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Those who are laboring for the freedom of the American slave, have felt their need of aid which has ever been sought by those in all ages who have striven for the good of their race ;-the encouragement, consolation and strength afforded by poetry and music. This generally expressed feeling was the origin of the present book of hymns with the accompanying strain of poetry; hardly less elevated, though more ornamented and diffuse than is allowed by the severe beauty and sublimity which should model the Christian Lyric.

They feel that the spiritual warfare in which they are engaged, requires the exercise of all the faculties; and they cannot allow the opponents of their principles the selection of the moral and intellectual powers with which it shall be carried on,



-no, though this free use of their own souls should occasion men to call them agitators and fanatics. In giving man imagination and affections, God has furnished him with the powers that enable him to follow the dictates of reason and revelation; and he should not do otherwise than cultivate and sanctify ALL the faculties, subduing them to the obedience that is in Christ Jesus, by gladly acknowledging through them all, the fraternity of the whole human race.

[The machinery of metres, names of tunes, numerals, and characters, has been omitted, because they are useless to those who are unable to sing, and because the spirit and the understanding are a sufficient directory to those who can.]

Advent of Christ.



THE Lord will come! the earth shall quake,
The hills their fixed seat forsake;
And, withering, from the vault of night
The stars withdraw their feeble light.


Awake-again the Gospel-trump is blown-
From year to year it swells with louder tone,
From year to year the signs of wrath
Are gathering round the Judge's path,

Strange words fulfill'd, and mighty works achiev'd,
And truth in all the world both hated and believ'd.

Awake! why linger in the gorgeous town,
Sworn liegemen of the Cross and thorny crown?
Up from your beds of sloth for shame,
Speed to the eastern mount like flame,
Nor wonder, should ye find your king in tears,
Even with the loud Hosanna ringing in his ears.

Alas! no need to rouse them: long ago
They are gone forth to swell Messiah's show:


Advent of Christ.

The Lord will come! but not the same
As once in lowly form he came,
A silent lamb to slaughter led,
The bruised, the suffering, and the dead.

The Lord will come! a dreadful form,
With wreath of flame and robe of storm:
Master and slave alike shall find
An equal judge of human kind.

With glittering robes and garlands sweet
They strew the ground beneath his feet:

All but your hearts are there-O doom'd to prove

The arrows wing'd in Heaven for Faith that will not love!

Meanwhile He passes through the adoring crowd,
Calm as the march of some majestic cloud,

That o'er wild scenes of ocean-war
Holds its still course in heaven afar :

Even so, heart-searching Lord, as years roll on,
Thou keepest silent watch from thy triumphal throne:

Even so, the world is thronging round to gaze
On the dread vision of the latter days,

Constrain'd to own Thee, but in heart
Prepar'd to take Barabbas' part:
'Hosanna' now, to morrow' crucify,'

The changeful burden still of their rude lawless cry.

Yet in that throng of selfish hearts untrue

Thy sad eye rests upon thy faithful few,

Children and childlike souls are there,
Blind Bartimeus' humble prayer,

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