TO thy temple I repair;
Lord, I love to worship there,
When within the vail I meet
Christ upon the mercy seat.
Thou, through him, art reconcil'd;
I, through him, become thy child :
Abba! Father! give me grace
In thy courts to seek thy face.
While thy ministers proclaim
Peaee and pardon in thy name;
Through their voice, by faith may
Hear thee speaking from the sky.
From thy house when I return,
May my breast within me burn;
And at ev'ning let me say,
"I have walk'd with God to-day."
VISIT, Lord, thy habitation,
Breathe thy peace on all therein;
Peace, the foretaste of salvation,
Peace, the seal of cancell'd sin.
Now, thy love-inspiring Spirit
Shed on ev'ry heart abroad;
Raise, through thy imputed merit,
Slaves of sin, to sons of God.
Prince of Peace, while thou art near us,
Fix in all our hearts thy home;
In this sweet communion cheer us;
Quickly let thy kingdom come.
Answer all our expectation,
Give our raptur'd souls to prove,
Strong, abiding consolation,
Heav'nly, everlasting love.
WE need not bid, for cloister'd cell,
Our neighbour and our work farewell;
Nor strive to wind ourselves too high
For sinful man beyond the sky.
The trivial round, the common task,
Would furnish all we ought to ask;
Room to deny ourselves, a road
To bring us, daily, nearer God.
Seek we no more-content with these,
Let present rapture, comfort, ease,
As God shall bid them, come and go :
The secret this of rest below.
Only, O Lord, in thy dear love
Fit us for perfect rest above;
And help us this and every day,
To live more nearly as we pray.
"WE'VE no abiding city here:"
Sad truth, were this to be our home;
But let the thought our spirits cheer,
We seek a city yet to come.
"We've no abiding city here :"
We seek a city out of sight;
Zion's its name, the Lord is there,
It shines with everlasting light.
Oh, sweet abode of peace and love,
Where pilgrims, freed from toil, are blest!
Had I the pinions of the dove,
I'd fly to thee, and be at rest.
But hush, my soul, nor dare repine,
The time my God appoints is best;
While here to do his will be mine,
And his to fix my time of rest.
WHAT must it be to dwell above
At God's right hand, where Jesus reigns,
Since the sweet earnest of his love
O'erwhelms us on these dreary plains!
No heart can think, no tongue explain
What bliss it is with Christ to reign.
When sin no more obstructs our sight,
When sorrow pains our heart no more,
How shall we view the Prince of Light,
And all his works of grace explore!
What heights and depths of love divine
Will there through endless ages shine!
This is the heav'n I long to know;
For this, with patience, I would wait,
Till wean'd from earth, and all below,
I mount to my celestial seat,
And wave my palm, and wear my crown,
And with the elders cast me down.
WHAT tongue can tell, what fancy paint,
The joys that fill th' enraptur'd saint,
When mix'd with heav'n's triumphant throng,
He shares their bliss, and swells their song?
He feels no pain, he fears no want,
His portion all that God can grant;
To see the Saviour as he is;
And dwell in heav'n with him and his.
His love so cold, so mix'd before,
In heav'n is cold and mix'd no more ;
It gains the region whence it came,
And lives a pure eternal flame.
O may I reach that bless'd abode,
Where saints obtain their rest in God!
For this, let ev'ry conflict here,
As nothing in my sight appear.
WHAT various hindrances we meet,
In coming to thy mercy-seat:
Yet who that knows the worth of prayer,
But wishes to be often there?
Restraining prayer, we cease to fight:
Prayer makes the Christian's armour bright;
And Satan trembles when he sees
The weakest saint upon his knees.
Have we no words? O think again!
Words flow apace when we complain,
And fill our fellow-creature's ear
With the sad tale of all our care.
Were half the breath thus vainly spent,
To heav'n in supplication sent;
Our cheerful song would oft'ner be,
"Hear what the Lord hath done for me!"
WHEN blooming youth is snatch'd away
By death's resistless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay,
Which pity must demand.
While pity prompts the rising sigh,
O may this truth, imprest
With awful pow'r, "I too must die,"
Sink deep in ev'ry breast.
The voice of this awak'ning scene
May ev'ry voice obey;
Nor be the heav'nly warning vain,
Which calls to watch and pray.
O let us fly, to Jesus fly,
Whose arm alone can save;
Then shall our hopes ascend on high,
And triumph o'er the grave.
176. ST. MARTIN'S. P: M. (6-8's. or 2-3's.)
WHEN creature comforts fade and die
Worldlings may weep, but why should I?
Jesus still lives, and still is nigh.
I know not what may soon betide,
Or how my wants shall be supplied;
But Jesus knows, and will provide.
Though sin would fill me with distress,
The throne of grace I dare address,
For Jesus is my righteousness.
Though faint my prayers, and cold my love,
My stedfast hope shall not remove,
While Jesus intercedes above.
WHEN death appears before my sight
In all his dire array,
Unequal to the dreadful fight,
My courage faints away.
But see my glorious leader nigh!
My Lord, my Saviour lives!
Before him death's pale terrors fly,
And my weak heart revives.
Lord, I commit my soul to thee:
Accept the sacred trust;
Receive this nobler part of me,
And raise my sleeping dust.
Then all thy ransom'd hosts shall sing
The honours of thy name,
And heaven's triumphant arches ring
With "Glory to the Lamb."
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