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I thank thee, who hast overthrown
My foes, and heal'd my wounded mind; I thank thee, whose enliv’ning voice
Bids my freed heart in thee rejoice. 5 Give to my eyes refreshing tears,
Give to my heart, chaste hallow'd fires; Give to my soul, with filial fears,
The love that all heav'n's host inspires ;
That all my pow'rs with all their might
In thy sole glory may unite.
6 Thee will I love, my joy, my crown!
Thee will I love, niy Lord, my God!
Thee will I love, when all does frown
On me, and thorny makes my road.
What though my flesh and heart decay?
Thee shall Í love in endless day.
. Abba, Father.
A BBA, Father ! hear thy child
A Late in Jesus reconcil'd!
Hear, and all the graces show'r,
All the joy, and peace, and pow'r,
All my Saviour asks above,
All the life and heaven of love.
Heav'nly Adam, life divine,
Change my nature into thine :
Move and spread throughout my soul,
Actuate and fill the whole :
Be it I no longer now,
Living in the flesh, but Thou.
3 Holy Ghost, no more delay,
Come, and in thy temple stay ;
Now thy inward witness bear
Strong, and permanent, and clear;
Spring of life, thyself impart,
Rise eternal in my heart.
98 The greatness of Redemption.
M HE Lord of Sabbath let us praise,
1 In concert with the blest; Who, joyful in harmonious lays,
Employ an endless rest.
2 Thus, Lord, while we remember thee,
We blest and pious grow ;
In hymns of praise we learn to be
Triumphant here below.
3 On this glad day a brighter scene
Of glory was display'd
By God tħ eternal Word, than when
This universe was made.
4 He rises, who mankind has bought
With grief and pain extreme: 'Twas great to speak the world from nought,
Christ collecting his Flock. P. M. INFATHOM’D wisdom of our King ;
In stillness he collects his flock,
Leads on, and to perfection brings,
And grounds them on himself—the Rock;
With little hurry, noise, or show,
He safely guideth every soul;
No more the blinded world can do,
Than scorn and ridicule the whole.
2 Thy church, great Saviour, bought with blood,
Outcasts of men, but dear to thee,
Esteems thy cross a pleasant load,
An easy yoke; thrice happy she ;
When bearing thy reproach below,
She still partakes of thy free grace,
Which from thy wounds doth sweetly flow,
And all affliction's load outweighs.
3 Come, tender Lord, support the weak,
Support thy little ones with grace :
Thou know'st, for thee athirst we seek,
Kind Master of thy chosen race !
Faithful we know thy tender love,
Thy wounds our heav'n, our paradise ;
May spirit, soul, and body prove
An ever living sacrifice.
4 Within the circle of thy arms
O may we ever live secure;
'Tis by thy oath that thou art ours,
Bond ever sacred, ever sure!
Thy work with mighty arm support,
Satan shall ne'er prevail o'er thee :
Let thy true followers though oppress'd,
Beneath oppression conqu’rers be.
P. M. H IGH on his everlasting throne
? The King of saints his work surveys, Marks the dear souls he calls his own, And smiles on his peculiar race. He rests well pleas'd their toil to see ; Beneath his easy yoke they move, With all their heart and strength agree
Jo the sweet labour of his love.
2 His eye the world at once looks through,
A vast, uncultivated field;
Mountains and vales in ghastly show,
A barren uncouth prospect yield.
Clear'd of the thorns by civil care,
A few less hideous wastes are seen ;
Yet still they all continue bare,
And not one spot of earth is green,
3 See where the servants of their God,
A busy multitude appear,
For Jesus day and night employ’d,
His husbandry they toil to clear.
The love of Christ their hearts constrains,
And strengthens their unwearied hands ;
They spend their blood, and sweat, and pains,
To cultivate Emmanuel's lands.
4 Alarm'd at their successful toil,
Satan and his wild spirits rage,
They labour to tear up and spoil,
And blast the rising heritage.
In every wilderness they sow
The seed of death, the carnal mind;
They would not let one virtue grow,
Nor leave one seed of good behind,
5 Yet still the servants of their Lord,
Look up and calmly persevere ;
Supported by the Master's word,
The adverse pow'rs they scorn to fear;
Gladly their happy work pursue ;
The labour of their hands is seen,
Their hands the face of earth renew,
Some spots at least are lively green. 6 Where'er the faithful workers turn,
The steps of industry appear;
They labour all dry wood to burn,
They labour with incessant care
The fruits of Sodom to tread down,
To root up each accursed seed
By Satan and his spirits sown,
And plant the Gospel in its stead,
7 To dig the ground they thus bestow
Their lives; from ev'ry softened clod