Imágenes de páginas

HOW sweet the name of Jesus sounds

In a believer's ear!
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,

And drives away his fear.
It makes the wounded spirit whole,

And calms the troubled breast;
'Tis manna to the hungry soul,

And to the weary rest.
Jesus, my Saviour, Shepherd, Friend,

My Prophet, Priest, and King,
My Lord, my Life, my Way, my End,

Accept the praise I bring.
Weak is the effort of my heart,

And cold my warmest thought;
But when I see Thee as Thou art,

I'll praise Thee as I ought.
Till then I would thy love proclaim

With every fleeting breath ;

may the music of thy Name


soul in death. 160

JESU, the very thought of Thee

With sweetness fills the breast;
But sweeter far thy face to see,

And in thy presence rest.
Tongue never spake, ear never heard,

Never from heart o'erflow'd
A dearer name, a sweeter word,

Than Jesus, Son of God,


Jesu, who dost our hearts below

With life and light inspire,
Surpassing all the joys we know,

All that we can desire :

Jesu, our only joy be Thou,

As Thou our crown wilt be;
Jesu, be Thou our glory now,

And through eternity.


THOU hidden Love of God, whose height,

Whose depth unfathom’d, no man knows;
I see from far thy beauteous light,

Inly I sigh for thy repose :
My heart is pain'd, nor can it be
At rest till it finds rest in Thee.

Is there a thing beneath the sun,

That strives with Thee my heart to share ?
Ah, tear it thence, and reign alone,

The Lord of every motion there :
Then shall my heart indeed be free,
When it hath found its rest in Thee.

Each moment draw from earth

My heart, that lowly waits thy call;
Speak to my inmost soul, and say,

I am thy Life, thy God, thy All!
To feel thy power, to hear thy voice,
To taste thy love, be all my choice.

JESUS, I my cross have taken,

All to leave, and follow Thee;
Destitute, despis'd, forsaken,

Thou from hence my all shalt be:
Let the world despise and leave me,

It has left my Saviour too;
Human hearts and looks deceive me,

Thou art not, like them, untrue.

Man may trouble and distress me,

'Twill but drive me to thy breast;
Life with trials hard may press me,

Heaven will bring me sweeter rest :
O! 'tis not in grief to harm me,

While thy love is left to me;
O! 'twere not in joy to charm me,

Were that joy unmix'd with Thee.
Haste, my soul, from grace to glory,
Arm'd by faith, and

wing'd by prayer,
Heaven's eternal joy before thee,

God's own hand to guide thee there :
Soon shall close thy earthly mission,

Soon shall pass thy pilgrim days;
Hope shall change to glad fruition,

Faith to sight, and prayer to praise.


L. M.

WHAT sinners value I resign ;
Lord, 'tis enough that Thou art mine;
I shall behold thy blissful face,
And stand complete in righteousness.

[ocr errors]

This life 's a dream, an empty show;
But the bright world to which I go
Hath joys substantial and sincere :
When shall I wake, and find me there?
O glorious hour! O blest abode!
I shall be near and like my God;
And flesh and sin no more control
The sacred pleasures of the soul.
My flesh shall slumber in the ground,
Till the last trumpet's joyful sound;
Then burst the chains with glad surprise,
And in my Saviour's image rise.

L. M.


POOR, weak, and worthless though I am,

I have a rich, almighty Friend;
Jesus, the Saviour, is his name;

He freely loves and without end.
He ransom'd me from hell with blood,

And by his power my foes controll'd;
He found me wand'ring far from God,

And safely brought me to his fold.
He cheers my heart, my want supplies,

And says that I shall shortly be
Enthron'd with Him above the skies :

O! what a Friend is Christ to me!


But, ah ! my inmost spirit mourns,

And well mine eyes with tears may swim, To think of my perverse returns;

I've been a faithless friend to Him.


JESUS, immutably the same,

Thou true and living Vine;
Abiding in thy fruitful stem,

Thy richest grace is mine.

Quicken'd by Thee and kept alive,

Now let me yield Thee fruit;
My life I from thy life derive,

My vigour from thy root.

I can do nothing without Thee,

My strength is wholly thine;
Wither'd and barren should I be,

If sever'd from the Vine.

Prun'd by the Father's tender care,

Whose mercies never cease,
Sweet fruits thy feeblest branch shall bear,

Of righteousness and peace.



O CHRIST, thy servants' sure reward,

Our strength and righteousness,
Daily thy gracious aid afford,

Our going forth to bless.

From doing wrong, from taking harm,

From word and thought of ill,
From thirst of gold, from pleasure's charm,

Preserve thy people still.

« AnteriorContinuar »