PART IV.

SONGS OF THE HEART

The Book of Praise.

PART THE FOURTH.

SONGS OF THE HEART,

I.

THE CALL.

"Rise; He calleth thee."—(MARK x. 49.)

CCCXXII.

Child of sin and sorrow,

Fill'd with dismay,
Wait not for to-morrow,
Yield thee to-day!

Heaven bids thee come
While yet there's room:
Child of sin and sorrow,
Hear, and obey!

Child of sin and sorrow,
Why wilt thou die?

Come, while thou canst borrow
Help from on high!
Grieve not that love
Which from above,
Child of sin and sorrow,
Would bring thee nigh!

Thomas Hastings. 1834.

CCCXXIII.

Poor child of sin and woe,

Now listen to thy Father's pleading voice ;
No longer need'st thou go
Without a friend to bid thy heart rejoice.

I know thou canst not rest

Until thou art from guilt and sorrow free;
Earth cannot make thee blest;

Come, bring thy suffering, bleeding heart to Me.

How often, in the hour

Of weariness, would I have succoured thee!
But thou didst spurn the power,

And scorn the heart that loved so tenderly.

Oh, what on earth appears

To comfort thy distress and heal thy grief,
To dry thy bitter tears,

And offer thy poor sinking soul relief?

Thy life of sin has been

A toilsome path, without one cheering ray ;
Now on thy Father lean,
And He will guide thee in a better way.

Come, leave the desert land,

And all the husks on which thy soul has fed;
And trust the faithful Hand

That offers thee a feast of living Bread.

O sinner! 'tis the voice

Of One, who long has loved and pitied thee!
He would thy heart rejoice,

And set thee from all sin and suffering free.

Oh, canst thou turn away?

It is thy Father that invites thee near!
Nay, sinner! weep and pray!

And Heaven shall hail the penitential tear! Eliza Fanny Morris. 1858.

CCCXXIV.

Return, O wanderer, to thy home;

Thy Father calls for thee:
No longer now an exile roam,
In guilt and misery:
Return, return!

Return, O wanderer, to thy home;

'Tis Jesus calls for thee:

The Spirit and the Bride say, Come:
O now for refuge flee;
Return, return !

Return, O wanderer, to thy home ;
'Tis madness to delay;

There are no pardons in the tomb,
And brief is mercy's day :

Return, return!

Thomas Hastings. 1834

CCCXXV.

Haste, traveller, haste! the night comes on,

And many a shining hour is gone;
The storm is gathering in the west,
And thou art far from home and rest;
Haste, traveller, haste!