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I will not murmur, when I am called to join them; I will say, Yes, Father, I am ready, for with Thy gracious aid I shall mount up on high; Thou hast rendered me victorious over death and the

grave.

K

HYMNS.

I.

"Call upon me in the day of trouble."-Ps. 1. 15.

COME, ye disconsolate, where'er you languish, Come, at God's altar fervently kneel;

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

Joy of the desolate, light of the straying,

Hope where all others die, fadeless and pure, Here speaks the Comforter, in God's name saying

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal."

II.

"I am not alone, because the Father is with me."-John xvi. 32.

WIY should dreams so dark and dreary
Fill my thought?

Is there nought,

Nought to soothe the weary?

Is the sun in heaven no longer,
When the rain

Sweeps the plain?

Soon he blazes stronger.

Is the floweret's sleep eternal,
When its cup,

Folded up,

Waits the breezes vernal ?

Why should man, then, child of sorrow,

Mourn his doom?

Present gloom

Will be light to-morrow.

Even here, all pain is fleeting;

Even here,

Joy and care

Join in constant greeting.

But where all our hopes are tending,

Peace and love

Reign above,

Bliss and joy unending.

III.

"In my distress, I call upon the Lord."-Ps. xviii. 6. As down in the sunless retreats of the ocean,

Sweet flowers are springing no mortal can see, So, deep in my soul, the still prayer of devotion, Unheard by the world, rises silent to Thee, My God! silent to Thee—

Pure, warm, silent to Thee.

As still to the star of its worship, though clouded, The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, So, dark as I roam, in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee, My God! trembling to Thee

True, fond, trembling to Thee.

IV.

"No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous; nevertheless, afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby."-Heb. xii. 11.

HE sendeth sun, He sendeth shower,
Alike they're needful for the flower;
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! Thy will, not mine, be done.

Can loving children e'er reprove

With murmurs, whom they trust and love? Creator! I would ever be

A trusting, loving child to Thee:

As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! Thy will, not mine, be done.

O! ne'er will I at life repine-
Enough that Thou hast made it mine.
When falls the shadow cold of death,
I yet will sing with parting breath,
As comes to me or shade or sun,

Father! Thy will, not mine, be done.

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