North Central Louisiana Sacred Harp Singing meets at Ringgold, south of Minden on Saturday September 3rd, starting at 10 a.m. (d.v.). Singing is from both the “red book” and the “blue book”. The location is at New Providence Primitive Baptist Church. From Interstate 20 at Minden, take US 371 south and travel about 20 miles to Ringgold. Turn left/east on Highway 154 and go about one mile; the New Providence church and cemetery is on the left. More info: (318) 894-9549.
Y'all come.
“Ask for the old paths, where is the good way, and walk therein.” Caveat lector
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Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
On what has been sown
On what has now been sown
Thy blessing, Lord, bestow;
The power is Thine alone
To make it spring and grow.
Do Thou in grace the harvest raise,
And Thou alone shalt have the praise.
To Thee our wants are known,
From Thee are all our powers;
Accept what is Thine own
And pardon what is ours.
Our praises, Lord, and prayers receive
And to Thy Word a blessing give.
Oh, grant that each of us
Now met before Thee here
May meet together thus
When Thou and Thine appear
And follow Thee to Heav'n, our home.
E'en so, Amen, Lord Jesus, come!
John Newton (1725-1807)
Olney Hymns, 1779
Thy blessing, Lord, bestow;
The power is Thine alone
To make it spring and grow.
Do Thou in grace the harvest raise,
And Thou alone shalt have the praise.
To Thee our wants are known,
From Thee are all our powers;
Accept what is Thine own
And pardon what is ours.
Our praises, Lord, and prayers receive
And to Thy Word a blessing give.
Oh, grant that each of us
Now met before Thee here
May meet together thus
When Thou and Thine appear
And follow Thee to Heav'n, our home.
E'en so, Amen, Lord Jesus, come!
John Newton (1725-1807)
Olney Hymns, 1779
Friday, August 19, 2011
The joy of Sacred Harp
As for me.....when I can no longer sing Sacred Harp, I want to listen. When I can no longer hear, I want to see it. When I can no longer sing, hear, or see, please wheel me in and prop me up against some old singer so I can feel it!
And when all my senses are gone, plant me under a stone engraved with four shapes and the inscription "Here lies the dust of R.L.V., his spirit sings at home."
And when all my senses are gone, plant me under a stone engraved with four shapes and the inscription "Here lies the dust of R.L.V., his spirit sings at home."
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Ye immortal throng
O ye immortal throng of angels round the throne,
Join with our feeble song, to make the Savior known:
On earth ye knew His wondrous grace;
His glorious face in Heav'n ye view.
Ye saw the Heav'n-born Child in human flesh arrayed,
Benevolent and mild while in the manger laid:
And "Praise to God, and peace on earth,"
For such a birth, proclaimed aloud.
Around the bloody tree ye pressed with strong desire
That wondrous sight to see, the Lord of life expire:
And could your eyes have known a tear,
Had dropped it there in sad surprise.
Around His sacred tomb a willing watch ye keep
Till the blest moment come to rouse Him from His sleep:
Then rolled the stone, and all adored
Your rising Lord with joy unknown.
When, all arrayed in light, the shining Conqueror rode,
Ye hailed His rapturous flight up to the throne of God,
And waved around your golden wings,
And struck your strings of sweetest sound.
The warbling notes pursue, and louder anthems raise,
While mortals sing with you their own Redeemer's praise:
And thou, my heart, with equal flame,
And joy the same, perform thy part.
Philip Doddridge (1702-1751), 1737
Join with our feeble song, to make the Savior known:
On earth ye knew His wondrous grace;
His glorious face in Heav'n ye view.
Ye saw the Heav'n-born Child in human flesh arrayed,
Benevolent and mild while in the manger laid:
And "Praise to God, and peace on earth,"
For such a birth, proclaimed aloud.
Around the bloody tree ye pressed with strong desire
That wondrous sight to see, the Lord of life expire:
And could your eyes have known a tear,
Had dropped it there in sad surprise.
Around His sacred tomb a willing watch ye keep
Till the blest moment come to rouse Him from His sleep:
Then rolled the stone, and all adored
Your rising Lord with joy unknown.
When, all arrayed in light, the shining Conqueror rode,
Ye hailed His rapturous flight up to the throne of God,
And waved around your golden wings,
And struck your strings of sweetest sound.
The warbling notes pursue, and louder anthems raise,
While mortals sing with you their own Redeemer's praise:
And thou, my heart, with equal flame,
And joy the same, perform thy part.
Philip Doddridge (1702-1751), 1737
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