And while our bodies wander here, 4 We purge our mortal dross away, And while we die to earth and sense Mrs. Barbauld. 359. L. M. 6 lines. Imploring divine Mercy. Ps. cxxx. 1 Our of the depth of sad distress, The gloomy mazes of despair, To heav'n we raise our warm address; 2 Shouldst thou, O God! minutely scan 3 With longing eyes we seek the Lord, Before his throne our souls attend: Firmly on his eternal word Our faith is fix'd, our hopes depend: 4 Ye pious minds! on God rely; He sends redemption from on high, 360. L. M. Waiting for Heaven. Denham, alt'd. 1 0 COULD we soar to worlds above, 2 But ah! still longer must we stay, 3 Then let these troubles still abound, 4 Our Father knows what road is best, Proud. 361. c. M. A Communion Hymn. 1 0 GOD! accept the sacred hour, 2 Still let us hold till life departs, Nor let our thoughtless, thankless heat ts 3 His true disciples may we live, 4 And oft along life's dang'rous way, 362. L. M. Unknown. On the dangerous Sickness of a Minister. 1 0 THOU, before whose gracious throne We bow our suppliant spirits down! Thou know'st the anxious cares we feel, And all our trembling lips would tell. 2 Thou only canst assuage our grief, And give our sorr'wing hearts relief; In mercy then thy servant spare, Nor turn aside thy people's pray'r. 3 Avert thy desolating stroke, Nor smite the shepherd of the flock; Stretch out thine arm, make haste to save! 4 Bound to each soul by tender ties, Nor rend him from each bleeding heart. 5 But if our supplications fail, And pray'rs and tears cannot prevail, And bear him to their native skies. 363. L. M. Rippon's Coll, The Resurrection of Christ. 1 OUR Lord is risen from the dead, 2 There his triumphal charriot waits, 3 Loose all your bars of massy light, And wide unfold th' etherial scene: 4 Who is this King of glory! Who? 364. c. M. Edward Taylor. Morning and Evening Meditation. 1 PARENT of life, in ev'ry age, 2 Thy morning light and evening smiles, Thy word our solitude beguiles, 3 It points to realms of light and peace, 4 O glorious rest! from toil and pain, We'd sleep the sleep of death, to gain 5 There ransom'd souls shall meet with joy, On that celestial shore; And drink of bliss without alloy, And feel their sins no more. D. Pickering. |