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To triumph o'er the monster, Death,

And all his frightful powers ! 2 Joyful with all the strength I have,

My quivering lips should sing, “ Where is thy boasted victory, grave,

And where the monster's sting ?”

3 If sin be pardoned, I'm secure;

Death has no sting beside ;
The law gives sin its damning power; .

But Christ, my ransom, died.

4 Now to the God of victory

Immortal thanks be paid, Who makes us conquerors while we die,

Through Christ our living head.


C. M.

Christiun Submission
1 O Lord, I would delight in thee,

And on thy care depend;
To thee in every trouble flee,
My best, my only friend.

% When all created streams are dried,

Thy fulness is the same;
May I with this be satisfied,

And glory in thy name.

3 Why should the soul a drop bemoan,

Who has a fountain near,
A fountain which shall ever run,

With waters sweet and clear?

4 No good in creatures can be found

But may be found in thee:
I must have all things, and abound,

While God is God to me.

5 O! that I had a stronger faith

To look within the veil,
To credit what my Saviour saith,

Whose word can never fail. 6 He who has made my heaven secure,

Will here all good provide : While Christ is rich can I be poor?

What can I want beside ?
7 O Lord, I cast my care on thee,

I triumph and adore ;
Henceforth my great concern shall be,

C. M.

1 SUBMISSIVE to thy will, my God,

I all to thee resign,
And bow before thy chastening rod;

I mourn but not repine.

2 Why should my foolish heart complain,

When wisdom, truth, and love
Direct the stroke, inflict the pain,

And point to joys above ? 3 How short are all my sufferings here,

How needful every cross !
Away, my unbelieving fear,

Nor call my gain my loss.

4 Then give, dear Lord, or take away

I'll bless thy sacred name;
My Jesus, yesterday, to-day,

For ever is the same!

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Casting our Care on the Lord. 1 Waen struggling on the bed of pain,

And earth and all its joys are vain,

How sweet, my God, to know thy power Sustains me in this trying hour!

2 How rich and precious sounds that love,

That tells of rest and joys above,
And lulls my troubled heart to rest,
Upon my blessed Saviour's breast.

3 There, still while life's warm currents rush,
My soul would all her sorrows hush,
Nor ever yield to dark despair,
For light and life and peace are there.

4 Helper and Hope thou ever art,

To heal the wounded, broken heart; 0! let me hear thy pardoning voice, And bid my broken bones rejoice.

5 Then shall my cheerful, grateful tongue

In rapturous strains thy praise prolong;
My ransomed soul adore thy grace,
And swifter run the heavenly race.

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