Second Sunday in Advent

Blessed Lord, who, till the morning
Of thine Advent shall appear,
Words of hope hast left, and warning,
Souls to strengthen, guide and cheer;

Left them ‘Written for our learning,'
Pointing out the narrow way,
Lest our hearts, with all their yearning
After home, should go astray.

Grant us, in these sacred pages,
Grace to find those gifts untold,
Which, for ages upon ages,
Did Thy people's hearts uphold.

Grant us, in the sacred story
Of the deeds which Thou hast done,
Grace to catch those gleams of glory,
That on saint and martyr shone:

From Thy life so high and holy,
From Thy love so deep and pure,
From Thy head, which bow'd so lowly,
Pains for others to endure:

From Thy heart so meekly bearing
All the scorn of sinful men,
Lord of legions! yet so sparing!
Never answering again!

O how blessed thus to linger
O'er the steps which Thou hast trod,
While Thy Cross, with silent finger,
Points the upward way to God,

In the path of self-denial,
Meekly borne for love of Thee,
Wearing out life's weary trial,
Till the blushing dawn we see:

'With our lamps well trimm'd and burning,'
Patient through Thy Holy Word,
Watching for the bright returning
Of our too long absent Lord.