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If placed beneath the northern pole, Though winter reigns with rigour there, His gracious beams would cheer my soul, And make a spring throughout the year.
Or, if the desert's sun-burnt soil
Oft as the bell, with solemn toll,
Soon, leaving all I love below,
But could I bear to hear him say, “ Depart, accursed, far away! “ With Satan, in the lowest hell, “ Thou art for ever doomed to dwell!”
Lord Jesus, help me now to flee
Then, when the solemn bell I hear, If saved from guilt, I need not fear ; Nor would the thought alarming be, “ Perhaps it next may toll for me!"
Rather my spirit would rejoice,
“ MY SOUL IS EVEN AS A WEANED CHILD."
QUIET, Lord, my froward heart :
Make me teachable and mild,
Make me as a weaned child ;
What Thou shalt to-day provide,
Let me as a child receive ; What to-morrow may betide,
Calmly to Thy wisdom leave : 'Tis enough that Thou wilt care, Why should I the burden bear ?
As a little child relies
On a care beyond his own;
Fears to stir a step alone ;