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His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain;

God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.

IV. Cowper

VIII

THE EMIGRANTS SACRED SONG

Where the remote Bermudas ride
In ocean's bosom unespied,
From a small boat that row'd along,
The listening winds received their song.

"What should we do but sing His praise
That led us through the watery maze,
Unto an isle so long unknown,
And yet far kinder than our own.

"Where He the huge sea-monsters racks,
That lift the deep upon their backs;
He lands us on a grassy stage,
Safe from the storm's and tyrant's rage.

"He gave us this eternal spring
Which here enamels every thing,
And sends the fowls to us in care,
On daily visits through the air.

"He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound His name.

"Oh! let our voice His praise exalt
Till it arrive at Heaven's vault,
Which then perhaps rebounding may
Echo beyond the Mexique bay."

Thus sang they in the English boat,
A holy and a cheerful note,
And all the way, to guide ,their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.

A. Marvel

IX

THE LOVE OF GOD

Blest be Thy love, dear Lord,
That taught us this sweet way
Only to love Thee for Thyself,
And for that love obey.

O Thou, our soul's chief hope!
We to thy mercy fly;
Where'er we are, Thou canst protect,
Whate'er we need, supply.

Whether we sleep or wake,
To Thee we both resign;
By night we see, as well as day,
If Thy light on us shine.

Whether we live, or die,
Both we submit to Thee;
In death we live, as well as life,
If Thine in death we be.

J. Austin

x GOD THE ONLY COMFORTER

O Thou that driest the mourner's tear,
How dark this world would be,

If, when deceived and wounded here,
We could not fly to Thee!

The friends who in our sunshine live,
When winter comes are flown;

And he who has but tears to give,
Must weep those tears alone.

But Thou wilt heal the broken heart,
Which, like the plants that throw

Their fragrance from the wounded part,
Breathes sweetness out of woe.

When joy no longer soothes, or cheers,
And even the hope that threw

A moment's sparkle o'er our tears,
Is dimmed and vanish'd too!

Oh! who could bear life's stormy doom,

Did not Thy wing of love Come brightly wafting through the gloom,

One peace-branch from above?

Then sorrow touch'd by Thee grows bright
With more than rapture's ray;

As darkness shows us worlds of light
We could not see by day.

T. Moore

XI

A PRAYER

Imitated from the Persian

Lord! who art merciful as well as just,
Incline Thine ear to me, a child of dust!
Not what I would, O Lord! I offer Thee,

Alas! but what I can.
Father Almighty, who hast made me man,
And bade me look to heaven, for Thou art there,

Accept my sacrifice and humble prayer.
Four things which are not in Thy treasury,
I lay before Thee, Lord, with this petition:
My nothingness, my wants,
My sins, and my contrition.

R. Southey

XII

THY WILL BE DONE

Father, I know that all my life

Is portion'd out for me,
And the changes that are sure to come

I do not fear to see;
But I ask Thee for a present mind,

Intent on pleasing Thee.

I ask Thee for a thoughtful love,
Thro' constant watching wise,

To meet the glad with joyful smiles
And wipe the weeping eyes:

And a heart at leisure from itself,
To soothe and sympathise.

I would not have the restless will

That hurries to and fro;
Seeking for some great thing to do,

A secret thing to know:
I would be treated as a child,

And guided where I go.

Wherever in the world I am,

In whatsoe'er estate,
I have a fellowship with hearts

To keep and cultivate,
And a work of lowly love to do,

From the Lord on whom I wait.

And if some things I do not ask

In my cup of blessing be, I would have my spirit fill'd the more

With grateful love to Thee; More careful, not to serve Thee much,

But to please Thee perfectly.

There are briars besetting every path

That call for patient care; There is a cross in every lot,

And an earnest need for prayer; But a lowly heart, that leans on Thee,

Is happy anywhere.

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