Did ever trouble yet befall, He, who has help'd thee hitherto, 283. L. M., DODDRİDGE. The tempted Believer encouraged. TOW let the feeble all be strong, Now the feeble his arm And make Jehovah's arm their song What tho' the hofts of hell engage Bound by his word, he will display Thus far we prove that promife good, 284. S. M. TOPLADY. Weak Believers encouraged.* YOU YOUR harps, ye trembling faints, Loud to the praise of Chrift our Lord Tho' in a foreign land, We are not far from home; And nearer to our house above We ev'ry moment come. His grace fhall to the end Stronger and brighter fhine; Nor prefent things nor things to come, Shall quench the fpark divine. 2 The time of love will come,' When we shall clearly fee Not only that he fhed his blood, But each fhall fay, "for me." Tarry his leifure then; Wait, the appointed hour; Wait, till the bridegroom of your fouls Reveal his love with pow'r, Bleft is the man, O God, That ftays himself on thee! Who waits for thy falvation, Lord, Shall thy falvation fee. * See alfo 110. 235. C. M. WATTS'S H. The Compassion of Chrift to the Weak and Tempted. WITH ITH joy commemorate the grace, His heart is made of tenderness, Touch'd with a sympathy within, But spotlefs, innocent, and pure, He, in the days of feeble flesh, He'll never quench the fmoking flax, The bruised reed he never breaks, Then let our humble faith addrefs 286. L M. MORTON'S Col. LORD, bring backfliders near thy throne, And make thy loving-kindness known: Tho' they have griev'd thy fpirit, Lord, So fhall they own thy love is ftrọng; 287. Sevens. The fraying Sheep prayed for. ITY, Lord, a ftraying sheep, PITY Prone to wander from the fold; He thy pafture large and sweet Leaves, to roam the wilderness; Thousand foes his foul diftrefs; See the poor backflider, fee 1 See, he finks beneath his woe: Tho' he feels his wretched cafe, Does not move thee to befriend : Heal his wand'rings, Son of God, Save the purchase of thy blood. Skill'd to ftray, but ign'rant quite, When once loft, to find his home; Wand'ring on by day and night, Farther, farther ftill he'd roam : Wilt thou lose him, Son of God, Lose the purchase of thy blood? Lord, a wand'ring sheep restore |