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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. i God of my life, to thee I call,

Afflicted, at thy feet I fall;
0! 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 ?

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.

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Welcome to the Cross. į "Iis 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. | 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 tatone.

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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