Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face;
Here would I touch and han­dle things un­seen;
Here grasp with firm­er hand eter­nal grace,
And all my wea­ri­ness up­on Thee lean.

Here would I feed upon the bread of God,
Here drink with Thee the roy­al wine of Heav’n;
Here would I lay aside each earth­ly load,
Here taste afresh the calm of sin for­giv­en.

This is the hour of ban­quet and of song;
This is the heav­en­ly ta­ble spread for me;
Here let me feast, and feast­ing, still pro­long
The hal­lowed hour of fel­low­ship with Thee.

Too soon we rise; the sym­bols dis­ap­pear;
The feast, tho’ not the love, is past and gone.
The bread and wine re­move; but Thou art here,
Nearer than ev­er, still my shield and sun.

I have no help but Thine; nor do I need
Another arm save Thine to lean up­on;
It is enough, my Lord, enough in­deed;
My strength is in Thy might, Thy might alone.

I have no wis­dom save in Him who is
My wis­dom and my teach­er both in One;
No wis­dom can I lack while Thou art wise;
No teach­ing do I crave save Thine alone.

Mine is the sin, but Thine the right­eous­ness:
Mine is the guilt, but Thine the cleans­ing blood;
Here is my robe, my re­fuge, and my peace;
Thy blood, Thy right­eous­ness, O Lord my God!

I know that dead­ly ev­ils com­pass me,
Dark per­ils threat­en, yet I would not fear,
Nor poor­ly shrink, nor feeb­ly turn to flee,
Thou, O my Christ, art buck­ler, sword and spear.

But see, the pil­lar cloud is ris­ing now,
And mov­ing on­ward thro’ the des­ert night;
It beck­ons, and I fol­low, for I know
It leads me to the her­it­age of light.

Feast af­ter feast thus comes and pass­es by;
Yet, pass­ing, points to the glad feast ab­ove,
Giving sweet fore­taste of the fes­tal joy,
The Lamb’s great brid­al feast of bliss and love.

—Horatius Bonar

Fill Thou my life, O Lord my God,
In ev­ery part with praise,
That my whole be­ing may pro­claim
Thy be­ing and Thy ways.
Not for the lip of praise alone,
Nor e’en the prais­ing heart
I ask, but for a life made up
Of praise in ev­ery part!

Praise in the com­mon words I speak,
Life’s com­mon looks and tones,
In fel­low­ship in hearth and board
With my be­lov­èd ones;
Not in the tem­ple crowd alone
Where ho­ly voic­es chime,
But in the si­lent paths of earth,
The qui­et rooms of time.

Fill ev­ery part of me with praise;
Let all my be­ing speak
Of Thee and of Thy love, O Lord,
Poor though I be, and weak.
So shalt Thou, Lord, from me, e’en me,
Receive the glo­ry due;
And so shall I be­gin on earth
The song for­ev­er new.

So shall each fear, each fret, each care
Be turned in­to a song,
And ev­ery wind­ing of the way
The echo shall pro­long;
So shall no part of day or night
From sac­red­ness be free;
But all my life, in ev­ery step
Be fel­low­ship with Thee.

—Horatius Bonar

Glory be to God the Fa­ther,
Glory be to God the Son,
Glory be to God the Spir­it,
Great Je­ho­vah, Three in One!
Glory, glo­ry, glo­ry, glo­ry,
While eter­nal ag­es run!

Glory be to Him who loved us,
Washed us from each spot and stain!
Glory be to Him who bought us,
Made us kings with Him to reign!
Glory, glo­ry, glo­ry, glo­ry,
To the Lamb that once was slain!

Glory to the King of an­gels,
Glory to the Church’s king,
Glory to the King of na­tions!
Heav’n and earth, your prais­es bring;
Glory, glo­ry, glo­ry, glo­ry,
To the King of glo­ry bring!

Glory, bless­ing, praise eter­nal!
Thus the choir of an­gels sings;
Honor, rich­es, pow­er, do­min­ion!
Thus its praise cre­ation brings;
Glory, glo­ry, glo­ry, glo­ry,
Glory to the King of kings!

—Horatius Bonar

Rejoice, the Lord is King:
Your Lord and King adore!
Rejoice, give thanks and sing,
And triumph evermore.
Lift up your heart,
Lift up your voice!
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

Jesus, the Savior, reigns,
The God of truth and love;
When He has purged our stains,
He took his seat above;
Lift up your heart,
Lift up your voice!
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

His kingdom cannot fail,
He rules o’er earth and heav’n;
The keys of death and hell
Are to our Jesus giv’n:
Lift up your heart,
Lift up your voice!
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

Rejoice in glorious hope!
Our Lord and judge shall come
And take His servants up
To their eternal home:
Lift up your heart,
Lift up your voice!
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

—Charles Wesley

• From the Augsburg Confession:

Jesus, lov­er of my soul,
Let me to Thy bo­som fly,
While the near­er wa­ters roll,
While the tem­pest still is high.
Hide me, O my Sav­ior, hide,
Till the storm of life is past;
Safe in­to the hav­en guide;
O re­ceive my soul at last.

Other re­fuge have I none,
Hangs my help­less soul on Thee;
Leave, ah! leave me not alone,
Still supp­ort and com­fort me.
All my trust on Thee is stayed,
All my help from Thee I bring;
Cover my de­fense­less head
With the sha­dow of Thy wing.

Wilt Thou not re­gard my call?
Wilt Thou not ac­cept my pray­er?
Lo! I sink, I faint, I fall—
Lo! on Thee I cast my care;
Reach me out Thy gra­cious hand!
While I of Thy strength re­ceive,
Hoping against hope I stand,
Dying, and be­hold, I live.

Thou, O Christ, art all I want,
More than all in Thee I find;
Raise the fall­en, cheer the faint,
Heal the sick, and lead the blind.
Just and ho­ly is Thy name,
I am all un­right­eous­ness;
False and full of sin I am;
Thou art full of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with Thee is found,
Grace to cov­er all my sin;
Let the heal­ing streams abound;
Make and keep me pure with­in.
Thou of life the fount­ain art,
Freely let me take of Thee;
Spring Thou up with­in my heart;
Rise to all eter­ni­ty.

—Charles Wesley

Depth of mercy! Can there be
mercy still reserved for me?
Can my God His wrath forbear?
me, the chief of sinners, spare?

I have long withstood His grace,
long provoked Him to His face;
would not hearken to His calls,
grieved Him by a thousand falls.

There for me the Savior stands,
shows His wounds and spreads His hands.
God is love! I know, I feel;
Jesus loves and seeks me still!

Now incline me to repent, 
let me now my fall lament; 
now my foul revolt deplore! 
weep, believe, and sin no more.

—Charles Wesley

• The text of the Athanasian Creed:

Arise, my soul, arise;
Shake off thy guil­ty fears;
The bleed­ing sac­ri­fice
In my be­half ap­pears:
Before the throne my sure­ty stands,
Before the throne my sure­ty stands,
My name is writ­ten on His hands.

He ev­er lives above,
For me to in­ter­cede;
His all re­deem­ing love,
His pre­cious blood, to plead:
His blood atoned for all our race,
His blood atoned for all our race,
And sprin­kles now the throne of grace.

Five bleed­ing wounds He bears;
Received on Cal­va­ry;
They pour ef­fect­ual pray­ers;
They strong­ly plead for me:
Forgive him, O for­give, they cry,
Forgive him, O for­give, they cry,
Nor let that ran­somed sin­ner die!

The Fa­ther hears Him pray,
His dear an­oint­ed One;
He can­not turn away,
The pre­sence of His Son;
His Spir­it ans­wers to the blood,
His Spir­it an­swers to the blood,
And tells me I am born of God.

My God is re­con­ciled;
His par­don­ing voice I hear;
He owns me for His child;
I can no long­er fear:
With con­fi­dence I now draw nigh,
With con­fi­dence I now draw nigh,
And Fa­ther, Ab­ba, Fa­ther, cry.

—Charles Wesley

• The text of the Apostles’ Creed: