HYMNS
By Rev. Mart Baker Eddy
[Set to the Church Chimes and Sung on This Occasion]
Laying the Corner-stone
| Laus Deo, it is done! |
| Rolled away from loving heart |
| Is a stone. |
| Joyous, risen, we depart |
| Having one. |
| Laus Deo, — on this rock |
| (Heaven chiselled squarely good) |
| Stands His church, — |
| God is Love, and understood |
| By His flock. |
| Laus Deo, night starlit |
| Slumbers not in God's embrace; |
| Then, O man! |
| Like this stone, be in thy place; |
| Stand, not sit. |
| Cold, silent, stately stone. |
| Dirge and song and shoutings low, |
| In thy heart |
| Dwell serene, — and sorrow? No, |
| It has none, |
| Laus Deo! |
“Feed My Sheep”
| Shepherd, show me how to go |
| O'er the hillside steep, |
| How to gather, how to sow, — |
| How to feed Thy sheep; |
| I will listen for Thy voice. |
| Lest my footsteps stray; |
| I will follow and rejoice |
| All the rugged way. |
| Thou wilt bind the stubborn will, |
| Wound the callous breast. |
| Make self-righteousness be still, |
| Break earth's stupid rest. |
| Strangers on a barren shore. |
| Laboring long and lone — |
| We would enter by the door, |
| And Thou know'st Thine own. |
| So, when day grows dark and cold, |
| Tear or triumph harms. |
| Lead Thy lambkins to the fold. |
| Take them in Thine arms; |
| Feed the hungry, heal the heart, |
| Till the morning's beam; |
| White as wool, ere they depart — |
| Shepherd, wash them clean. |
Christ My Refuge
| O'er waiting harpstrings of the mind |
| There sweeps a strain, |
| Low, sad, and sweet, whose measures bind |
| The power of pain. |
| And wake a white-winged angel throng |
| Of thoughts, illumed |
| By faith, and breathed in raptured song, |
| With love perfumed. |
| Then his unveiled, sweet mercies show |
| Life's burdens light. |
| I kiss the cross, and wake to know |
| A world more bright. |
| And o'er earth's troubled, angry sea |
| I see Christ walk, |
| And come to me, and tenderly, |
| Divinely talk. |
| Thus Truth engrounds me on the rock, |
| Upon Life's shore; |
| 'Gainst which the winds and waves can shock, |
| Oh, nevermore! |
| From tired joy and grief afar, |
| And nearer Thee, — |
| Father, where Thine own children are, |
| I love to be. |
| |
| My prayer, some daily good to do |
| To Thine, for Thee; |
| Some offering pure of Love, whereto |
| God leadeth me. |