Angel voices, ever singing, round thy throne of light, angel harps, for ever ringing, rest not day or night; Thousands only live to bless Thee, and confess Thee Lord of might.
Thou who art beyond the farthest mortal eye can scan, can it be that thou regardest songs of sinful man? Can we know that thou art near us and wilt hear us? Yea, we can.
Yea, we know that thou rejoicest o'er each work of thine; thou didst ears and hands and voices for thy praise design; craftsman's art and music's measure for thy pleasure all combine.
In thy house, great God, we offer of thine own to thee; and for thine acceptance proffer, all unworthily, hearts and minds and hands and voices, in our choicest psalmody.
Honor, glory, might and merit, thine shall ever be, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, blessed Trinity! Of the best that thou hast given earth and heaven render thee.
Text: Francis Pott (1866) Tune: ANGEL VOICES (Monk) 85.85.843
Lord, let me know mine end and the number of my days, That I may be certified how long I have to live. Thou hast made my days as it were a span long; And mine age is as nothing in respect of Thee, And verily, ev'ry man living is altogether vanity, For man walketh in a vain shadow And disquieteth himself in vain, He heapeth up riches and cannot tell who shall gather them. And now, Lord, what is my hope? Truly my hope is even in Thee. Deliver me from all mine offences And make me not a rebuke to the foolish. I became dumb and opened not my mouth For it was Thy doing. Take Thy plague away from me, I am even consumed by means of Thy heavy hand. When Thou with rebukes does chasten man for sin Thou makest his beauty to consume away Like as it were a moth fretting a garment; Ev'ry man therefore is but vanity. Hear my pray'r, O Lord And with Thy ears consider my calling, Hold not Thy peace at my tears! For I am a stranger with Thee and a sojourner As all my fathers were. O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength before I go hence And be no more seen.
O praise ye the Lord! Praise him in the height; rejoice in his word, ye angels of light; ye heavens, adore him by whom ye were made, and worship before him, in brightness arrayed.
O praise ye the Lord! Praise him upon earth, in tuneful accord, ye sons of new birth; praise him who hath brought you his grace from above, praise him who hath taught you to sing of his love.
O praise ye the Lord! All things that give sound; each jubilant chord reecho around; loud organs, his glory forth tell in deep tone, and sweet harp, the story of what he hath done. O praise ye the Lord! Thanksgiving and song to him be outpoured all ages along! For love in creation, for heaven restored, for grace of salvation, O praise ye the Lord!
Text: Henry Williams Baker (1875) Tune: LAUDATE DOMINUM 55.55.65.65 (Hubert Parry)
Take him, earth, for cherishing To thy tender breast receive him. Body of a man I bring thee, Noble even in its ruin.
Once was this a spirit's dwelling, By the breath of God created. High the heart that here was beating, Christ the prince of all its living.
Guard him well, the dead I give thee, Not unmindful of his creature Shall He ask it: He who made it Symbol of His mystery.
Comes the hour God hath appointed To fulfill the hope of men, Then must thou, in very fashion, What I give, return again.
Body of a man I bring thee. Not though ancient time decaying Wear away these bones to sand, Ashes that a man might treasure In the hollow of his hand:
Not though wandering winds and idle winds, Drifting through the empty sky, Scatter dust was nerve and sinew, Is it given to man to die.
Once again the shining road Leads to ample Paradise; Open are the woods again, That the Serpent lost for men.
Take, O take him, mighty Leader, Take again thy servant's soul. Grave his name, and pour the fragrant Balm upon the icy stone. Take him, Earth, for cherishing, To they tender breast receive him. Body of a man I bring thee, Noble in its ruin.
By the breath of God created. Christ the prince of all its living.
Ye that know the Lord is gracious, ye for whom a cornerstone stands, of God elect and precious, laid that ye may build thereon, see that on that sure foundation ye a living temple raise, towers that may tell forth salvation, walls that may re-echo praise.
Living stones, by God appointed each to his allotted place, kings and priests, by God anointed, shall ye not declare his grace? Ye, a royal generation, tell the tidings of your birth, tidings of a new creation to an old and weary earth.
Tell the praise of him who called you out of darkness into light, broke the fetters that enthralled you, gave you freedom, peace and sight: tell the tale of sins forgiven, strength renewed and hope restored, till the earth, in tune with heaven, praise and magnify the Lord.
Words: Cyril A. Alington (1872-1955) Tune: BLAENWERN or HYFRYDOL 87.87D
