When that illustrious day shall rise,
And all thine armies shine
In robes of victory through the skies,
The glory shall be thine.
HYMN 195. L. M.
Not ashamed of Christ.
1 JESUS! and shall it ever be,
A mortal man asham'd of thee?.
Asham'd of thee, whom angels praise,
Whose glories shine through endless days!
2 Asham'd of Jesus! sooner far
Let evening blush to own a star;
He sheds the beams of light divine
O'er this benighted soul of mine.
3 Asham'd of Jesus! that best friend,
On whom my hopes of heaven depend;
No; when I blush, be this my shame,
That I no more revere his name.
4 Asham'd of Jesus! yes, I may,
When I've no guilt to wash away,
No tears to wipe, no joys to crave,
No fears to quell, no soul to save.
5 Till then, nor is the boasting vain,
Till then I boast a Saviour slain:
And O, may this my portion be,
That Christ is not asham'd of me!
HYMN 196. 8.8.6.
"Follow me."
LORD, make me faithful to thy call,
In heart still truly give up all,
Myself to thee resign:
When dangers threaten me around,
Invincible may I be found,
Never thy will decline.
A single eye, a faithful heart,
My Father, to thy child impart,
In every trying hour;
Perplexing thoughts and cares prevent,
Still keep mine eyes on thee intent,
Till sight my faith o'erpower.
HYMN 197.
For resignation to the divine will.
O LORD, my best desire fulfil,
And help me to resign
Life, health, and comfort to thy will,
And make thy pleasure mine.
Why should I shrink at thy command,
Whose love forbids my fears?
Or tremble at the gracious hand
That wipes away my tears?
No; rather let me freely yield
What most I prize to thee;
Who never hast a good withheld,
Or wilt withhold from me.
Thy favour all my journey through
Thou art engag'd to grant;
What else I want, or think I do,
"Tis better still to want.
Wisdom and mercy guide my way,
Shall I resist them both?
A poor blind creature of a day,
And crush'd before the moth ?
But ah! my inward spirit cries,
Still bind me to thy sway;
Else the next cloud that veils my skies
Drives all these thoughts away.
HYMN 198. c. M.
Submission to afflictive providences. NAKED as from the earth we came, And enter'd life at first,
We to the earth return again,
And mingle with our dust.
The dear delights we here enjoy,
And fondly call our own,
Are but short favours borrow'd now,
To be repaid anon.
'Tis God that lifts our comforts high,
Or sinks them in the grave;
He gives, and, blessed be his name,
He takes but what he gave.
Peace, all our angry passions, then,
Let each rebellious sigh
Be silent at his sovereign will,
And every murmur die.
If smiling mercy crown our lives,
Its praises shall be spread;
And we'll adore the justice too
That strikes our comforts dead.
HYMN 199. C. M
Love to the creatures dangerous.
HOW vain are all things here below!
How false and yet how fair!
Each pleasure hath its poison too,
And every sweet a snare,
The brightest things below the sky
Give but a flattering light;
We should suspect some danger nigh
Where we possess delight.
Our dearest joys, and nearest friends,
The partners of our blood,
How they divide our wavering minds,
And leave but half for God!
The fondness of a creature's love,
How strong it strikes the sense!
Thither the warm affections move,
Nor can we call them thence.
Dear Saviour, let thy beauties be
My soul's eternal food;
And grace command my heart away
From all created good.
HYMN 200. C. M.
Prayer for contentment.
FATHER, whate'er of earthly bliss
Thy sovereign will denies,
Accepted at thy throne of grace
Let this petition rise:
Give me a calm, a thankful heart,
From every murmur free;
The blessings of thy grace impart,
And let me live to thee.
Let the sweet hope that thou art mine
My life and death attend;
Thy presence through my journey shine,
And crown my journey's end.
HYMN 201. C. M.
The Christian race.
AWAKE, my soul, stretch every nerve,
And press with vigour on;
A heavenly race demands thy zeal,
And an immortal crown.
A cloud of witnesses around
Hold thee in full survey;
Forget the steps already trod,
And onward urge thy way.
'Tis God's all-animating voice
That calls thee from on high;
"Tis his own hand presents the prize
To thine aspiring eye.
Blest Saviour, introduc'd by thee,
Have I my race begun ;
And, crown'd with victory, at thy feet
I'll lay my honours down.
BEHOLD the Lamb of God who bore
Thy burdens on the tree,
And paid in blood the dreadful score,
The ransom due for thee!
Look to him, till the sight endears
The Saviour to thy heart;
His pierced feet bedew with tears,
Nor from his cross depart.
Look to him, till his dying love
Thy every thought controul;
Its vast constraining influence prove
O'er body, spirit, soul.
Look to him, as the race you run,
Your never-failing friend :
Finish he will the work begun,
And grace in glory end.
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