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O happy, sweeter name
Than e'er the world did know,
Freely on me bestow;
Shall wholly flee away,
Be turn'd to joyful day;
337. What shall I render to the Lord. C.M. For mercies, countless as the sands,
Which daily I receive
My soul, what canst thou give ?
What can I bring him forth?
My all is nothing worth.
For all he has bestow'd,
And call upon my God.
So wretched, and so poor,
And ask him still for more.
I cannot serve him as I ought,
No works have I to boast,
That I should owe him most.
338. The Pilgrim. 148.
I launch into the deep,
Where sin lulls all asleep;
What though the waves are strong, What though tempestuous winds
Distress me all along; Yet what are seas or stormy wind Compar'd to Christ the sinner's friend? Christ is my pilot wise,
My compass is his word,
While I have such a Lord;
Through all my passage lie,
And guide me with his eye ; How can I sink with such a prop, Chat bears the world and all things up?
By faith I see the land,
The haven of endless rest, My soul thy wings expand,
And fly to Jesu's breast; 0
may I reach the heav'nly shore Where winds and seas distress no more, Whene'er becalm'd I lie,
And all my storms subside,
And keep me near thy side;
A prosp'rous gale of grace,
To heav'n my destin'd place; Then in full sail my port I'll find, And leave the world and sin behind.
339. Assurance. 89. A DEBTOR to mercy alone,
Of covenant mercy I sing,
My person and off'ring to bring,
With mé can have nothing to do, My Saviour's obedience and blood
Hide all my transgressions from view.. The work which his goodness began
The arm of his strength will complete, His promise is Yea and Amen,
And never was forfeited yet.
Things future, nor things that are now,
Not all things below nor above, Can make him his purpose forego,
Nor sever my soul from his love. My name from the palms of his hands
Eternity will not erase, Imprest on his heart it remains In marks of indelible
grace. Yes, I to the end shall endure,
As sure as the earnest is given;
The glorify'd spirit in heaven.
We travel through this wilderness,
In Christ the fountain of true bliss ;
Of daily fresh supplies of grace,
While we bis leading footsteps trace;
Or struggle for another breath,
And yield no solid joy in death :
His cross inflicts the deadly blow,
And crucifies each rebel sin;
And cause sweet melody within.
Her citizens resplendent shine,
And fill’d them with the life divine;
341.' The Christian Race. L, M. Awake, our souls, (away our fears,
Let ev'ry trembling thought be gone) Awake, and run the heav'nly race,
And put a cheerful courage on. True 'tis a straight and thorny road,
And mortal spirits tire and faint ; But they forget the mighty God
That feeds the strength of ev'ry saint.
Is ever new and ever young,
Their everlasting circles run.
Our souls shall bring a fresh supply, While such as trust their native strength
Shall melt away, and droop, and die.