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Sunday
Sep252016

Sunday's Hymn: All Things Bright and Beautiful

Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
God made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings.

Yes, all things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
And all things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

The purple-headed mountain,
The river running by,
The sunset and the morning
That brightens up the sky.

The cold wind in the winter,
The pleasant summer sun,
The ripe fruits in the garden—
He made them ev’ry one.

The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The flowers by the water
We gather ev’ry day.

He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who doeth all things well.

—Cecil Alexander

 

 

Bright and Beautiful


 

Gerald

 

John Rutter

 

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Sunday
Sep182016

Sunday's Hymn: The Sands of Time Are Sinking

The sands of time are sinking,
The dawn of heaven breaks,
The summer morn I’ve sighed for,
The fair sweet morn awakes;
Dark, dark, hath been the midnight,
But dayspring is at hand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Emmanuel’s land.

The King there in his beauty
Without a veil is seen;
It were a well-spent journey
Though seven deaths lay between:
The Lamb with his fair army
Doth on Mount Zion stand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Emmanuel’s land.

O Christ, he is the fountain,
The deep sweet well of love!
The streams on earth I’ve tasted
More deep I’ll drink above:
There to an ocean fullness
His mercy doth expand,
And glory, glory dwelleth
In Emmanuel’s land.

The bride eyes not her garment,
But her dear bridegroom’s face;
I will not gaze at glory,
But on my King of grace;
Not at the crown he gifteth,
But on his pierced hand:
The Lamb is all the glory
Of Emmanuel’s land.

 —Anne R. Cousin

 

 

 

 

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Sunday
Sep112016

Sunday's Hymn: O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go

O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O Light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain
That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.

—George Matheson

 

 

 

 

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Sunday
Aug212016

Sunday's Hymn: Jesus, I My Cross Have Taken

Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave, and follow thee;
Destitute, despised, forsaken,
Thou from hence my all shalt be:
Perish ev’ry fond ambition,
All I’ve sought, or hoped, or known;
Yet how rich is my condition,
God and heav’n are still my own.

Man may trouble and distress me,
‘Twill but drive me to thy breast;
Life with trials hard may press me,
Heav’n will bring me sweeter rest:
O ‘tis not in grief to harm me
While thy love is left to me;
O ‘twere not in joy to charm me,
Were that joy unmixed with thee.

Take, my soul, thy full salvation,
Rise o’er sin and fear and care;
Joy to find in ev’ry station
Something still to do or bear;
Think what spirit dwells within thee,
What a Father’s smile is thine,
What a Saviour died to win thee:
Child of heav’n, shouldst thou repine?

Haste then on from grace to glory,
Armed by faith, and winged by prayer;
Heav’n’s eternal day’s before thee,
God’s own hand shall guide thee there.
Soon shall close thy earthly mission;
Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days;
Hope soon change to glad fruition,
Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.

—Henry Lyte

 

 

 

 

 

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Sunday
Aug142016

Sunday's Hymn: Come, We That Love the Lord

Come, we that love the Lord,
And let our joys be known;
Join in a song with sweet accord,
And thus surround the throne.

Let those refuse to sing
That never knew our God;
But children of the heav’nly King
May speak their joys abroad.

The men of grace have found
Glory begun below;
Celestial fruits on earthly ground
From faith and hope may grow.

The hill of Zion yields
A thousand sacred sweets,
Before we reach the heav’nly fields,
Or walk the golden streets.

Then let our songs abound,
And ev’ry tear be dry;
We’re marching through Immanuel’s ground
To fairer worlds on high.

—Issac Watts

 

 

 

 

 

Other hymns, worship songs, prayers, sermons excerpts, or quotes posted today:

Have you posted a hymn (or sermon, sermon notes, prayer, etc.) today and I missed it? Let me know by leaving a link in the comments or by contacting me using the contact form linked above, and I’ll add your post to the list.