Let thy cross my will control, Conform me to my Guide: In thine image mould my soul, And crucify my pride;
Give me, Lord, a contrite heart,
A heart that always looks to Thee: Meek Redeemer, now impart Thine own humility.
Tear away my every boast, My stubborn mind abase: Saviour! fix my only trust
In thy redeeming grace: Give me a submissive heart,
From pride and self-dependence free; Meek Redeemer, now impart
Thine own humility.
FIGHT the good fight; lay hold
Upon eternal life;
Keep but thy shield, be bold,
Stand through the hottest strife;
Invincible while in the field,
Thou canst not fail, unless thou yield.
No force of earth or hell,
Though fiends with men unite; Truth's champion can compel, However press'd, to flight; Invincible upon the field,
He cannot fall, unless he yield.
Apollyon's arm may shower
Darts thick as hail, and hide Heaven's face, as in the hour When Christ on Calvary died;
powers of darkness in the field Can tread thee down, unless thou yield.
Trust in thy Saviour's might;
Yea, till thy latest breath, Fight, and, like Him in fight, By dying, conquer death; And all-victorious in the field,
Then, with thy sword, thy spirit yield.
Great words are these, and
Yet, Lord, I look to Thee,
To whom alone belong
Valour and victory;
With Thee, my Captain in the field, I must prevail, I cannot yield.
THE path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown; No traveller ever reached that blessed abode, Who found not thorus and briars in his road. The world may dance along the flowery plain, Cheered as they go by many a sprightly strain; Where nature has her mossy velvet spread, With unshod feet they yet securely tread, Admonished, scorn the caution and the friend, Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end:
But He, who knew what human hearts would prove, How slow to learn the dictates of His love, That, hard by nature and of stubborn will, A life of ease would make them harder still, In pity to the souls His grace designed To rescue from the ruins of mankind, Called for a cloud to darken all their years, And said, "Go, spend them in the vale of tears."
O balmy gales of soul-reviving air!
O salutary streams, that murmur there!
These, flowing from the fount of grace above; Those, breathed from lips of everlasting love. The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys; Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys,
An envious world will interpose its frown, To mar delights superior to its own; And many a pang, experienced still within, Reminds them of their hated inmate, sin : But ills of every shape and every name, Transformed to blessings, miss their cruel aim; And every moment's calm that soothes the breast, Is given in earnest of eternal rest.
Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast
Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste! No shepherds' tents within thy view appear, But the chief Shepherd even there is near; Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; Thy tears all issue from a source divine, And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine ;- So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, And drought on all the drooping herbs around,
WHEN first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul leave To do the like; our bodies but forerun
The spirit's duty; true hearts spread and heave Unto their God, as flowers do to the sun : Give Him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep Him company all day, and in Him sleep.
Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should Dawn with the day; there are set, awful hours "Twixt heaven and us; the manna was not good After sun-rising; far day sullies flowers; Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut, And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut.
Walk with thy fellow-creatures; note the hush And whisperings amongst them.-Not a sprig Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each bush And oak doth know I AM.-Canst thou not sing? Above thy cares and follies! Go this way, And thou art sure to prosper all the day.
Serve God before the world: let Him not go Until thou hast a blessing; then resign The whole unto Him, and remember who Prevail'd by wrestling ere the sun did shine: Pour oil upon the stones, weep for thy sin, Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven.
Mornings are mysteries: the first, world's youth, Man's resurrection, and the future's bud, Shroud in their births; the crown of life, light, truth, Is styled their star; the stone and hidden food; Three blessings wait upon them, one of which Should move-they make us holy, happy, rich.
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