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167

And let, O Lord, our coming in,
Our household works and ways,
Cleans'd from all taint and spot of sin,
Make clearly known thy praise.

Whate'er the path our feet pursue,
May every step proclaim

The worship, love, and honour due
To thy most holy Name.

S. M.

in heart,

BLEST are the pure
For they shall see their God;
The secret of the Lord is theirs,
Their soul is Christ's abode.

The Lord, who left the heavens,
Pardon and grace to bring,
And dwelt in lowliness with men,
Their pattern and their King:

Still to the lowly soul

He doth Himself impart;

And for his dwelling and his throne,
Chooseth the pure in heart.

Lord, we thy presence seek,
May ours this blessing be;

Make us a pure and lowly heart-
A temple meet for Thee.

Ι.

169

O! FOR a heart to praise my God,
A heart from sin set free,

A heart that 's sprinkled with the blood
So freely shed for me.

A heart resign'd, submissive, meek,
My great Redeemer's throne;
Where only Christ is heard to speak,
Where Jesus reigns alone.

An humble, lowly, contrite heart,
Believing, true, and clean;
Which neither life nor death can part
From Him that dwells within.

A heart in every thought renew'd,
And full of love divine;
Perfect, and right, and pure, and good,
A copy, Lord, of thine.

O! FOR a closer walk with God,
A calm and heavenly frame,
A light to shine upon the road,
That leads me to the Lamb.

The dearest idol I have known,
Whate'er that idol be,

Help me to tear it from thy throne,
And worship only Thee.

So shall my walk be close with God,
Calm and serene my frame;

So purer light shall mark the road,
That leads me to the Lamb.

C. M.

170

171

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!
Asham'd of Jesus! that dear Friend,
On whom my hopes of heaven depend!
No! when I blush, be this my shame,
That I no more revere his Name.

Asham'd of Jesus! yes, I may,
When I've no sin to wash away,
No tears to dry, no joys to crave,
And no immortal soul to save.

Till then, nor is the boasting vain,
Till then I boast a Saviour slain;
And, O! may this my glory be,
That Saviour not asham'd of me!

AS pants the hart for cooling streams,
When heated in the chase;
So longs my soul, O God, for Thee,
And thy refreshing grace.

For Thee, my God, the living God,
My thirsty soul doth pine:
O! when shall I behold thy face,
Thou Majesty divine!

Why restless, why cast down, my soul?

Trust God, who will employ

His aid for thee, and change these sighs
To thankful hymns of joy.

I. M.

C. M.

173

O LORD, I would delight in Thee,
And on thy care depend;

To Thee in every trouble flee,
My best, my only Friend.

When all created streams are dried,
Thy fulness is the same:
May I with this be satisfied,
And glory in thy Name.

No good in creatures can be found
Apart, my God, from Thee;
I must have all things and abound,
Since Thou art all to me.

O Lord, I cast my care on Thee,
I triumph and adore;

Henceforth my great concern shall be
To love and praise Thee more.

WHEN gath'ring clouds around I view,
And days are dark and friends are few,
On Him I lean, who not in vain
Experienc'd every human pain;
He sees my griefs, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears

If aught should tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way,
To flee the good I would pursue,
Or do the thing I would not do ;
Still He, who felt temptation's power,
Shall guard me in that dang'rous hour.

8.

174

And Oh! when I have safely past
Through every conflict but the last,
Still, still unchanging watch beside
My dying bed, for Thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.

MY God, my Father, while I stray,
Far from my home in life's rough way,
O teach me from my heart to say,
Thy will be done.

Though dark my path, and sad my lot,
Let me be still, and murmur not;
Or breathe the prayer divinely taught,
Thy will be done.

If Thou shouldst call me to resign
What most I prize, it ne'er was mine;
I only yield Thee what was thine;
Thy will be done.

Renew my will from day to day,
Blend it with thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
Thy will be done.

If but my fainting heart be blest
With thine own Spirit for its guest,
My God, to Thee I leave the rest,—
Thy will be done.

P. M.

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