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And hearts to understand;
Thus far we're kept by thee:
And reigns with boundless sway;
Both, 7 Beyond the azure sky,
We'll praise thee more and more;
C. M. 672.
Hope in Sickness.
My body to thy will;
Appoints the pains I feel,
When those who love thee groan: Thy reasons lie conceal'd from sense,
Mysterious and unknown. 3 Yet nature may have leave to speak,
And plead before her God, Lest the o'erburden'd heart should break
Beneath their heary rod. 4 The mournful groans and flowing tears, Give my poor spirit ease;
While every groan my Father hears;
And every tear he sees.
With peace upon its wings!
L. M. 673.
Life and Death in the Hands of God. 1 Sam. ii. 6. Job. xiv. 5, 6. Ps. xc. 3. Rev. i. 18 W!
HEN mortal man resigns his breath,
'Tis God directs the shafts of death, Casual howe'er the stroke appear,
He sends the fatal messenger:
That hand must first the warrant sign,
Which speeds his message to our heart, 8 Who first inspir'd the breath of lives,
The living kills, the dead revives,
C. M. 674. Sick bed Devotion; or, plearlng wishow
Behold the pains I feel;.
Nor dare dispute thy will.
They come at thy command;
$ Yet I may plead with humble cries,
Remove thy sharp rebukes;
Through thy repeated strokes.
We moulder to the dust; Our feeble powers can ne'er withstand,
And all our beauty's lost. 5 I'm but a sojourner below,
As all my fathers were, May I be well prepar'd to go
When I the summons hear.
Before my last remove,
S. M. 675.
Sick bed reflections.
No pardon met my eyes,
And hope shall never rise.
Reveal'd no charming ray;
With no succeeding day.
The joys beneath the sky!
When wintry storms are nigh. 4 How mourn'd my sinking soul
The Sabbath's hours divine,
Consum'd in sense and sin.
Repentance yet to be begun
Upon a dying bed
C. M. 'TIS kard, from
those we love, to go, Who weep beside our bed, Whose tears bedew our burning brow,
Whose arm supports our head: 2 When fading from the dizzy view,
I sought their forms in vain;
And groan'd to live again. 3 'Tis dreadful when th' accuser's pow'r
Assails the sinking heart, Recalling ev'ry wasted hour,
And each unworthy part.
Thy blessed comfort stole,
Across my darken'd soul. 5 When soon, or late, this feeble bresaka
No more to thee can pray,
And in the darksome way.
I wait thy dread decree;
That thou hast died for me.
(437.) C. M.
God our help in trouble. "My soul, the awful hour will come,
Apace it passeth on,
9 My heart, long lab’ring with its wocs,
Shall pant and sink away;
On the last glimm’ring ray.
A cordial for my pain, When, if earth's monarchs were my friends,
Those friends would weep in vain? * Great King of nature and of grace!
To thee my spirit flies,
Before thy pitying eyes.
And ev'ry secret fear;
Well notic'd by thine ear.
Which to such love belongs,
(438.) P. M. 678.
On recovering from disease.
Of gratitude, homage, and praise
The life and the length of my days!
I pour'd out my sighs and my tears; And to him, who alone can relieve,
My soul breath'd her vows and her pray’rs. is When my heart throbb’d with pain and alarm,
When paleness my cheek overspread, When sickness pervaded my frame;
'Then my soul on my Maker was stard. When death's awful image was nigh,
And no mortal was able to save;