4 " My Father," O permit my heart
To plead her humble claim,
And ask the bliss those words impart
In my Redeemer's name!

1

43.

Death.-6 Hymns.

Nor from the dust affliction grows,
Nor troubles rise by chance;

Yet we are born to cares and woes,
A sad inheritance!

C M.

2 As sparks break out from burning coals, And still are upwards borne,

So grief is rooted in our souls,
And man grows up to mourn.

3 Yet with my God I leave my cause,
And trust his promis'd grace;
He rules me by his well-known laws
Of love and righteousness.

4 Not all the pains that e'er I bore
Shall spoil my future peace;
For death and hell can do no more
Than what my Father please.

44.

1 NAKED, as from the earth we came,

And crept to life at first,

We to the earth return again,
And mingle with our dust.

C. M.

2 The dear delights we here enjoy,
And fondly call our own,

Are but short favours borrow'd now,
To be repaid anon.

3 "Tis God that lifts our comforts high,
Or sinks them in the grave,

He gives, (and blessed be his name!)
He takes but what he gives.

4 Peace, all our angry passions, then,
Let each rebellious sigh
Be silent at his sov'reign will,
And every murmur die.

5 If smiling mercy crown our lives,
Its praises shall be spread,
And we'll adore the justice toò
That strikes our comforts dead.

45.

1 COURAGE, my soul! behold the prize The Saviour's love provides, Eternal life beyond the skies,

For all whom here he guides.

C. M.

2 The wicked cease from troubling there, The weary are at rest;

Sorrow and sin, and pain and care,
No more approach the blest.

3 A wicked world and wicked heart
With Satan now are join'd;

Each acts a too successful part
In harassing my mind.

4 In conflict with this threefold hoop,
How weary, Lord, am I?

Did not thy promise bear me up,
My soul must faint and die.

5 But, fighting in my Saviour's strength, Tho' mighty are my foes,

I shall a conq'ror be at length
O'er all that can oppose.

6 Then why, my soul, complain or fear?
The crown of glory see!
The more I toil and suffer here,
The sweeter rest will be.

46.

i On! happy soul who 'rt safely past Thy weary warfare here;

Arriv'd at Jesu's feet at last,

Thou 'st banish'd all thy fear.

C. M.

2 No more shall sickness break thy rest,
Or pain create thee smart;

No more shall doubts disturb thy breast,
Or sin afflict thy heart.

3 No more the world on thee shall frown, No longer Satan roar,

Thy man of sin is broken down,
And shall torment no more.

4 Adieu, vain world, the spirit cries,
All tears are wiped away,

For Jesus fills my cup with joys,
And fills it ev'ry day.

5 A taste of love we get below,
To cheer a pilgrim's face;
But ev'ry saint must die to know
The feast of heav'nly grace.

6 Delightful concord always reigns
In Jesus' courts above,

There hymns are sung, in rapt'rous strains, With ceaseless joy and love.

47.

Resignation.

1 My times of sorrow and of joy, Great God, are in thy hand:

C. M.

My choicest comforts come from thee,
And go at thy command.

2 If thou shouldst take them all away,
Yet would I not repine;
Before they were possess'd by me
They were entirely thine.

3 Nor would I drop a murm'ring word,
Tho' the whole world were gone,
But seek enduring happiness

In thee, and thee alone.

4 What is the world, with all its store?
'Tis but a bitter sweet;

When I attempt to pluck the rose
A pricking thorn I meet.

5 Here perfect bliss can ne'er be found,
The honey's mix'd with gall;

Midst changing scenes and dying friends,
Be thou my all in all.

48.

The Wisdom of God.

L. M.

1 WAIT, O my soul, thy Maker's will;
Tumultuous passions, all be still,
Nor let a murm'ring thought arise;
His ways are just, his counsels wise!
2 He in the thickest darkness dwells;
Performs his work, the cause conceals;
But, tho' his methods are unknown,
Judgment and truth support his throne.
3 In heav'n, and earth, and air, and seas,
He executes his firm decrees;

And by his saints it stands confest
That what he does is ever best.

4 Wait then, my soul, submissive wait
Prostrate before his awful seat;
And, 'midst the terrors of his rod,
Trust in a wise and gracious God.

49.

He has done all things well. Mark vii. 37.
1 Now, in a song of grateful praise,
To my dear Lord my voice I'll raise;
With all his saints I'll join to tell
My Jesus has done all things well!
2 All worlds his glorious power confess;
His wisdom all his works express;
But, O his love what tongue can tell!
My Jesus has done all things well!

L. M.