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“O THAT MY WAYS WERE DIRECTED TO KEEP THY

STATUTES.”

Oh! for a closer walk with God,

A calm and heavenly frame ;
A light to shine upon the road

That leads me to the Lamb !

Where is the blessedness I knew

When first I saw the Lord ?
Where is the soul-refreshing view

Of Jesus, and His word ?

What peaceful hours I once enjoyed !

How sweet their memory still !
But they have left an aching void,

The world can never fill.

Return, O holy Dove, return,

Sweet messenger of rest !
I hate the sins that made Thee mourn,

And drove Thee from my breast.

The dearest idol I have known,

Whate'er that idol be, Help me to tear it from Thy throne,

And worship only Thee.

So shall my walk be close with God,

Calm and serene my frame : So purer light shall mark the road,

That leads me to the Lamb.

I HAVE LEARNED IN WHATSOEVER STATE I AM,

THEREWITH TO BE CONTENT.”

FIERCE passions discompose the mind,

As tempests vex the sea ;
But calm content and peace we find,

When, Lord, we turn to Thee.

In vain by reason and by rule

We try to bend the will ;
For none but in the Saviour's school

Can learn the heavenly skill.

Since at His feet my soul has sate,

His gracious words to hear,
Contented with my present state,

I cast on Him my care.

Art thou a sinner, soul,” He said,

“ Then how canst thou complain ? How light thy troubles here, if weighed

With everlasting pain !

“ If thou of murmuring would'st be cured,

Compare thy griefs with mine; Think what my love for thee endured,

And thou wilt not repine.

“ 'Tis I appoint thy daily lot,

And I do all things well :
Soon shalt thou quit this gloomy scene,

And rise with me to dwell.

“ In life my grace shall strength supply

Proportioned to thy day ;
In death thou still shalt find me nigh,

To wipe thy tears away.”

Thus I, who once my wretched days

In vain repinings spent,
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,

Have learned to be content.

“ WHEN THOU WENTEST AFTER ME IN THE

WILDERNE

Far from the world, O Lord ! I flee,

From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still

His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,

With prayer and praise agree :
And seem, by thy sweet bounty, made

For those who follow Thee.

There if Thy Spirit touch the soul,

And grace her mean abode,
Oh! with what peace, and joy, and love,

She communes with her God !

There, like the nightingale, she pours

Her solitary lays ;
Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.

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