114 ZION 8. 7. 8. 7. 4. 7 Thomas Hastings Guide me, 3 4 O thou great Jehovah, Pil - grim thro' this bar - ren land; I am weak, but thou art might-y, Hold me with thy pow'rful hand; Bread of heaven, Feed me till I want no more; Bread of heav'n, Feed me till I want no more. 1. God is love; his mercy bright-ens All the path in which we rove; b4 b-4 Bliss he wakes and woe he light - ens; God is wisdom, God is love. 2 Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, Behind a frowning providence He treasures up his bright designs, 5 His purposes will ripen fast, And works his sovereign will. 3 Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take: 4 Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, 116 (WILMOT) 8.7.8.7 2 Chance and change are busy ever; 3 E'en the hour that darkest seemeth Unfolding every hour: The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. And scan his work in vain; I17 (MANOAH) C. M. I Let every tongue thy goodness speak, 2 When sorrows bow the spirit down, 3 Thou know'st the pains thy servants Thou hear'st thy children's cry; [feel, And their best wishes to fulfill, Thy grace is ever nigh. 4 Thy mercy never shall remove Thou sav'st the souls whose humble love 2 Where streams of living water flow My ransomed soul he leadeth, Thy rod and staff my comfort still, Thy cross before to guide me. And where the verdant pastures grow, 5 Thou spread'st a table in my sight; With food celestial feedeth. 3 Perverse and foolish oft I strayed, But yet in love he sought me, And on his shoulder gently laid, And home, rejoicing, brought me. 4 In death's dark vale I fear no ill With thee, dear Lord, beside me; BALERMA C. M. I. O God of Bethel, by whose hand Thy people still are fed; 119 EVAN C. M. Celtic Melody. Arr. by William H. Havergal 1. The Lord's my Shep-herd, I'll not want; He makes me down b4 to lie Zb b In pastures green; he lead - eth me The qui- et 2 My soul he doth restore again ; waters by. 4 My table thou hast furnishèd My head thou dost with oil anoint, 121 (EVAN) C. M. I No longer forward or behind But, grateful, take the good I find, All as God wills, who wisely heeds, To give or to withhold: 3 Through each perplexing path of life 3 Enough that blessings understood Of their succeeding race. Our wandering footsteps guide; Give us each day our daily bread, And raiment fit provide. Have marked my erring track; That whereso'er my feet have swerved, His chastening turned me back ; 4 O spread thy covering wings around 4 That more and more a providence Till all our wanderings cease, And at our Father's loved abode Our souls arrive in peace. Philip Doddridge Of love is understood, Making the springs of time and sense J. G. Whittier |