HYMNS OF THE AGES. ASPIRATION. THE OFFERING. HEY gave to Thee Myrrh, frankincense and gold; But, Lord, with what fhall we Present ourselves before thy majesty, Whom Thou redeemedft when we were sold? We've nothing but ourselves, and scarce that neither; Vile dirt and clay; Yet it is soft and may Impreffion take. Accept it, Lord, and say, this Thou hadft rather; Stamp it, and on this sordid metal make Thy holy image, and it fhall outshine Jeremy Taylor. 1650. MY PEACE. Y soul, there is a countrie Where ftands a wingéd sentrie All skilfull in the wars. There, above noise and danger, Sweet Peace sits crown'd with smiles, And One born in a manger Commands the beauteous files. He is thy gracious friend And (O my soul, awake!) Did in pure love descend, To die here for thy sake. If thou canst get but thither, For none can thee secure Henry Vaughan. 1621-1695. |