Henry Purcell

How blest are shepherds

How blest are shepherds, How happy their lasses While drums and trumpets are sound alarms.

In the black dismal dungeon of despair

In the black dismal dungeon of despair, Pined with tormenting care, Wrack’d with my fears, Drown’d in my tears, With dreadful expectation of my doom And certain horrid judgement soon to come: Lord, here I lie …

A Morning Hymn

Thou wakeful Shepherd, that does Israel keep, Raised by thy goodness from the bed of sleep, To thee I offer up this Hymn …

Evening Hymn

Now that the sun hath veil’d his light, And bid the world goodnight, To the soft bed my body I dispose, But where shall my soul repose? Dear God, even in thy arms.