2 Father, thy mercies past we own,-
Thy still continued care,-
To thee presenting, through thy Son,
Whate'er we have or are:
Our lips and lives shall gladly show
The wonders of thy love;
While on in Jesus' steps we go,
To seek thy face above.
3 Our residue of days or hours
Thine, wholly thine, shall be;
And all our consecrated powers
A sacrifice to thee,-
Till Jesus in the clouds appear,
To saints on earth forgiven,
And bring the grand Sabbatic year,
The jubilee of heaven.
3d P. M. 4 6s & 2 8.
The barren fig-tree.
THE Lord of earth and sky,
The God of ages, praise,
Who reigns enthroned on high,
Ancient of endless days,-
Who lengthens out our trials here,
And spares us yet another year.
2 Barren and wither'd trees,
We cumber'd long the ground;
No fruit of holiness
On our dead souls was found;
Yet doth he us in mercy spare,
Another and another year.
3 When justice bared the sword
To cut the fig-tree down,
The pity of the Lord
Cried,-Let it still alone:
The Father mild inclines his ear,
And spares us vet another year.
4 Jesus, thy speaking blood
From God obtain'd the grace,
Who therefore hath bestow'd
On us a longer space;
Thou didst in our behalf appear,
And, lo! we see another year.
5 Then dig about the root;
Break up our fallow ground;
And let our gracious fruit
To thy great praise abound;
O let us all thy praise declare,
And fruit unto perfection bear.
On beginning a new year.
UR few revolving years,
How swift they glide away;
How short the terin of life appears
When past but as a day!--
2 A dark and clondy day,
Clouded by grief and sin;"
A host of enemies without,
Distressing fears within."
3 Lord, through another year
If thou permit our stay,
With diligence may we pursue
The true and living way.
THEE we adore, eternal Name!
And humbly own to thee
How feeble is our mortal frame--
What dying worms are we!
2 Our wasting lives grow shorter still,
As days and months increase;
And every beating pulse we tell,
Leaves but the number less.
3 The year rolls round, and steals away
The breath that first it gave:
Whate'er we do, where'er we be
We're trav'ling to the grave.
4 Dangers stand thick through all the ground
To push us to the tomb;
And fierce diseases wait around,
To hurry mortals home.
5 Infinite joy, or endless wo,
Attends on every breath;
And yet how unconcern'd we go,
Upon the brink of death!
6 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense
To walk this dang'rous road;
And if our souls are hurried hence,
May they be found with God!
Man frail God eternal.
GOD, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eterna! home :-
2. Under the shadow of thy throne
Still may we dwell secure;
Sufficient is thine arm alone,
And our defence is sure.
3 Before the hills in order stood,
Or earth received her frame,
From everlusting thou art God,
To endless years the same.
4 A thousand ages, in thy sight,
Are like an evening gone;
Short as the watch that ends the night,
Before the rising sun.
5 Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.
6 The busy tribes of flesh and blood,
With all their cares and fears,
Are carried downward by the flood,
And lost in foll'wing years.
7 O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come;
Be thou our guide while life shall last,
And our perpetual home.
Earthly things vain and transitory. HOW vain is all beneath the skies! How transient every earthly bliss! How slender all the fondest ties
That bind us to a world like this!
2 The evening cloud, the morning dew,
The with'ring grass, the fading flower,
Of earthly hopes are emblems true-
The glory of a passing hour.
3 But though earth's fairest blossoms die,
And all beneath the skies is vain,
There is a brighter world on high,
Beyond the reach of care and pain.
4 Then let the hope of joys to come
Dispel our cares, and chase our fears:
If God be ours, we 're trav'ling home,
Though passing through a vale of tears.
Plea for sparing mercy. LORD, let me know miue end; My days, how brief their date; That I may timely comprehend How frail my best estate.
2 My life is but a span;
Mine age is naught with thee;
And, in his highest honour, man
Is dust and vanity.
8 At thy rebuke the bloom
Of earthly beauty flies:
And grief shall like a moth consume
All that delights our eyes.
4 Have pity on my fears;
Hearken to my request;
Turn not in silence from my tears,
But give the mourner rest.
5 O spare me yet, I pray;
my strength restore,
Ere I am summon'd hence away,
And seen on earth no more.
The soul's best portion.
ALMIGHTY Maker of my framed
Teach me the measure of my days; Teach me to know how frail I am, And spend the remnant to thy praise. 2 My days are shorter than a span; A little point my life appears; How frail, at best, is dying man! How vain are all his hopes and fears! 8 Vain his ambition, noise, and show; Vain are the cares which rack his mind: He heaps up treasures mix'd with wo, And dies, and leaves them all behind.
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