Hymn, Poetry and Song







      Hymn






Love Divine, All Loves Excelling

Love Divine, all loves excelling,
Joy of heaven, to earth come down,
Fix in us thy humble dwelling,
All thy faithful mercies crown.
Jesus, thou art all compassion,
Pure unbounded love thou art;
Visit us with thy salvation,
Enter every trembling heart.

Breathe, O breathe Thy loving Spirit,
Into every troubled breast!
Let us all in Thee inherit;
Let us find that second rest.
Take away our bent to sinning;
Alpha and Omega be;
End of faith, as its Beginning,
Set our hearts at liberty.


Come, almighty to deliver,
Let us all thy life receive;
Suddenly return, and never,
Never more thy temples leave.
Thee we would be always blessing,
Serve thee as thy hosts above,
Pray, and praise thee, without ceasing,
Glory in thy perfect love.


Finish then thy new creation
Pure and spotless let us be;
Let us see thy great salvation,
Perfectly restored in thee,
Changed from glory into glory,
Till in heaven we take our place,
Till we cast our crowns before thee,
Lost in wonder, love, and praise!

 










Guide me, O thou great Redeemer



Guide me, O thou great Redeemer, 
Pilgrim through this barren land. 
I am weak, but thou art mighty; 
Hold me with thy powerful hand. 
Bread of heaven, bread of heaven, 
Feed me till I want no more; 
Feed me till I want no more.

 Open now the crystal fountain, 
Whence the healing stream doth flow; 
Let the fire and cloudy pillar 
Lead me all my journey through. 
Strong deliverer, strong deliverer, 
Be thou still my strength and shield; 
Be thou still my strength and shield.

When I tread the verge of Jordan, 
Bid my anxious fears subside; 
Death of death and hell's destruction, 
Land me safe on Canaan's side. 
Songs of praises, songs of praises,
I will ever give to thee;
I will ever give to thee.









When I Survey The Wondrous Cross

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.


Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.


See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?


His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o’er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.
 


Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.











The Old Rugged Cross


On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross
The emblem of suffering and shame
How I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain

So I'll cherish the old rugged cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged cross
And exchange it some day for a crown

O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world
Has a wondrous attraction for me
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary

So I'll cherish the old rugged cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged cross
And exchange it some day for a crown

Then He'll call me some day to my home far away
Where His glory forever I'll share

So I'll cherish the old rugged cross
Till my trophies at last I lay down
I will cling to the old rugged cross
And exchange it some day for a crown

 I will cling to the old rugged cross
And exchange it some day for a crown











Amazing Grace 

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.

T'was Grace that taught...
my heart to fear.
And Grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that Grace appear...
the hour I first believed.

Through many dangers, toils and snares...
we have already come.
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far...
and Grace will lead us home.

 When we've been there ten thousand years...
bright shining as the sun.
We've no less days to sing God's praise...
than when we've first begun.
 

 Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me....
I once was lost but now am found,
Was blind, but now, I see.



 






Blessed Assurance

 

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!
Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine!
Heir of salvation, purchase of God,
Born of His Spirit, washed in His blood.

Chorus:

This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Saviour all the day long;
This is my story, this is my song,
Praising my Saviour all the day long.


Perfect submission, perfect delight,
Visions of rapture now burst on my sight;
Angels, descending, bring from above
Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.


Perfect submission, all is at rest,
I in my Saviour am happy and blest,
Watching and waiting, looking above,
Filled with His goodness, lost in His love.









I Stand Amazed In the Presence


I stand amazed in the presence
Of Jesus the Nazarene
And I wonder how He could love me,
A sinner condemned, unclean.

Chorus:

How marvelous, how wonderful
This my song shall ever be.
How marvelous, how wonderful
Is my Saviour's love for me.



For me it was in the garden He prayed,
"Not my will, but thine"
He had no tears for His own griefs,
But sweat drops of blood for mine.


He took my sins and my sorrows,
He made them His very own;
He bore the burden to Calvary,
And suffered and died alone.


When with the ransomed in glory
His face I at last shall see,
'Twill be my joy thro' the ages,
To sing of His love for me.





      Song




 

 

 


The Bright Orange and Blue


When Brethren are met in their Orders so grand,
What a beautiful sight for to view.
I was ordered to stand, by a Brother's command,
To receive the bright Orange and Blue.

To receive the bright Orange and Blue,
To receive the bright Orange and Blue.
I was ordered to stand, by a Brother's command,
To receive the bright Orange and Blue.

In darkness I entered, the Lord He knows where,
First bound up in chains it is true;
And the shoes from my feet, I did then cast away,
To receive the bright Orange and Blue.

A rumbling noise just like thunder I heard,
Presented itself to my view,
You would stand in amazement to see them proclaim,
To receive the bright Orange and Blue.

A glittering light unto me was revealed
I became a fresh soul quite anew
And I'll stand by my cause, my religion and laws
And I'll die for the Orange and Blue.

 
Let us join hand in hand, and like King William stand,
In defence of our cause just and true;
Let the Boyne be our guide, where our forefathers died
In defence of the Orange and Blue.





 

 

 



Old Orange Flute

 

In the county Tyrone, in the town of Dungannon
Where many a ruckus meself had a hand in
Bob Williamson lived there, a weaver by trade
And all of us thought him a stout-hearted blade.

On the twelfth of July as it yearly did come
Bob played on the flute to the sound of the drum
You can talk of your fiddles, your harp or your flute
But there''s nothing could sound like the Old Orange Flute.

But the treacherous scoundrel, he took us all in
For he married a Papist named Bridget McGinn
Turned Papish himself and forsook the Old Cause
That gave us our freedom, religion and laws.

And the boys in the county made such a stir on it
They forced Bob to flee to the province of Connaught,
Took with him his wife and his fixins, to boot,
And along with the rest went the Old Orange Flute.

Each Sunday at mass, to atone for past deeds,
Bob said Paters and Aves and counted his beads
Till one Sunday morn, at the priest''s own require
Bob went for to play with the flutes in the choir.

He went for to play with the flutes in the mass
But the instrument quivered and cried."O Alas!"
And blow as he would, though he made a great noise,
The flute would play only "The Protestant Boys".

Bob jumped up and huffed, and was all in a flutter.
He pitched the old flute in the best holy water,
He thought that this charm would bring some other sound,
When he tried it again, it played "Croppies Lie Down!"

And for all he would finger and twiddle and blow
For to play Papish music, the flute would not go,
"Kick the Pope" to "Boyne Water" was all it would sound
Not one Papish bleat in it could e'er be found.

At a council of priests that was held the next day
They decided to banish the Old Flute away,
They couldn''t knock heresy out of its head
So they bought Bob another to play in its stead.
 


And the Old Flute was doomed, and its fate was pathetic
''Twas fastened and burnt at the stake as heretic.
As the flames rose around it, you could hear a strange noise
''Twas the Old Flute still a-whistlin'' "The Protestant Boys".










 Derry's Walls

The time has scarce gone round boys, two hundred years ago
When rebels on old Derry's walls, their faces dare not show
When James and all his rebel band came up to Bishops gate
With heart and hand and sword and shield, we caused them to retreat


Then work and don't surrender, but come when duty calls
With heart and hand and sword and shield, we'll guard old Derry's walls


With blood that flow'd in crimson streams, through many a winter's night
They knew the Lord was on their side, to help them in their fight
They nobley stood upon those walls determined for to fight
To fight and gain the victory and raise the crimson high


Then work and don't surrender, but come when duty calls
With heart and hand and sword and shield, we'll guard old Derry's walls


At last, at last, with one broadside, kind heaven sent their aid
The boom was broke that crossed Foyle's shores and James he was dismayed
The banner, boys, that floated, was run aloft with joy
God bless the hands that broke the boom, and saved the Apprentice Boys
 

 

 

Then work and don't surrender, but come when duty calls
With heart and hand and sword and shield, we'll guard old Derry's walls.






Orange Standard


Unfurl the Orange Standard, men the foe are in the field;
To arms, ye warriors once again make heartless Rebels yeild,
Shoot down the foe with musket-balls, give chase with flashing blades;
Arm! Arm! Your country loudly calls for Protestant Brigades.
Unfurl the Standard of the Blue, the Green is waving now,
Flock to our ranks ye brave and true and brethe your battle vow;
For alters, homes and truth to fight if need be for to die;
So do not sheath your swords to-night, give forth our battle cry.
Yes let the Orange and the Blue fly proudly out again;
Before the anxious, longing view of all true hearted men.
Yes let it wave high in the skies for Orangemen to see;
Let's gain Religious Liberty and make our country free.






What are You?

Are you a loyal Orangeman and worthy of the name
Of William Prince of Orange, immortal honoured fame?
What is your daily practice, which is the part you play?
Do you respond to duties' call and tread the narrow way?

Was it through love and loyalty that you a stranger came
To cross the rugged mountains in search of Jordan's plain?
Where the waters stood divided and the chosen found a way
Was it to aid such principles you joined the grand array?

Was it for sake of earthly gain you joined the glorious throng
Of William Prince of Orange who conquered at the Boyne?
Do you accept the righteous robe that made all nations free
And care not for the principles that gained such liberty?

Do you uphold the principles for which our fathers died,
Or when the enemy is in view are you the one to hide?
Have you attained the golden steps, Faith, Hope, and Charity,
Or do you stand at Rome's command to lap and bend the knee?

These are simple questions, to each your answer give
The world will prove it's value by the life you try to live
If you're a would-be Orangeman then choose some other sect,
But if a worthy Orangeman you're one of the Elect.









The Green Grassy Slopes of The Boyne


Some folks sing of mountains and valleys
Where the wild flowers abundantly grow,
And some of the wave-crested billows
That dash 'neath the waters below.
But l'm going to speak of a river,
And I hope in the chorus you'll join -
Of the deeds that were done by King William,
On the green grassy slopes of the Boyne.

   On the green grassy slopes of the Boyne,
     Where the Orangemen with William did join,
     And fought for our glorious deliverance
     On the green grassy slopes of the Boyne

On the banks of that beautiful river,
There the bones of our forefathers lie,
Awaiting the sound of the trumpet
To call them to glory on high.
In our hearts we will cherish their memories,
And we all like true brethren will join,
And praise God for sending us King William,
To the green grassy slopes of the Boyne.

Orangemen will be loyal and steady,
For no matter whate'er may betide,
We will still mind our war-cry "No Surrender!"
So long as we've God on our side,
And if ever our service is needed,
Then we all like true Brethren will join,
And fight, like valiant King William,
On the green grassy slopes of the Boyne.






The Old Noble Flag


It`s only a small bit of bunting,
It`s only an old coloured rag,
Yet thousands have died for its honour
And shed their best blood for the flag.

It`s charged with the cross of St Andrews,
Which, of old, Scotland`s heroes has led:
It carries the cross of St Patrick,
For which Ireland`s bravest have bled.

Joined with these is the English ensign,
St George`s red cross on the white field,
Round which, from King Richard to Wellington,
Britons conquer or die, but ne`er yield.

We hoist it to show our devotion
To our Queen, to our country and laws
It`s the outward and visible emblem
Of advancement and liberty`s cause.

You may say it`s an old bit of bunting,
You may call it an old coloured rag;
But the freedom has made it majestic,
And time has ennobled our flag.






Ode to the Boyne

In sixteen hundred and eighty eight,
Three hundred years ago,
The Protestant faith in danger stood
For those who bowed to Rome.

Then William, Prince of Orange, sailed
From Holland's lovely land
To fight for freedom for all faiths
And win by God's great hand.

And many brave souls down the years
Have paid with life and limb,
To keep the freedom William won,
We thank our God for him.

And now the torch is passed to us
That freedom to maintain;
To watch and pray and never cease
To keep alive the flame.

That all may worship as they wish
And Scriptures' Word enjoy;
This freedom William sealed for us
At the Battle of the Boyne.










The Aghalee Heroes

These Protestant heroes in Ireland,
Give ear to these words I write down;
Concerning the bold Aghalee Heroes,
That marched through the sweet Portadown.

Well it being on the Twelfth day of July,
Sure our music so sweetly did play;
And the Protestant Boys and Boyne Water,
Were the tunes we played going our way.

Like the Sons of King William, sure we marched,
'Till at length Lurgan town came in view;
Where the churches were there decorated,
With the orange, red, purple and blue.

Round the spires sure our banners were flying,
Wee guns like big cannons did roar;
Here's life to those Aghalee heroes,
For they are the boys we adore.

Captain Black like a brave Orange hero,
Came riding down on his grey steed.
And he asked us what number that we carried,
And where do you mean to proceed.

Sure the sweet County Antrim sure we're bound for,
Our number is six thirty-two;
And we are the boul' Aghalee heroes,
And we'll soon make those rebels subdue.

Well we took off our hats to salute him,
And proudly he bade us march on;
And he rode like a hero 'afore us,
'Till we came tae the banks o' the Bann.

And sure when we did arrive safe in Aghalee,
Sure the brandy did flow like the Rhine;
Here's life to those Aghalee heroes,
For they are the boys crossed the Boyne.





 

 

 



No Man's Land  (Green Fields Of France)

(This is the original version, written and performed by Eric Bogle)

Well, how d'you do, Private William McBride,
Do you mind if I sit here down by your graveside?
And I'll rest for a while in the warm summer sun,
I've been walking all day, Lord, and I'm nearly done.
I see by your gravestone you were only nineteen,
When you joined the glorious fallen in 1916,
Well, I hope you died quick and I hope you died clean
Or, Willie McBride, was it slow and obscene?

Did they beat the drum slowly, did they sound the fife lowly?
Did the rifles fire o'er you as they lowered you down?
Did the bugles sing The Last Post 'n Chorus?
Did the pipes play the Flowers o' the Forest?

And did you leave a wife or a sweetheart behind,
In some faithful heart is your memory enshrined?
And, though you died back in 1916,
To that loyal heart are you always nineteen?
Or are you a stranger without even a name,
Forever enshrined, behind some glass pane,
In an old photograph, torn and tattered and stained,
And fading to yellow in a brown leather frame?

Well the sun's shining now on these green fields of France;
The warm wind blows gently, and the red poppies dance.
The trenches have vanished, long under the plow;
No gas and no barbed wire, no guns firing now.
But here in this graveyard that's still No Man's Land,
The countless white crosses in mute witness stand;
To man's blind indifference, to his fellow man.
And a whole generation who were butchered and damned.

And I can't help but wonder, now Willie McBride,
Do all those who lie here, know why they died?
Did you really believe them when they told you, "The Cause?"
Did you really believe that this war would end wars?
The suffering, the sorrow, the glory, the shame
The killing, the dying, it was all done in vain,
For Willie McBride, it all happened again,
And again, and again, and again, and again.









Armagh Brigade



Billy Gray, Billy Gray, will you not come to me,
Bright light has turned to darkness, in this trench I cannot see,
For my skull has just been shattered by the shell that blinded me,
When fighting with the Armagh Brigade.


For I remember well my old associates in arms,
We gathered from our towns and villages and farms,
In answer to the echo of Carson's loud alarms,
We formed up the Armagh Brigade.


We took those smuggled rifles from off the Clyde Valley,
To fight the South or England or whatever enemy,
Who would bring us into bondage or deny our liberty,
We marched with the Armagh Brigade.


I've always been so puzzelled and I cannot understand,
Why we're fighting here in France and not in Ulster's land,
And knowing England's promises are as firm as drifting sand,
I don't believe a word that they said.


Now when we charged that morning with a great and mighty yell,
Through the German trenches, how far I cannot tell,
I prepared myself for heaven and walked right into hell,
Along with the Armagh Brigade.


I hear loud booming thunder and the stutter of the guns,
I hear the angry screaming of Ulster's falling sons,
In this bloody slaughterhouse of the battlefield of Somme,
Im dyin' with the Armagh Brigade.


For Ulster is my heritage and Ulster is my cause,
This war it is futility, it's glory is a fraud,
But I am bleeding heavily and I must go to God,
Im leavin' the Armagh Brigade.


Billy Gray, Billy Gray will you not come to me,
I'm far away from my home my wife and family,
Will you come and speak some comfort and be a friend to me,
If your not dead yet Billy Gray.

 

 


     Poetry


THE WORDS OF WILLIAM JOHNSTON OF BALLYKILBEG


Ye Orangemen of Ulster,
Ye Loyal, True and Brave,
Arise, Arise ere yet it be,
Too late our land to save,
Arouse, arouse and put your trust,
In Him whom sits on high,
And charge the musket, draw the sword,
And "keep your powder dry."
And hoist your Orange banner high,
And sound your trump and drum,
Then soon the Loyal of the land,
Will to that standard come.
Arouse! Arouse! Your country calls,
Arm! Arm! the foe is nigh.
Let "No Surrender" be the word.
And "keep your powder dry."
So Orangemen, Arouse ! Arouse!
Tis Loyalty that calls,
Fear not the foe, our Orange flag
A traitors heart appals;
And swear before High Heaven’s Lord,
Who reigns enthroned on high,
You’ll charge these rebels on the field,
And "have your powder dry."