ALWAYS POINTING TO CHRIST

When in our music God is glorified,
And adoration leaves no room for pride,

It is as though the whole creation cried
Alleluia!

How often, making music, we have found
A new dimension in the world of sound,
As worship moved us to a more profound
Alleluia!

So has the Church in liturgy and song,
In faith and love, through centuries of wrong,
Borne witness to the truth in ev'ry tongue,
Alleluia!

And did not Jesus sing a psalm that night
When utmost evil strove against the Light?
Then let us sing, for whom he won the fight,
Alleluia!

Let ev'ry instrument be tuned for praise!
Let all rejoice who have a voice to raise!
And may God give us faith to sing always
Alleluia! Alleluia!

                                            Fred Pratt Green

A  Sourcebook about Music, compiled by Alan J Hommerding and Diana Kodner. 1997. Liturgy Training Publications: USA. Page 103

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Foha_fUFRQk

With thanks to Youtube

MUSIC TO HEAV'N AND HER WE OWE

Your voices tune, and raise them high,
Till they echo from the vaulted sky
the blest Cecilia's name.

Music to heav'n and her we owe,
The greatest blessing that's below;
Sound loudly then her fame!

Let's imitate her notes above,
And may this evening ever prove
Sacred to harmony, sacred to love.

                                      Newburgh Hamilton

A Sourcebook about Music, compiled by Alan J Hommerding and Diane Kodner. 1997. Liturgy Training Publications: USA. Page 52

MY BELOVED IS THE MOUNTAINS

My Beloved is the mountains,

And lonely wooded valleys,
Strange islands,
And resounding rivers,
The whistling of love-stirring breezes,

The tranquil night
At the time of the rising dawn,
Silent music,
Sounding solitude,
The supper that refreshes, and deepens love.

                                                 St John of the Cross

                                                                         Sixteenth century

LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS

LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS

God moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never failing skill

He treasures up his bright designs,

And words his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But turst him for his grace;

Behind a frowning providence,

He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan his work in vain;

God is his own interpreter,

And he will make it plain.

William Cowper