Sunday Snippet

Love divine, all loves excelling,

joy of heav'n, to earth come down.

Fix in us thy humble dwelling,

all thy faithful mercies crown!

Jesus, thou art all compassion,

pure, unbounded love thou art;

Visit us with thy salvation,

enter every trembling heart.

Breathe, O breathe thy loving Spirit

into every troubled breast!

Let us all in Thee inherit;

let us find thy promised rest;

Take away the love of sinning;

Alpha and Omega be;

End of faith, as its beginning,

set our hearts at liberty.

Come, Almighty to deliver,

let us all thy life receive;

Suddenly return and never,

nevermore thy temples leave.

Thee we would be always blessing,

serve thee as thy hosts above,

Pray and praise thee without ceasing,

glory in thy perfect love.

Finish, then, thy new creation;

pure and spotless let us be;

Let us see thy great salvation,

perfectly restored in thee;

Changed from glory into glory,

till in heav'n we take our place;

Till we cast our crowns before Thee,

lost in wonder, love, and praise.

Amen.

- Charles Wesley

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Sterling Singers

Sunday Snippet

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;
His truth is marching on.

I have seen Him in the watch fires of a hundred circling camps
They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;
His day is marching on.

I have read a fiery Gospel writ in burnished rows of steel;
“As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal”;
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel,
Since God is marching on.

He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;
Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet;
Our God is marching on.

In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me:
As He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free;
While God is marching on.
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah!
Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! While God is marching on.

Words: Ju­lia W. Howe, 1861, alt. This hymn was born dur­ing the Amer­i­can ci­vil war, when Howe vis­it­ed a Un­ion Ar­my camp on the Po­to­mac Riv­er near Wash­ing­ton, D. C. She heard the sol­diers sing­ing the song “John Brown’s Body,” and was tak­en with the strong march­ing beat. She wrote the words the next day:

I awoke in the grey of the morn­ing, and as I lay wait­ing for dawn, the long lines of the de­sired po­em be­gan to en­twine them­selves in my mind, and I said to my­self, “I must get up and write these vers­es, lest I fall asleep and for­get them!” So I sprang out of bed and in the dim­ness found an old stump of a pen, which I re­mem­bered us­ing the day be­fore. I scrawled the vers­es al­most with­out look­ing at the p­aper.

The hymn ap­peared in the At­lant­ic Month­ly in 1862. It was sung at the fun­er­als of Brit­ish states­man Win­ston Church­ill, Amer­i­can sen­at­or Ro­bert Ken­ne­dy, and Am­er­i­can pre­si­dents Ron­ald Rea­gan and Ri­chard Nix­on.

Music: John Brown’s Bo­dy, poss­i­bly by John Will­iam Steffe. John Brown was an Amer­i­can abo­li­tion­ist who led a short lived in­­sur­­rect­­ion to free the slaves.

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To see and hear MoTab's version of this song, go here. (It's a little better performance than my ward managed.)