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The Minister's prayer: Boldness in the Gospel
The Spirit's course in me restrain?
5 Yea, let men rage; since thou wilt spread
3d P. M. 4 6s & 2 8s.
GOD of my life, to thee
My cheerful soul I raise;
I see my natal hour return,
I glorify thy name,
And all my blessings came:
3 Long as I live beneath,
In thanks and praises give :
I consecrate to thee:
Me to thine image now restore,
5 I wait thy will to do,
I wait thy perfect will to prove,
6 Then, when the work is done,
In death's triumphant hour:
Smarting under the rod.
YHASTISED by an indulgent God,
I would the kind chastisement feel;
2 From each extreme divinely kept,
Secret communion with God.
WEET is the prayer whose holy stream
Devotion dwells upon the theme,
And warm and warmer glows.
2 Faith grasps the blessing she desires;
3 But sweeter far the still small voice,
When God has made the heart rejoice,
4 No accents flow, no words ascend;
But God himself doth comprehend,
9th P. M. 87, 87.
In deep affliction.
FULL of trembling expectation,
Feeling much, and fearing more,
2 Suff'ring Son of man, be near me,
In time of peril.
Saviour from the wrath to come,
M From prefent evil savet,
Avert the deep impending gloom,—
2 Still hold my soul in life, I pray;
And let me all my lengthen'd day
3 Now, Lord, I have to thee made known
In sickness: Praying for recovery.
Come, and thy healing power infuse; Descend in thine own time, and bless, And give the means their hallow'd use. 2 Obedient to thy will alone,
To thee in means I calmly fly: My life, I know, is not my own; To God I live, to God I die.
3 Thy holy will be ever mine:
If thou on earth detain me still,
4 I come, if thou my strength restore,
Consolations in sickness.
WHEN languor and disease invade
This trembling house of clay,
'Tis sweet to look beyond my pains, And long to fly away;
2 Sweet to look inward, and attend
Sweet to look upward, to the place
3 Sweet to look back, and see my name
4 Sweet to reflect how grace divine
Sweet to remember that his blood
5 Sweet to rejoice in lively hope,
6 If such the sweetness of the stream,
Where saints and angels draw their bliss Directly, Lord, from thee.
Recovery from sickness.
MY God, thy service well demands
The remnant of my days;
Why was this fleeting breath renew'd, But to renew thy praise?'
2 Thine arms of everlasting love Did this weak frame sustain,
When life was hov'ring o'er the grave, And nature sank with pain.