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Thy favour, all my journey through,

Thou art engaged to grant; What else I want, or think I do,

'Tis better still to want. Wisdom and mercy guide my way;

Shall I resist them both ? A poor

blind creature of a day, And crush'd before the moth. But ah! mine inward spirit cries,

Still bind me to thy sway:
Else the next cloud that veils my skies,

Drives all these thoughts away.




HEN our heads are bow'd with woe,

When our bitter tears o'erflow, When we mourn the lost and dear, Jesus, Son of David, hear. Thou, our throbbing flesh hast worn; Thou, our mortal grief hast borne; Thou hast shed the bitter tear; Jesus, Son of David, hear. When the heart is sad within, With the sense of all its sin; When the spirit shrinks with fear, Jesus, Son of David, hear. Thou, the shame, the grief hast known; Though the sins were not thine own, Thou hast deign'd their load to bear; Jesus, Son of David, hear.


YEASE thou from man; oh, what to thee,

Are they not erring, finite, frail ?
What can their utmost aid avail ?
Their very

love will prove a snare;
Then, when my heart becomes aware
Of its own danger, it will bleed
For leaning on a broken reed.
Why does thy bliss so much depend
On earthly relative or friend?
There is a Friend who changes never,
The love he gives, he gives for ever.
He has withdrawn thee now, apart,
To teach these lessons to thy heart;
Has darken'd all thy earthly scene,
That thou on him alone may'st lean.
His precious love that balm supplies,
For which thy wounded spirit sighs;
That only med'cine can make whole
The weary, faint, and sin-sick soul.
Go to that Friend, poor aching heart,
He knows how desolate thou art;
He waits—he longs to see thee blest,
And in himself to give thee rest.


RT thou all friendless and alone,

A confide?

God careth for thee, lonely one,

Comfort and help will he provide.

Thy heart's unspoken pain he knows,

Thy secret sighs he hears full well, What to none else thou dar'st disclose,

To him thou may'st with boldness tell. Why art thou full of anxious fear

How thou shalt be sustain'd and fed ? He who hath made and placed thee here,

Will give thee needful daily bread. Say'st thou, I know not how or where,

No help I see where'er I turn; When of all else we most despair,

The riches of God's love we learn ; Though long his promis'd aid delay,

At last it will be surely sent; Though thy heart sink in sore dismay,

The trial for thy good is meant. We know for us a rest remains,

When God will give us sweet release From earth and all our mortal chains,

And turn our sufferings into peace. 207 YHRISTIAN! on thy sick couch laid,

Is thy soul oppress'd with sorrow?
Art thou day by day afraid

What shall happen on the morrow?
Look, oh! look thine heart within;
Fear and sorrow rise from sin.
Christian! on thy sick couch laid,

Soon shall pass away thy fear,
When thy peace with God is made;

He regards the contrite tear;

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