Cyprian (252 A.D.) and others in still earlier liturgical forms of the Greek Church in Alexandria during the century previous. It is thus probably the earliest, as it is certainly the most universal and famous, of Christian hymns. It was translated from the Latin into English in 1549 for the Anglican Book of Common Prayer, which assumed its present form in 1660—during that wonderful era which gave us the English Bible, with its unapproached majesty and music of language.]

* * * * *

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

  Father of all! in every age,
    In every clime adored,
  By saint, by savage, and by sage,
    Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

  Thou great First Cause, least understood,
    Who all my sense confined
  To know but this, that thou art good,
    And that myself am blind;

  Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
    To see the good from ill;
  And, binding nature fast in fate,
    Left free the human will:

  What conscience dictates to be done,
    Or warns me not to do,
  This, teach me more than hell to shun,
    That, more than heaven pursue.

  What blessings thy free bounty gives
    Let me not cast away;
  For God is paid when man receives,
    To enjoy is to obey.

  Yet not to earth's contracted span
    Thy goodness let me bound,
  Or think thee Lord alone of man,
    When thousand worlds are round:

  Let not this weak, unknowing hand
    Presume thy bolts to throw,
  And deal damnation round the land
    On each I judge thy foe.

  If I am right thy grace impart
    Still in the right to stay;
  If I am wrong, O, teach my heart
    To find that better way!

  Save me alike from foolish pride
    And impious discontent
  At aught thy wisdom has dented,
    Or aught thy goodness lent.

  Teach me to feel another's woe,
    To hide the fault I see;
  That mercy I to others show,
    That mercy show to me.

  Mean though I am, not wholly so,
    Since quickened by thy breath;
  O, lead me wheresoe'er I go,
    Through this day's life or death!

  This day be bread and peace my lot;
    All else beneath the sun,
  Thou knowest if best bestowed or not,
    And let thy will be done.

  To thee, whose temple is all space,
    Whose altar, earth, sea, skies,
  One chorus let all Being raise,
    All Nature incense rise!

ALEXANDER POPE.

* * * * *

ODE.

FROM "THE SPECTATOR."

  The spacious firmament on high,
  With all the blue ethereal sky,
  And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
  Their great Original proclaim;
  The unwearied sun, from day to day,
  Does his Creator's power display,
  And publishes to every land
  The work of an Almighty hand.

  Soon as the evening shades prevail,
  The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
  And nightly to the listening earth
  Repeats the story of her birth;
  While all the stars that round her burn,
  And all the planets in their turn,
  Confirm the tidings as they roll,
  And spread the truth from pole to pole.

  What though, in solemn silence, all
  Move round the dark terrestrial ball?
  What though no real voice or sound
  Amid their radiant orbs be found?
  In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
  And utter forth a glorious voice,
  Forever singing, as they shine,
  "The hand that made us is divine!"

JOSEPH ADDISON.

* * * * *

LORD! WHEN THOSE GLORIOUS LIGHTS I SEE.

HYMN AND PRAYER FOR THE USE OF BELIEVERS.

  Lord! when those glorious lights I see
    With which thou hast adorned the skies,
  Observing how they moved be,
    And how their splendor fills mine eyes,
  Methinks it is too large a grace,
    But that thy love ordained it so,—
  That creatures in so high a place
    Should servants be to man below.

  The meanest lamp now shining there
    In size and lustre doth exceed
  The noblest of thy creatures here,
    And of our friendship hath no need.
  Yet these upon mankind attend
    For secret aid or public light;
  And from the world's extremest end
    Repair unto us every night.

  O, had that stamp been undefaced
    Which first on us thy hand had set,
  How highly should we have been graced,
    Since we are so much honored yet!
  Good God, for what but for the sake
    Of thy beloved and only Son,
  Who did on him our nature take,
    Were these exceeding favors done?

  As we by him have honored been,
    Let us to him due honors give;
  Let us uprightness hide our sin,
    And let us worth from him receive.
  Yea, so let us by grace improve
    What thou by nature doth bestow,
  That to thy dwelling-place above
    We may be raised from below.

GEORGE WITHER.

* * * * *

HYMN

BEFORE SUNRISE, IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI.

  Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
  In his steep course? So long he seems to pause
  On thy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc!
  The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
  Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form,
  Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines
  How silently! Around thee and above,
  Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black—
  An ebon mass. Methinks thou piercest it,
  As with a wedge! But when I look again,
  It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
  Thy habitation from eternity!
  O dread and silent Mount! I gazed upon thee,
  Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
  Didst vanish from my thought. Entranced in prayer
  I worshipped the Invisible alone.

    Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
  So sweet we know not we are listening to it,
  Thou, the mean while, wast blending with my thought,—
  Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy,—
  Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,
  Into the mighty vision passing, there,
  As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven!

    Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
  Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
  Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake,
  Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
  Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.

    Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale!
  O, struggling