755.

Humble Confession.

NOT worthy, Lord, to gather up the crumbs
With trembling hand that from thy table fall,
A weary, heavy-laden sinner comes
To plead thy promise and obey thy call.

I am not worthy to be thought thy child,
Nor sit the last and lowest at thy board;
Too long a wanderer and too oft beguiled,
I only ask one reconciling word.

My praise can only breathe itself in prayer,
My prayer can only lose itself in thee;
Dwell thou for ever in my heart, and there,
Lord! let me sup with thee; sup thou with me.

The Broken Shield.

Oн, send me not away! for I would drink,
E'en I, the weakest, at the fount of life;

Chide not my steps, that venture near the brink,
Weary and fainting from the deadly strife.

Went I not forth undaunted and alone,
Strong in the majesty of human might?
Lo! I return, all wounded and forlorn,
My dream of glory lost in shades of night.

E. H. Bickersteth.

WHITE.

II. IO.

T. B. White.

756.

Was I not girded for the battle-field?

Bore I not helm of pride and glittering sword?
Behold the fragments of my broken shield,
And lend to me thy heavenly armor, Lord!

Death of a Christian in his Prime.

Go to the grave in all thy glorious prime,
In full activity of zeal and power:

A Christian cannot die before his time;
The Lord's appointment is the servant's hour.

Go to the grave: at noon from labor cease;
Rest on thy sheaves, thy harvest task is done;
Come from the heat of battle, and in peace,
Soldier, go home, — with thee the fight is won.

Go to the grave; for there thy Saviour lay
In death's embraces, ere he rose on high;
And all the ransomed, by that narrow way,
Pass to eternal life beyond the sky.

Go to the grave: no, take thy seat above;
Be thy pure spirit present with the Lord,
Where thou for faith and hope hast perfect love,
And open vision for the written word.

319

Book of Hymns. 1848.

James Montgomery.

VOX ANGELICA. 11. 10. 9.

Rev. John Bacchus Dykes. 1861.

4%

Chorus.

"The Pilgrims of the Night."

757.
HARK, hark, my soul: angelic songs are swelling

O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore ;
How sweet the truth those blesséd strains are telling
Of that new life when sin shall be no more.
Chorus. Angels of gladness, angels of light,

Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night.
Darker than night life's shadows fall around us,
And, like benighted men, we miss our mark :
God hides himself, and grace hath scarcely found us,
Ere death finds out his victims in the dark. Chorus.
Rest comes at length; though life be long and dreary,
The day must dawn, and darksome night be past:

All journeys end in welcomes to the weary,

And heaven, the heart's true home, will come at last. Chorus.

Angels sing on, your faithful watches keeping;

Sing us sweet fragments of the songs above;

While we toil on, and soothe ourselves with weeping,

Till life's long night shall break in endless love. Chorus.

Modern Harp.

EDINBURGH. II.

758.

759.

Ministering Spirits.

How dear is the thought that the angels of God
May bow their bright wings to the world they once trod,
That the sweetest delight of the mansions above
Is to bear to some bosom God's message of love!

Oh, the outward is gone, but in moments serene
Comes the sense of a presence, unheard and unseen:
High promptings of duty, sweet breathings of peace,
Show the soul's deep communion shall nevermore cease.
They come when we wander, they come when we pray,
To warn and to guard us whenever we stray:

A glorious cloud, their bright witness is given;
Encircling us ever, these spirits of heaven.

The Living Dead.

FORGET not the dead, who have loved, who have left us,
Who bend o'er us now from their bright homes above;
But believe, never doubt, that the God who bereft us
Permits them to mingle with friends they still love.

Repeat their fond words, all their noble deeds cherish;
Speak pleasantly of them who left us in tears:

Hymns of the Spirit.

Other joys may be lost, but their names should not perish,
While time bears our feet through the valley of tears.