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A soul inured to pain,
I want a godly fear,
A quick discerning eye, That looks to Thee when sin is near,
That sees the tempter fly;
A spirit still prepared,
And arm'd with jealous care, For ever standing on its guard,
And watching unto prayer.
I want a heart to pray,
To pray and never cease, Never to murmur at Thy stay,
Or wish my sufferings less;
This blessing, above all,
Always to pray, I want,
And never, never faint.
I want a true regard,
A single, steady aim,
To Thee and Thy great name;
A jealous, just concern
For Thine immortal praise; A pure desire that all may learn
And glorify Thy grace.
I rest upon Thy word;
My succour and salvation, Lord,
Till Thou my patient spirit guide
xv THOUGHTS OF CHRIST Jesu, the very thought of Thee
With sweetness fills the breast; But sweeter far Thy face to see, And in Thy presence rest.
No voice can sing, no heart can frame,
Nor can the memory find,
The Saviour of mankind.
O hope of every contrite heart,
O joy of all the meek,
How good to those who. seek!
But what to those who find? Ah! this
The love of Jesus, what it is, -
Jesu, our only joy be Thou,
As Thou our prize wilt be;
Bernard of Fontaine
For the boatmen as they approach the rapids by
Jesu! bless our slender boat,
Loud its threatenings—let them not
Breath'd Thy mercy to implore,
Where these troubled waters roar.
Saviour, for our warning, seen
If, while thro' the meadows green
We forgot Thee, do not Thou
Disregard Thy suppliants now!
Hither, like yon ancient tower
Fling the shadow of Thy power,
Thou who trod'st the billowy sea,
Shield us in our jeopardy!
Guide our bark among the waves;
Through the rocks our passage smooth .
Let Thy love its anger soothe:
W. Wordsworth XVII
Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear,
When the soft dews of kindly sleep
Abide with me from morn till eve,
If some poor wandering child of Thine
Watch by the sick, enrich the poor
Come near and bless us when we wake,
THE SOUL'S LITANY In the hour of trial,
Jesus, pray for me;
I depart from Thee:
With a look recall,
Suffer me to fall.
With its witching pleasures,
Would this vain world charm; Or its sordid treasures
Spread, to work me harm;
If with sore affliction
Thou in love chastise, Pour Thy benediction
On the sacrifice;
Freely offend up,
Faith shall drink the cup.
When in dust and ashes
To the grave I sink, While heaven's glory flashes
O'er the shelving brink,