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At first we start, and feel distrest;
Convinced we never can have rest
In such a wretched place;

But He whose mercy breaks the charm,
Reveals His own Almighty arm,

And bids us seek His face.

Then we begin to love indeed,
When from our sin and bondage freed
By this beloved Friend;

We follow Him from day to day,

Assured of grace through all the way, And glory at the end.

"I HAVE RANSOMED HIM FROM THE POWER OF

DEATH!"

THANKLESS for favours from on high,

Man thinks he fades too soon;
Though 'tis his privilege to die,
Would he improve the boon.

But he, not wise enough to scan
His best concerns aright,

Would gladly stretch life's little span

To ages, if he might:

:

To ages, in a world of pain,

To ages, where he goes

Galled by affliction's heavy chain,

And hopeless of repose.

Strange fondness of the human heart,

Enamoured of its harm!

Strange world!—that costs it so much smart,

And still has power to charm.

Whence has the world her magic power?

Why deem we death a foe?

Recoil from weary life's best hour,
And covet longer woe?

The cause is Conscience ;-Conscience oft

Her tale of guilt renews ;

Her voice is terrible, though soft,
And dread of death ensues.

Then, anxious to be longer spared,
Man mourns his fleeting breath:
All evils then seem light, compared
With the approach of death.

'Tis judgment shakes him; there's the fear, That prompts the wish to stay:

He has incurred a long arrear,

And must despair to pay.

Pay!-follow Christ, and all is paid;
His death your peace ensures ;
Think on the grave where He was laid,
And calm descend to your's.

"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.

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