His statutes keep with willing mind,
The precepts which his word unfold;
For he who hath the same enjoin'd,
The secrets of all hearts behold.
But if thine heart forsake his way,
And make him not thy chief delight ;
Hear what the God of truth doth say,
"He'll cast thee ever from his sight."
Offspring and root of David, THOU,
The bright and morning star, arise!
Thy power the stubborn will can bow,
And make me to salvation wise.
Bereft of all my native power,
I bow, I fall before thy face;
Dependent on thee, every hour,
My only refuge is thy grace.
If grace can fail, then I must fall;
No plea but grace can I present;
My gracious God, my all in all,
Grant me but grace, and I'm content.
HYMN VI. C. M.
Unparalleled Sufferings of Christ.
LORD, why so freely shed thy blood?
My soul inquires to know; Why did the sacred crimson flood In such profusion flow?
Could not a single drop atone,
And all-sufficient prove?
Its efficacious worth alone
A world of guilt remove?
Why did the plowers on thy back,
Like furrows make it part?
And cruel tyrants wound, and rack,
And rend thy tender heart ?
Could nought but this their hate assuage,
The Lord of life to slay?
To treat thee with infernal rage,
And take thy life away?
"Inquiring soul, the reason know, "I bled upon the tree:
" "Twas that I might my mercy show, "'Twas all for love to thee."
GREAT prophet of the ransom'd race,
We look to thee to be supply'd;
On thee our faith and hope we place,
To teach, illuminate and guide.
A teacher sent from God thou art,
O make us to salvation wise;
The heav'nly truths thy lips impart
In all their native lustre rise.
Dark in ourselves, we need thy light,
We wait to feel thy quick'ning ray;
Thy beams dispel the clouds of night,
And usher in the Gospel day.
Conduct us through the desert land,
By day our cloud, our fire by night;
And let thy out-stretch'd potent hand
Turn all our num'rous foes to flight.
Instruct in all thy righteous will,
On thee for all our hopes depend;
Thy great prophetic work fulfil,
And guide us to our journey's end.
Above the narrow bounds of time,
Thus taught by thee our hopes shall rise,
On Contemplation's ladder climb
To our great Prophet in the skies.
HYMN VIII. L. M.
The Love of Life moderated.
WOULD not always live below,
Through this dark wilderness to roam;
I loathe the thought, and long to go
And take possession of my home.
Ten thousand cares possess my breast,
Ten thousand objects claim my heart;
But I shall soon enjoy my rest,
And with the world for ever part.
To see thy glory, Lord, appear,
And sinners fly to thy dear arms,
Holds back my soul, nor lets me fly
To take my mansion in the sky.
Yet my appointed time I'll wait,
Until my glorious change shall come,
To call me from my pilgrim state
To my belov'd, eternal home.
O glorious hope! I there shall see
The glorious Lord that for me died,
Enthron'd in splendid majesty,
And seated at his Father's side.
LORD of the vineyard, we adore
That pow'r and grace divine,
Which plants our wild, our barren souls
In Christ, the living vine.
For ever may they there abide,
And from that vital root
Be influence spread thro' ev'ry branch,
To form and feed the fruit.
Shine forth, my God, the clusters warm
With rays of sacred love;
Till Eden's soil, and Zion's streams
The gen'rous plant improve.
Fatherly Chastisement.
As tender parents chide with care
The sons they dearly love,
And gladly would correction spare,
While all their bowels move:
So are the chast'nings of the Lord
On all his chosen race;
His visitations still afford
Fresh tokens of his grace.
When first their wand'ring footsteps err, He watches to reclaim;
And all the strokes they're call'd to bear Are laid with this kind aim.
In faithfulness he strikes betimes,
Yet moderates their griefs;
Their frame remembers with their crimes,
And meditates relief.
With great compassion thus he'll chide
The children of his heart;
And when their souls are purify'd,
Will bid the rod depart.
His loving-kindness firm shall stand,
For those he will chastise:
Sink not, my soul, beneath his hand,
Nor his rebukes despise.
HYMN XI. L. M.
Death a Sleep.
DEAREST of names, our Lord, our King!
Jesus, thy praise we humbly sing;
In cheerful songs will spend our breath,
And in thee triumph over death.
Death is no more among our foes,
Since Christ the mighty conqueror rose;
Both power and sting the Saviour broke,
He dy'd, and gave the final stroke.
Saints die, and we should gently weep;
Sweetly in Jesu's arms they sleep,
Far from this world of sin and woe;
Nor sin, nor pain, nor grief, they know.
Death is a sleep, and O how sweet
To souls prepar'd its stroke to meet!
Their dying beds, their graves are bless'd,
For all to them is peace and rest.
Their bodies sleep, their souls take wing,
Uprise to heaven, and there they sing
With joy, before the Saviour's face,
Triumphant in victorious grace.
O may I live with Jesus nigh,
And sleep in Jesus when I die;
Then joyful, when from death I wake,
I shall eternal bliss partake.
HYMN XII. C. M.
The Lively Christian.
MOST glorious Saviour, and our God,
Help us thy name to praise ;
Redeem'd we are through precious blood,
And made alive through grace.
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