123

19

9:

"He Saves to the Uttermost."

I wan- dered on

in

the

Would save a poor sinner like me.
There's no hope for a sin-ner like me.
Το save a poor sinner like thee." I listened,and,lo! 'twas the
Thou canst save a poor sinner like me.)

124

The Joy of Service.

Rev. J. B. ATCHISON.

Har. by T. C. O'KANE.

9:

2.

1.

(O Christ, thou art my treasure! To work with thee is pleasure
Tis joy beyond all measure [omit

] To

'Tis

3.

SO may I ne'er grow weary Tho' rough the way and dreary,
The end I know is cheery [omit
(Tho' tempest-tossed and driven, We soon shall reach the haven,
And there is rest in heaven [omit

] Sweet

1 Dear Jesus, I long to be perfectly whole;
I want thee forever to live in my soul;
Break down every idol, cast out every foe;
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
CHO. Whiter than snow, yes, whiter than snow,

Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

2 Dear Jesus, thou seest I patiently wait;
Come now, and within me a new heart create;
To those who have sought thou never saidst No;
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

3 Dear Jesus, let nothing unholy remain;

Apply thine own blood and extract every stain;
To have this blest cleansing I all things forego;
Now wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

1. I

am far
frae my hame,
ne'er be fu' con- tent,

an' I'm weary af- tenwhiles, til my een do see

un

I'll
D.C. But these sichts an' these soun's will as naething be

to me,

ain countrie. The earth is deck'd with flow'rs, mony-tinted, fresh and gay; ain countrie. The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae:

2 I've his gude word of promise that some gladsome day the King To his ain royal palace his banished hame will bring.

Wi' een an' wi' heart running owre, we shall see

"The King in his beauty," an' our ain countrie.

My sins hae been mony, an' my sorrows hae been sair;

But there they'll never vex me nor be remembered mair:

His bluid hath made me white, an' his hand shall dry my een,
When he brings me hame at last to my ain countrie.

3 Like a bairn to its mither, a wee birdie to its nest,

I wad fain now be ganging unto my Savior's breast,
For he gathers in his bosom even witless lambs like me,
An' "carries them himself" to his ain countrie.
He's faithfu' that has promised, he'll surely come again,
He'll keep his tryst wi' me, at what hour I dinna ken:
But he bids me still to wait, an' ready aye to be
To gang at ony moment, to my ain countrie.

4 So I'm watching aye, and singing o' my hame as I wait,
For the soun'ing o' his footfa' this side the gowden gate,
God gie his grace to ilk ane wha listens noo to me,

That we a' may gang in gladness to our ain countrie.
I'm far frae my hame an' I'm weary aften whiles,

For the lang'd-for hame-bringing, an' my Father's welcome smiles.
I'll ne'er be fu' content, until my een do see

The gowden gates of heaven, an' my ain countrie.

Guide.