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S. M.

Human Frailty.

1 LORD, what a feeble piece Is this our mortal frame!

Our life, how poor a trifle 'tis,

That scarce deserves the name!

2 Alas, the brittle clay

That built our body first!
And every month, and every day,
"Tis mouldering back to dust.

3 Our moments fly apace,

Our feeble powers decay;
Swift as a flood our hasty days
Are sweeping us away.

4 Yet if our days must fly,

We'll keep their end in sight,

We'll spend them all in wisdom's way,
And let them speed their flight.

5 They'll waft us sooner o'er

This life's tempestuous sea;

Soon shall we reach the peaceful shore
Of blest eternity.

L. M.

Prayer in Affliction.

1 GoD of my life, to thee I call, Afflicted, at thy feet I fall;

O! while the swelling floods prevail, Leave not my trembling heart to fail. 2 Friend of the friendless and the faint, Where shall I lodge my deep complaint? Where but with thee, whose open door Invites the helpless and the poor?

3 Did ever mourner plead with thee, And thou refuse the humble plea? Does not the word still fixed remain, That none shall seek thy face in vain ?

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4 That were a grief I could not bear,
Didst thou not hear and answer prayer:
The promise of a faithful God,
Supports me under every load.

5 Fair is the lot that's cast for me,
I have an advocate with thee;
They whom the world caresses most,
Have no such privilege to boast.

6 Poor though I am, despised, forgot,
Yet God, my God, forgets me not;
That man is safe, and must succeed,
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.

7 s.

Welcome to the Cross.

1 "Tis my happiness below,

Not to live without the cross;

But the Saviour's power to know,

Sanctifying every loss.

Trials must and will befall;
But with humble faith to see
Love inscribed upon them all,
This is happiness to me.

2 God, in Israel, sows the seeds
Of affliction, pain, and toil;
These spring up, and choke the weeds
Which would else o'erspread the soil.

Trials make the promise sweet,
Trials give new life to prayer;
Trials bring me to his feet,

Lay me low, and keep me there.

3 Did I meet no trials here,

No chastisement by the way,
Might I not, with reason, fear
I should prove a cast-away?
Aliens may escape the rod,

Sunk in earthly, vain delight;

But the true-born child of God,

Must not, would not, if he might.

C. M.

Guilt of Conscience and Relief.

I AMIDST thy wrath remember love,
Restore thy servant, Lord,

Nor let a Father's chastening prove
Like an avenger's sword.

2 Thine arrows stick within my heart, My flesh is sorely pressed;

Between the sorrow and the smart
My spirit finds no rest.

3 My sins a heavy load appear,
And o'er my head are gone;
Too heavy they for me to bear,
Too hard for me t' atone.

4 My thoughts are like a troubled sea That sinks my comforts down;

And I go mourning all the day

Beneath my Father's frown.

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