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5 Or if on joyful wing
Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upwards I fly,
Still all my song shall be—
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee.
3 I 9 SHAME upon thee, listless heart,
So sad a sigh to heave,
As if thy Saviour had no part
In thoughts that make thee grieve.
2 As if along His lonesome way
He had not borne for thee
Sad languors through the summer day,
Storms on the wintry sea.
3 No spring was His—no fairy gleam—
For He by trial knew
How cold and bare what mortals dream,
To worlds where all is true.
4 Then grudge not thou the anguish keen Which makes thee like thy Lord; And learn to quit with eye serene Thy youth’s ideal hoard. 5 Thy treasured hopes and raptures high, Unmurmuring let them go,
Nor grieve the bliss should quickly fly
Which Christ disdained to know.
6 Thou shalt have joy in sadness soon;
The pure calm hope be thine,
Which brightens, like the eastern moon,
As day’s wild lights decline.
HEN gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few,
On Him Ilean, who not in vain
Experienced every human pain:
He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.
2 If aught should tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way,
To flee the good I would pursue,
Or do the sin I would not do—
Still He who felt temptation's power
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.
3 When vexing thoughts within me rise,
And sore dismayed my spirit dies,
Yet He who once vouchsafed to bear
The sickening anguish of despair,
Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry,
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.
4. When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend
Which covers all that was a friend,
And from his hand, his voice, his smile,
Divides me for a little while;
Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed,
For Thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.
5 And O when I have safely passed
Through every conflict but the last,
Still, Lord, unchanging, watch beside
My dying bed, for Thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.
HEN in the hours of lonely woe
I give my sorrows leave to flow,
And anxious fear, and dark distrust,
Weigh down my spirit to the dust;
2. When not even friendship's gentle aid
Can heal the wounds the world has made;
This thought shall check each rising sigh,
That Jesus is for ever nigh .
3 His counsel and upholding care
My safety and my comfort are;
And He shall guide me all my days,
Till glory crown the work of grace.
4 Jesus! in whom but Thee above
Can I repose my trust, my love
And shall an earthly object be
Loved in comparison with Thee?
5 My flesh is hastening to decay,
Soon shall the world have passed away;
And what can mortal friends avail,
When heart, and strength, and life shall fail?
6 But O be Thou, my Saviour, nigh,
And I will triumph while I die:
My strength, my portion, is divine,
And Jesus is for ever mine !
HERE is a Friend, more tender, true,
Than brother e'er can be ;
Who, when all others fade from view,
Remains, and will not flee:
Who, be their pathway bright or dim,
Deserts not those who turn to Him.
2 He is the Friend who changeth not
In sickness or in health;
Whether on earth our transient lot
Be poverty or wealth;
In joy or grief, contempt or fame,
To all who seek Him still the same.
3 The heart by Christ sustained, though deep
Its anguish, still can bear;
The heart He condescends to keep
Shall never know despair:
In nature's weakness, sorrow’s night,
God is its strength, its joy, its light !
SHAMED of Jesus! can it be?
A mortal man ashamed of Thee!
Scorned be the thought by rich and poor—
O may I scorn it more and more
2 Ashamed of Jesus! of that Friend
On whom my hopes of heaven depend!
No! when I blush, be this my shame,
That I no more revere His name.
3 Ashamed of Jesus! yes, I may,
When I’ve no sins to wash away,
No tears to wipe, no joys to crave,
And no immortal soul to save.
4 Till then—nor is my boasting vain—
Till then, I’ll boast a Saviour slain;
And O may this my portion be—
That Saviour not ashamed of me !
NCARNATE Word ' who, wont to dwell
In lowly shape and cottage cell,
Didst not refuse a guest to be
At Cana's poor festivity:
2 O when our soul from care is free,
Then, Saviour, may we think on Thee,
And, seated at the festal board,
In fancy's eye behold the Lord.
3 Then may we seem, in fancy’s ear,
Thy manna-dropping tongue to hear,
And think—even now Thy searching gaze
Each secret of our soul surveys
4. So may such joy, chastised and pure,
Beyond the bounds of earth endure;
Nor pleasure in the wounded mind
Shall leave a rankling sting behind