Author: glen

ζοφεράς τριχυμίας. Fierce was the wild billow; Dark was the night; Oars labored heavily; Foam glimmered white; Trembled the mariners; Peril was high: Then said

LORD, many times I am aweary quite Of mine own self, my sin, my vanity; Yet be not Thou — or I am lost outright

THERE is no flock, however watched and tended, But one dead lamb is there! There is no fireside, howsoe’er defended, But has one vacant chair!

THE Royal Banners forward go; The Cross shines forth in mystic glow; Where He in flesh, our flesh Who made, Our sentence bore, our ransom

The welcome flowers are blossoming, In joyous troops revealed; They lift their dewy buds and bells In garden, mead, and field: They lurk in every

“Glory be to God on high!” Such the wondrous story: Hark! an earthly echo hears And sends back — the “Glory!” “Peace on earth! good