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Sunday
Oct092016

Sunday's Hymn: We Plough the Fields, and Scatter

We plough the fields, and scatter
The good seed on the land,
But it is fed and watered
By God’s almighty hand;
He sends the snow in winter,
The warmth to swell the grain,
The breezes and the sunshine,
And soft refreshing rain.

Refrain

All good gifts around us
Are sent from heav’n above,
Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord
For all his love.


He only is the Maker
Of all things near and far;
He paints the wayside flower,
He lights the evening star;
The winds and waves obey him,
By him the birds are fed;
Much more to us, his children,
He gives our daily bread.

We thank thee, then, O Father,
For all things bright and good,
The seed time and the harvest,
Our life, our health, our food:
No gifts have we to offer
For all thy love imparts,
But that which thou desirest,
Our humble, thankful hearts.

—Matthias Claudius

 

 


 

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Sunday
Oct022016

Sunday's Hymn: Saviour Like a Shepherd Lead Us.

Saviour, like a Shepherd lead us,
Much we need thy tend’rest care;
In thy pleasant pastures feed us,
For our use thy folds prepare:
Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus,
Thou hast bought us, thine we are.

We are thine; do thou befriend us,
Be the Guardian of our way;
Keep thy flock, from sin defend us,
Seek us when we go astray:
Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus,
Hear the children when they pray.

Thou hast promised to receive us,
Poor and sinful though we be;
Thou hast mercy to relieve us,
Grace to cleanse, and pow’r to free:
Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus,
Let us early turn to thee.

Early let us seek thy favor;
Early let us do thy will;
Blessed Lord and only Saviour,
With thy love our bosoms fill
Blessed Jesus, blessed Jesus,
Thou hast loved us, love us still.

—Dorothy A. Thrupp

 

 


 

 

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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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