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427. C. M.

DODDRIDGE. Deliverances celebrated. Ps. 116. 1 Look back, my soul, with grateful love

On what thy God has done;
Praise him for his unnumbered gifts,

And praise him for his Son.
2 How oft hath his indulgent hand

My flowing eyelids dried,
And rescued from impending death,

When I in danger cried !
3 When on the bed of pain I lay,

With sickness sore oppressed,
How oft hath he assuaged my grief,

And lulled my eyes to rest.
4 Back from destruction's yawning pit

At his command I came;
He fed the expiring lamp anew,

And raised its feeble flame.
5 My broken spirit he hath cheered,

When torn with inward grief;
And, when temptations pressed me sore,

Hath brought me swift relief. 6 Still will I walk before his face,

While he this life prolongs;
Till grace shall all its work complete,
And teach me heavenly songs.

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428. L. M. DODDRIDGE.

The Rest of the grateful Soul. Ps. 116. 1 Return, my soul, and seek thy rest

Upon thy heavenly Father's breast :
Indulge me, Lord, in that repose

The soul which loves thee only knows. 2 Safe in thy care, I fear no more

The tempest's howl, the billows' roar :
Those storms must shake the Almighty's seat,

Which violate the saint's retreat.
3 Thy bounties, Lord, to me surmount

The power of language to recount;
From morning dawn the setting sun

Sees but my work of praise begun.
4 Rich in ten thousand gifts possessed,

In future hopes more richly blest,
I'll sit and sing, till death shall raise
A note of more proportioned praise.

429. C. M. HEGINBOTHAM.

Praising God in Life and Death.
1 My soul shall praise thee, O my God!

Through all my mortal days;
And to eternity prolong,

Thy vast, thy boundless praise.
2 In each bright hour of peace and hope,

Be this my sweet employ:
Devotion heightens all my bliss,

And sanctifies my joy.

3 When gloomy care or keen distress

Invades my throbbing breast, My tongue shall learn to speak thy praise,

And soothe my pains to rest.
4 Nor shall my tongue alone proclaim

The honors of my God;
My life, with all my active powers,

Shall spread thy praise abroad. 5 And though these lips shall cease to move,

Though death shall close these eyes, Yet shall my soul to nobler heights

Of joy and transport rise. 6 Then shall my powers in endless strains

Their grateful tribute pay:
The theme demands an angel's tongue,

And an eternal day.

430. C. M. DODDRIDGE. Days of the Upright known to God. Ps. 37. 1 To thee, my God, my days are known;

My soul enjoys the thought;
My actions all before thy face,

Nor are my faults forgot.
2 Each secret breath devotion vents

Is vocal to thine ear;
And all my walks of daily life

Before thine eye appear.
3 The vacant hour, the active scene,

Thy mercy shall approve;
And every pang of sympathy,

And every care of love.

4 Each golden hour of beaming light

Is gilded by thy rays;
And dark affliction's midnight gloom

A present God surveys.
5 Full in thy view through life I pass,

And in thy view I die;
And when each mortal bond is broke,

Shall find my God is nigh.

431. 7 & 6s. M. RIPPON'S COL.

The Soul aspiring to Heaven. 1 Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,

Thy better portion trace; Rise from transitory things,

Towards heaven, thy native place. Sun, and moon, and stars decay; Time shall soon this earth remove; Rise, my soul, and haste away

To seats prepared above. 2 Rivers to the ocean run,

Nor stay in all their course; Fire, ascending, seeks the sun;

Both speed them to their source : So a soul that's born of God, Pants to view his glorious face; Upward tends to his abode,

To rest in his embrace.

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432. S. M. Watts.

Heavenly Joy on Earth. 1 COME, we that love the Lord,

And let our joys be known : Join in a song with sweet accord,

And thus surround the throne. 2 The sorrows of the mind

Be banished from the place : Religion never was designed

To make our pleasures less. 3 The men

of
grace

have found
Glory begun below;
Celestial fruits, on earthly ground,

From faith and hope may grow. 4 Then let our songs abound,

And every tear be dry : We're marching through Immanuel's ground,

To fairer worlds on high.

433. C. M. C. WESLEY.

Seeking true Joys. 1 Our joy is a created good;

How soon it fades away!
Fades, at the morning hour bestowed,

Before the noon of day. 2 Joy, by its violent excess,

To certain ruin tends,
And all our rapturous happiness
In hasty sorrow ends.

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