Hymn.

Sung by the Children of the City of London School of Instruction and Industry.


CHORUS.

Sacred, and heart-deep be the sound
Which speaks the Great Redeemer's praise,
His mercies every where abound,
Let all their grateful voices raise.

BOYS.

The friendless child, to manhood grown,
Will ne'er forget your parent care;
You've made each youthful heart your own,
Oh! then accept our humble prayer.

GIRLS.

For ever be that bounty praised,
Which every comfort doth impart;
In tears of joy the song is raised
From minstrels of the glowing heart.

CHORUS.

Glory to Thee, all-bounteous Power!
In notes of thankfulness be given;
Sure solace in affliction's hour!
Our hope on Earth, our bliss in Heaven.
        Hallelujah! Amen.

Thomas Gent

Thomas Gent was an 18th-century English writer, printer, and bookseller, known predominantly for his historical works. Despite facing numerous financial difficulties, his passion for printing never waned, leading him to chronicle his experiences and the events of his time with a distinct personal touch. His works offer a vivid depiction of 18th-century English life, ensuring his place in literary history.

Thomas Gent

To Mary.

Thomas Gent, Simple Poetry

Love.

Thomas Gent, Simple Poetry

Epitaph. On Matilda.

Thomas Gent, Simple Poetry

On The Death Of Nelson.

Thomas Gent, Simple Poetry

English

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Children's Song.

We little children join to praise
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Chorus.--
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A Hymn, For The Use Of The Sunday School At Olney.

Hear, Lord, the song of praise and prayer
In heaven thy dwelling-place,
From infants made the public care,
And taught to seek thy face.


Thanks for thy word and for thy day,
And grant us, we implore,
Never to waste in sinful play
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Thanks that we hearbut O! impart
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Sydney Exhibition Cantata

Part I

Chorus

Songs of morning, with your breath
Sing the darkness now to death;
Radiant river, beaming bay,
Fair as Summer, shine to-day;
Flying torrent, falling slope,
Wear the face as bright as Hope;
Wind and woodland, hill and sea,
Lift your voices sing for glee!
Greet the guests your fame has won
Put your brightest garments on.



Recitative and Chorus

Lo, they come the lords unknown,
Sons of Peace, from every zone!
See above our waves unfurled
All the flags of all the world!
North and south and west and east
Gather in to grace our feast.
Shining nations! let them see
How like England we can be.
Mighty nations! let them view
Sons of generous sires in you.



Solo Tenor

Henry Kendall

Two Hymns Written for the Asylum of Female Orphans.

I.

Parent to those, whose infant days
No human parent know;
To thee, O Charity! the praise
Of filial love shall flow.

Base want, and vice, a foe to all!
Round us their snares had thrown.
Had not thy arm, at pity's call,
Embrac'd us for thine own.

O blest the land! where all to Thee
A tender homage pay!
Where indigence and wealth agree
To venerate thy sway!

That land the wrath of Heaven may spare.
When ruthless nations groan;
Her guarded orphan's grateful prayer
May rise to mercy's throne.

Parent to those, whose infant days
No human parent know;
To Thee, O Charity, the praise
Of filial love shall flow.

II.

We have no parent but our God;
Yet will we not in grief despair;
For He thi...

William Hayley

Hymn Of The Children

Thine are all the gifts, O God!
Thine the broken bread;
Let the naked feet be shod,
And the starving fed.

Let Thy children, by Thy grace,
Give as they abound,
Till the poor have breathing-space,
And the lost are found.

Wiser than the miser's hoards
Is the giver's choice;
Sweeter than the song of birds
Is the thankful voice.

Welcome smiles on faces sad
As the flowers of spring;
Let the tender hearts be glad
With the joy they bring.

Happier for their pity's sake
Make their sports and plays,
And from lips of childhood take
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The Melbourne International Exhibition

I

Brothers from far-away lands,
Sons of the fathers of fame,
Here are our hearts and our hands
This is our song of acclaim.
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Shores of superlative sway,
Awful with lustre of thrones,
This is our greeting to-day.
Europe and Asia are here
Shining they enter our ports!
She that is half of the sphere
Beams like a sun in our courts.
Children of elders whose day
Shone to the planets white ends,
Meet, in the noble old way,
Sons of your forefathers friends.



II

Dressed is the beautiful city the spires of it
Burn in the firmament stately and still;
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