Sunday Hymn: As with Gladness, Men of Old

As with glad­ness, men of old
Did the guid­ing star be­hold
As with joy they hailed its light
Leading on­ward, beam­ing bright
So, most glo­ri­ous Lord, may we
Evermore be led to Thee.

As with joy­ful steps they sped
To that low­ly man­ger bed
There to bend the knee be­fore
Him whom Heav­en and earth ad­ore;
So may we with will­ing feet
Ever seek Thy mer­cy seat.

As they of­fered gifts most rare
At that man­ger rude and bare;
So may we with ho­ly joy,
Pure and free from sin’s al­loy,
All our cost­li­est trea­sures bring,
Christ, to Thee, our heav­en­ly king.

Holy Jes­us, ev­ery day
Keep us in the nar­row way;
And, when earth­ly things are past,
Bring our ran­somed souls at last
Where they need no star to guide,
Where no clouds Thy glo­ry hide.

In the heav­en­ly coun­try bright,
Need they no cre­at­ed light;
Thou its light, its joy, its crown,
Thou its sun which goes not down;
There for­ev­er may we sing
Alleluias to our king!

—Will­iam C. Dix

Sunday Hymn: Oh Lord, How Shall I Meet You

O Lord, how shall I meet You,
how welcome You aright?
Your people long to greet You,
my Hope, my heart’s Delight!
O, kindle, Lord most holy,
Your lamp within my breast
to do in spirit lowly
all that may please You best.

Love caused Your incarnation;
love brought You down to me.
Your thirst for my salvation
procured my liberty.
O, love beyond all telling,
that led You to embrace
in love, all love excelling,
our lost and fallen race.

Rejoice, then, you sad-hearted,
who sit in deepest gloom,
who mourn your joys departed
and tremble at your doom.
Despair not; He is near you,
there, standing at the door,
who best can help and cheer you
and bids you weep no more.

Sin’s debt, that fearful burden,
let not your soul distress;
your guilt the Lord will pardon
and cover by His grace.
He comes, for men procuring
the peace of sin forgiv’n,
for all God’s sons securing
their heritage in heav’n.

He comes to judge the nations,
a terror to His foes,
a light of consolations
and blessed hope to those
who love the Lord’s appearing.
O glorious Sun, now come,
send forth Your beams most cheering
and guide us safely home.

 —Paul Gerhardt

Sunday Hymn: Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning

Brightest and best of the sons of the morn­ing,
Dawn on our dark­ness and lend us Thine aid;
Star of the East, the ho­ri­zon adorn­ing,
Guide where our in­fant Re­deem­er is laid.

Cold on His cra­dle the dew­drops are shin­ing;
Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore Him in slum­ber re­clin­ing,
Maker and Mon­arch and Sav­ior of all!

Say, shall we yield Him, in cost­ly de­vo­tion,
Odors of Ed­om and of­fer­ings di­vine?
Gems of the mount­ain and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the for­est, or gold from the mine?

Vainly we of­fer each am­ple obla­tion,
Vainly with gifts would His fa­vor se­cure;
Richer by far is the heart’s ado­ra­tion,
Dearer to God are the pray­ers of the poor.

Hail the blest morn when the great Me­di­at­or
Down from the re­gions of glo­ry des­cends.
Shepherds, go wor­ship the Babe in the man­ger;
Lo! for His guard the bright an­gels at­tend.

 —Reginald Heber