OBEDIENCE IS BETTER THAN SACRIFICE.

I

THUS saith the LORD, "The spacious fields, "And flocks and herds are mine; "O'er all the cattle of the hills "I claim a right divine.

II

"I afk no fheep for sacrifice,

"Nor bullocks burnt with fire ; "To hope and love, to pray and praise, "Is all that I require.

* Call upon me when trouble's near,
My hand shall set thee free;
“Then fhall thy grateful lips declare
"The honour due to me.

IV

"The man who offers humble praise, "He glorifies me best ;

"And those who tread my holy ways "Shall my salvation taste."

INVITATIONS OF MERCY.

I

COME! said Jesus' sacred voice,
Come and make my paths your choic:
I will guide you to your home;
Weary pilgrim! hither come!

II

Thou, who houseless, sole, forlorn, Long hast borne the proud world's scorn, Long hast roam'd the barren waste, Weary pilgrim, hither haste !

IIL

Ye who, tost on beds of pain,
Seek for ease, but seek in vain ;
Ye, whose swoln and sleepless eyes
Watch to see the morning rise:

IV

Ye, by fiercer anguish torn,

In strong remorse for guilt who mourn,
Here repose your heavy care:
A wounded spirit who can bear?

Sinner, come! for here is found
Balm that flows for ev'ry wound;
Peace that ever shall endure,
Rest eternal, sacred, sure.

OBEDIENCE IS BETTER THAN SACRIFICE.

I

THUS saith the LORD, "The spacious fields, "And flocks and herds are mine; "O'er all the cattle of the hills "I claim a right divine.

II

"I afk no fheep for sacrifice,

"Nor bullocks burnt with fire; "To hope and love, to pray and praise, "Is all that I require.

III

"Call upon me when trouble's near, My hand shall set thee free;

66

"Then fhall thy grateful lips declare "The honour due to me.

IV

"The man who offers humble praise, "He glorifies me best;

"And those who tread my holy ways "Shall my salvation taste."

INVITATIONS OF MERCY.

COME! said Jesus' sacred voice,
Come and make my paths your choic:
I will guide you to your home;
Weary pilgrim! hither come!

II

Thou, who houseless, sole, forlorn, Long hast borne the proud world's scorn, Long hast roam'd the barren waste, Weary pilgrim, hither haste !

LIL

Ye who, tost on beds of pain,
Seek for ease, but seek in vain ;
Ye, whose swoln and sleepless eyes
Watch to see the morning rise:

IV

Ye, by fiercer anguish torn,

In strong remorse for guilt who mourn,
Here repose your heavy care:
A wounded spirit who can bear?

V

Sinner, come! for here is found
Balm that flows for ev'ry wound;
Peace that ever shall endure,
Rest eternal, sacred, sure.

CONSOLATION IN THE PROMISES OF GOD.

J:

WHEN fainting in the sultry waste,
And parch'd with thirst extreme,
The weary pilgrim longs to taste
The cool, refreshing stream:

II

Should, sudden, to his hopeless eye
A crystal spring appear,
How would the stream his want supply,
His drooping spirits cheer!

III

So longs the weary fainting mind,
Opprest with sins and woes,
Some heart-reviving spring to find,
Whence heav'nly comfort flows.

IV

Thus sweet, the consolations are
The promises impart ;

Here flowing streams of life appear,
To cheer the fainting heart.