England's Antiphon

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How shall I sing that Majesty

Which angels do admire?

Let dust in dust and silence lie;

Sing, sing, ye heavenly choir.

Thousands of thousands stand around

Thy throne, O God most high;

Ten thousand times ten thousand sound

Thy praise; but who am I?

Thy brightness unto them appears,

Whilst I thy footsteps trace;

sound of God comes to my ears;
But they behold thy face.

They sing because thou art their sun:

Lord, send a beam on me;

For where heaven is but once begun,

There hallelujahs be.

Enlighten with faith's light my heart;

Enflame it with love's fire;

Then shall I sing and bear a part

With that celestial choir.

shall, I fear, be dark and cold, With all my fire and light;

Yet when thou dost accept their gold,

Lord, treasure up my mite.

How great a being, Lord, is thine.

Which doth all beings keep!

Thy knowledge is the only line

To sound so vast a deep.

Thou art a sea without a shore,

A sun without a sphere;

Thy time is now and evermore,

Thy place is everywhere.

How good art thou, whose goodness is

Our parent, nurse, and guide!

Whose streams do water Paradise,

And all the earth beside!

Thine upper and thy nether springs

Make both thy worlds to thrive;

Under thy warm and sheltering wings

Thou keep'st two broods alive.

Thy arm of might, most mighty king

Both rocks and hearts doth break:

My God, thou canst do everything

But what should show thee weak.

Thou canst not cross thyself, or be

Less than thyself, or poor;

But whatsoever pleaseth thee,

That canst thou do, and more.

Who would not fear thy searching eye,

Witness to all that's true!

Dark Hell, and deep Hypocrisy

Lie plain before its view.

Motions and thoughts before they grow,

Thy knowledge doth espy;

What unborn ages are to do,

Is done before thine eye.

Thy wisdom which both makes and mends,

We ever much admire:

Creation all our wit transcends;

Redemption rises higher.

Thy wisdom guides strayed sinners home,

'Twill make the dead world rise,

And bring those prisoners to their doom:

Its paths are mysteries.

Great is thy truth, and shall prevail

To unbelievers' shame:

Thy truth and years do never fail;

Thou ever art the same.

Unbelief is a raging wave

Dashing against a rock:

If God doth not his Israel save,

Then let Egyptians mock.

Most pure and holy are thine eyes,

Most holy is thy name;

Thy saints, and laws, and penalties,

Thy holiness proclaim.

This is the devil's scourge and sting,

This is the angels' song,

Who holy, holy, holy sing,

In heavenly Canaan's tongue.

Mercy, that shining attribute,

The sinner's hope and plea!

Huge hosts of sins in their pursuit,

Are drowned in thy Red Sea.

Mercy is God's memorial,

And in all ages praised:

My God, thine only Son did fall,

That Mercy might be raised.

Thy bright back-parts, O God of grace,

I humbly here adore:

Show me thy glory and thy face,

That I may praise thee more.

Since none can see thy face and live,

For me to die is best:

Through Jordan's streams who would not dive,

To land at Canaan's rest?

To these Songs of Praise is appended another series called Penitential Cries, by the Rev. Thomas Shepherd, who, for a short time a clergyman in Buckinghamshire, became the minister of the Congregational church at Northampton, afterwards under the care of Doddridge. Although he was an imitator of Mason, some of his hymns are admirable. The following I think one of the best:--

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