings,
As backward on the trodden path I gaze,
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poem by Anna Laetitia Waring
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A New-Year Hymn
Sunlight of the heavenly day,
Mighty to revive and cheer,
Bless our yet untrodden way,
Lead us through the entered year.
Where the shades of death we see,
Let Thy living brightness be —
Let it speed our lingering feet —
Let it shine on all we meet.
While before our chastened gaze
Earthly pleasures fade and fail,
Thou, the light of all our days —
Thou, our steadfast glory, hail!
Forward, though the path be hid;
Though we pass the lurking foe;
Though the sound of war forbid,
Girt with gladness, let its go.
Bold in Thy protecting care,
Strong to prove Thee faithful there
Through the desert or the sea,
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poem by Anna Laetitia Waring
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My Heart Is Resting, O My Lord
My heart is resting, O my God—
I will give thanks and sing;
My heart is at the secret source
Of every precious thing.
Now the frail vessel Thou hast made
No hand but Thine shall fill—
For the waters of the Earth have failed,
And I am thirsty still.
I thirst for springs of heavenly life,
And here all day they rise—
I seek the treasure of Thy love,
And close at hand it lies.
And a new song is in my mouth
To long loved music set—
Glory to Thee for all the grace
I have not tasted yet.
Glory to Thee for strength withheld,
For want and weakness known—
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poem by Anna Laetitia Waring
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