« AnteriorContinuar »
Ye know not what a day. James iv. 14. TO-MORROW, Lord, is thine,
Lodg’d in thy sovreign hand; And if its sun arise and shine,
It shines by thy command.
The present moment flies,
And bears our life away ; Oh! make thy servants truly wise,
That they may live to-day.
Since, on this winged hour,
Eternity is hung;
The aged and the young.
One thing demands our care,
Be that one thing pursu'd, Lest slighted once, the season fair,
Should never be renew'd.
Suffer little children. Mark x. 14. To Jordan's banks the Saviour's fame,
Judea's thousands brought; He heal'd the sick, restor'd the lame,
And wisdom's lessons taught.
Fond mothers with their infants came,
His blessing to obtain; Meekly they bore rebuke and blame,
The valued prize to gain.
“ Forbid them not,” the Saviour cried,
“For to such babes is given, “ To dwell with God the glorified,
“And worship him in heaven.”
Jesus ! to thee our youth we bear!
Do thou thy grace impart; Give them, O Lord! a hearing ear,
Give an obedient heart.
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills. Ps. cxxi. 1.
He lives, the everlasting God,
He guides our feet, he guards our way,
On them no evil shall have pow'r,
What shall I render to the Lord. Ps. cxvi. 12: WHEN all thy mercies, O my God!
My rising soul surveys; Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise.
Oh! how shall words with equal warmth,
The gratitude declare,
But thou canst read it there.
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts,
My daily thanks employ; Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
That tastes those gifts with joy.
Through ev'ry period of my life,
Thy goodness I'll pursue; And after death in distant worlds,
The glorious theme renew.
Here have no continuing city. Heb. xiii. 14. We've no continuing city here;
This may distress the worldling's mind, But should not cost the saint a tear,
Who hopes a better rest to find.
We've no abiding city here,
But seek a city out of sight; Zion its name, the Lord is there;
It shines with everlasting light.
Joyful abode of peace and love,
Where pilgrims freed from toil, are blest; Had I the pinions of the dove,
I'd flee to thee and be at rest.
But peace my soul, nor dare repine,
The time thy God appoints is best ; While here, to do his will be thine,
And his to fix thy time of rest.