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Oh, Thou, the wretched's sure retreat,

These torturing cares control;
And with the cheerful smile of peace

Revive my faintiny soul.

Oppress’d with grief and shame, dissolv'd

In penitential tears,
Thy goodness calms our restless doubts,

And dissipates our fears.

New life from Thy refreshing grace

Our sinking hearts receive,
Thy gentlest, best-lov'd attribute,
: To pity and forgive.

E. Carrer.

Oh! sweet is morn's first breeze that strays on the

mountain, And sighs o'er its bosom, and murmurs away ; And bright is the beam which upsprings from day's

fountain, And breaks o'er the East in its golden array ;

And lovely the riv'let incessantly flowing,
Which winds gently murm'ring its course thro' the plain :
And welcome the beacon which, faithfully glowing,
Cheer's the heart of the mariner toss'd on the main.

But sweeter, my God, is Thy voice of compassion,
Which soft as the summer dew falls on the mind;
Which whispers the tidings of life and salvation,
And casts the dark shadows of sorrow behind.

O yes! I have known it, when kindly and cheering,
It hush'd the hoarse thunders of justice to rest ;
It was heard, and the angel of mercy appearing,
Pour'd the balm of relief o'er the penitent's breast.

'Tis the still voice of Him who expir’d on the mountain,
And breath'd out for sinners His last-dying groan;
His voice who on Calvary open'd the fountain
Of water to cleanse, and of blood to atone.

That voice, O believer! shall cheer and protect thee, When the cold chill of death thy frail bosom invades; At its sound shall the Day-star arise and direct thee, And gild with refulgence the valley of shades.

ANON.

O, for that tenderness of heart

Which bows before the Lord ;
Acknowledging how just Thou art,

And trembling at Thy word !

O, for those humble, contrite tears,

Which from repentance flow !
That consciousness of guilt, which fears

The long-suspended blow.

Saviour, to me, in pity, give

The sensible distress ;
The pledge Thou wilt at last receive,
And bid me die in peace.

WESLEY.

My soul before Thee prostrate lies ;

To Thee, her source, my spirit flies ; My wants I mourn, my chains I see,

O let Thy presence visit me!

Lost and undone, for aid I cry,

In Thy death, Saviour, let me die ! Grieved with Thy grief, pained with Thy pain,

Ne'er may I feel self-love again. Jesus, vouchsafe my heart and will,

With Thy meek lowliness to fill ; No more her power let Nature boast,

But in Thy will let mine be lost.

One only care my soul would know,

Father, all Thy commands to do ; Ah! deep engrave it on my breast,

That man in Thee alone is blest.

BEDDOME.

PSALM LI.
Wouldst thou the pangs of guilt assuage ?

Lo here an open page,
Where heavenly mercy shines as free,

Written in balm, sad heart, for thee.
Never so fast, in silent April shower,
Flush'd into green the dry and leafless bower,

As Israel's crowned mourner felt

The dull hard stone within him melt. The Absolver saw the mighty grief,

And hasten'd with relief ;• The Lord forgives; thou shalt not die :"'Twas gently spoke, yet heard on high,

And all the band of angels, us’d to sing
In heaven, accordant to His raptur'd string,
Now spread their wings, and throng around

To the glad mournful sound,
And welcome, with bright open face,

The broken heart to love's embrace.
The Rock is smitten, and to future years
Springs ever fresh the tide of holy tears

And holy music, whispering peace
Till time and sin together cease.

KEBLE.

Did Christ o'er sinners weep,

And shall our cheeks be dry ?
Let floods of penitential grief

Burst forth from every eye.

The Son of God in tears,

The wondering angels see !
Be thou astonish'd, O my soul !

He shed those tears for thee.

He wept that we might weep.

Each sin demands a tear ;
In heaven alone no sin is found,

And there's no weeping there.

BEDDOME.

Now to Thine altar, Lord,

A broken heart I bring;
And wilt Thou graciously accept

Of such a worthless thing!

To Christ, the bleeding Lamb,
My faith directs her eyes :
All other offerings are vain,

But not His sacrifice.

That moment He expired,

The law was satisfied ;
And now to its severest claims

I answer, “ Jesus died.”

BEDDOME.

Speak, my Saviour, speak to me,

With divine effectual powerWeeping, I look up to Thee

Bid me “ go and sin no more.”

Thou art full of pardoning love,

Thou canst grant what I implore ; Now Thy pitying mercy prove,

Bid me “ go and sin no more.” Thou upbraidest not Thy child;

Deeply I the past deplore, Now with gracious accents mild,

Bid me “ go and sin no more.”

Nothing can I see but sin,

It has tainted my heart's core ; There it spreads without, within,

Can I “ go and sin no more ?"

'Tis for man too hard a task,

But Thou canst my soul restore;
Saviour! this alone I ask-
Bid me “ go and sin no more !"

“ Invalid's Hymn Book.”

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