John Stanley Tute

“ Arise, Oh Gracious Lord! and help
⁠Thine own elect, we pray.
And when the dreadful trumpet far
⁠Though Heaven and Earth shall sound,
All rising from their open'd graves
⁠From death shall be unbound ”

“ Preserve in meekness, Lord, our tongue,
Lest it should utter aught of wrong;
Restrain and guard our wandering sight,
Lest aught of vanity delight.
Oh! keep our inmost heart, too, pure,
That anger may not there endure ”

“ Thy awful Name, and glorious Power,
⁠When heaven and hell first hear,
On bended knees they both adore
⁠With gladness, or with fear.
Thee then, before Whose awful Face,
⁠The quick and dead shall stand ”

“ Lift up thy voice, Hosannas sing,
⁠He cometh on in low estate.
Oh! listen, as the shouts arise
⁠From that meek band of little ones,
Until they pierce the gladdened skies,
⁠And happiness o'er all things runs. ”

“ Lest we, before Thy throne,
⁠When all for judgment stand,
Should shrink beneath Thy angry frown,
⁠Amid the ungodly band.
But rather give us grace
⁠In holiness to grow,
Thy blessed footsteps, Lord, to trace,
⁠And follow Thee below. ”