3

BEHOLD THE FIC TREE AND ALL THE TREES.

Second Sunday in Adbent. No. I.

THE

HE Lord will come! the earth shall quake The hills their fixed seat forsake; And, withering, from the vault of night The stars withdraw their feeble light.

The Lord will come! but not the same As once in lowly form He came,

A silent Lamb to slaughter led,

The bruised, the suffering, and the dead.

The Lord will come! a dreadful form, With wreath of flame, and robe of storm, On cherub wings, and wings of wind, Anointed Judge of humankind!

Can this be He who wont to stray A pilgrim on the world's highway; By power oppress'd, and mock'd by pride? Oh God! is this the Crucified?

Go, tyrants! to the rocks complain!-

Go, seek the mountains cleft in vain! But faith, victorious o'er the tomb, Lord is come!

Shall sing for joy- The

SEE THESE THINGS COME- TO SO LIKEWISE YE- WHEN- YE DOM OF GOD IS NIGHAT HAND. PASS KNOW- YE THAT THE KING­

WHEN THEY NOW- SHOOT FORTH YESEE AND KNOW OF YOUR OWN SELVES THAT SUMMER IS MOW NICH AT HAND.