There is an eye that never sleeps,
Peneath the wing of night;
There is an ear that never shuts,
When sink the beams of light.
There is an arm that never tires,
When human strength gives way;
There is a love that never fails
When earthly loves decay.
That eye is fix'd on seraph throngs;
That ear is fill'd with angels' songs;
That arm upholds the world on high;
That love is thron'd beyond the sky.
But there's a power that man can wield
When mortal aid is vain ;-
That eye, that arm, that love to reach,
That listening ear to gain.
That power is prayer, which soars on high,
And feeds on bliss beyond the sky!
The closet which the saint devotes to prayer,
Is not his temple only, but his tower,
Whither he runs for refuge when attacked;
His armoury, to which he soon retreats
When danger warns, his weapons to select,
And fit them on.
Ah! plead not aught of mine
Before thine altar throne ;
Fragments-when all is Thine-
All, all Thy own!
Thou seest what stains they bear;
Oh, since each tear, each prayer
Hath need of pardon there,
“Plead Thou my cause!"
With lips that, dying, breathed Blessings, for words of scorn; With brow where I had wreathed The piercing thorn;
With breast, to whose pure tide
He did the weapon guide,
Who had no home beside,
"Plead Thou my cause !"
Oh plead my cause above!
Plead Thine within my breast;
Till there Thy peaceful Dove
Shall build her nest.
Thou know'st this will-how frail,
Thou know'st, though language fail,
My soul's mysterious tale,—
“ Plead Thou my cause !”
And does the Lord require my prayer,
To tell Him what the mercies are
Which evermore I want?
My every need the Saviour knows,
Yet ere His hand relief bestows,
He bids me ask the grant.
And shall I then my cry restrain ?
No-let me ask, and ask again,
And though He tarry, wait.
Wisdom and love alike demand
This little offering at my hand,
For benefits so great.
The soul that loves Thy throne of grace,
And is familiar there,
In praise and lowly prayer,
Knows every feature of Thy face:
Nor when Thy judgment-seat shall rise,
In clouded majesty,
And heav'n and earth shall flee,
As blighted leaves across the skies,
Shall tremble at the dread assize.
My Saviour, in that awful day,
Thy smile my soul shall cheer,
And calm my ev'ry fear;
For what shall then inspire dismay?
My Advocate shall fill the throne,
Himself the sentence give,
And bid me ever live,
And, 'midst the world's expiring groan,
My name amongst His saints will own.
And dost thou say, Ask what thou wilt?
Lord, I would sieze the golden hour;
to be released from guilt, And freed from sin and Satan's power.
More of Thy presence, Lord, impart,
More of Thine image let me bear;
Erect Thy throne within my heart,
And reign without a rival there.
Give me to read my pardon sealed,
And from Thy joy to draw my strength;
To have Thy boundless love revealed
In all its height, and breadth, and length.
Grant these requests,—I ask no more,
But to Thy care the rest resign;
Sick or in health, or rich or poor,
All shall be well if Thou art mine.
Oft hast Thou, Lord, in tender love,
Prevented my request,
And sent Thy Spirit from above,
An unexpected guest;
Oft when my prayer was scarce begun,
Thou didst Thy grace impart,
And make Thy pardoning mercy known,
And seal it on my heart.
Why this profusion of Thy grace
On such a worm as me? Father, I ask, in fix'd amaze,
Explain the mystery.
How canst Thou to a sinner's cry
Incline Thy pitying ear?
Thou hear'st mine Advocate on high,
And wilt for ever hear.
In heav'n above, on earth below,
Where, save to Thee, Lord, could I go?
Where could I take my heart's despair?
Where could I pour its fervent prayer?
Where could I whisper all my fears,
And shew my anguish and my tears?
Where fly for strength 'mid mortal strife?
Thou hast the words of endless life!
"THOUGHTS OF PEACE."
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