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Lord give us ears to hear,

And hearts to understand;
In trouble may we find thee near
A Saviour close at hand!

Through life's dark rugged road,

Thus far we're kept by thee:
May heaven at last be our abode,
Thy glory there to see.

Blest be our God, who lives,

And reigns with boundless sway;
Richly our benefactor gives:
We'll praise him all the day.

Both, 7 Beyond the azure sky,

We'll praise thee more and more;
And through a long eternity,
A God in Christ


C. M. 672.

Hope in Sickness.
· LORD! I am pain’d; but I resign

My body to thy will;
'Tis grace, 'tis wisdom all divine

Appoints the pains I feel,
2 Dark are the ways of providence,

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.
5 Is not some smiling hour at hand,

With peace upon its wings!
Give it, O God! thy swift command,
With all the joys it brings!

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:
2 The keys are in that hand divine;

That hand must first the warrant sign,
And arm the death, and wing the dart,

Which speeds his message to our heart, 8 Who first inspir'd the breath of lives,

The living kills, the dead revives,
Brings to the margin of the grave,
And shows us thence his power to save:
From hence if thou my body raise,
l'll publish my Restorer's praise,
My life at thy dear hands receive,
And only for thy glory live.

C. M. 674. Sick bed Devotion; or, plearlng wishow

Gof my life, look gently down,

Behold the pains I feel;.
But I am dumb before thy throne,

Nor dare dispute thy will.
2 Diseases are thy servants, Word,

They come at thy command;
I'll not attempt a murmuring worul
Against thy chastening hand.


$ Yet I may plead with humble cries,

Remove thy sharp rebukes;
My strength consumes, my spirit dies

Through thy repeated strokes.
· Crush'd as a moth beneath thy hand,

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.
6 But if my life be spar'd a while

Before my last remove,
Thy praise shall be my business still,
And I'll declare thy love.

S. M. 675.

Sick bed reflections.
UST o'er the grave I hung-

No pardon met my eyes,
As blessings never greet the slain,

And hope shall never rise.
Sweet mercy to my soul

Reveal'd no charming ray;
Before me rose a long-dark night,

With no succeeding day.
Then-Oh, how vain appeard

The joys beneath the sky!
Like visions past—like flow'rs that blow

When wintry storms are nigh. 4 How mourn'd my sinking soul

The Sabbath's hours divine,
The day of grace, that precious day,

Consum'd in sense and sin.
The work—the mighty work
Of life, so long delay'd


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;
The bitterness of death I knew,

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.
4 Yet, Jesus, in that mortal fray,

Thy blessed comfort stole,
Like sunshine in an autumn day,

Across my darken'd soul. 5 When soon, or late, this feeble bresaka

No more to thee can pray,
Support me thro' the vale of death,

And in the darksome way.
6 When cloth'd in fleshly weeds again

I wait thy dread decree;
Judge of the world, remember then

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,
To bear this body to the tomb,
And thee to scenes unkaown.

9 My heart, long lab’ring with its wocs,

Shall pant and sink away;
And you, my eye-lids, soon shall closo

On the last glimm’ring ray.
3 Whence in that hour saall I receive

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,
And opens all its deep distress

Before thy pitying eyes.
5 All its desires to thee are known,

And ev'ry secret fear;
The meaning of each broken groan

Well notic'd by thine ear.
6 O fix me by that mighty pow'r,

Which to such love belongs,
Where darkness veils the eyes no more,
And groans are chang'd to songs.

(438.) P. M. 678.

On recovering from disease.
HOW vast is the tribute I owe

Of gratitude, homage, and praise
To the giver of all I possess,

The life and the length of my days!
2 When the sorrows I boded were come,

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;

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