O THOU, whose all-enlivening ray In fix'd and changeless glory bright, Let love divine my bosom sway, No doubts, no fears, shall rack my breast, For God himself will be my rest. THOU hidden Love of God, whose height, Thy secret voice invites me still The sweetness of thy yoke to prove, peace my wand'ring soul shall see. Is there a thing beneath the sun, HYMN 47. P. M. COME let us anew our journey pursue, And never stand still, till the Master appear. And our talents improve, By the patience of hope, and the labour of love. Our life is a dream; our time, as a stream, Glides swiftly away, And the fugitive moment refuses to stay! The arrow is flown, the moment is gone, While year after year Rushes off from our view,-and Eternity's here! Oh, that each in the day of his coming might say, "I have fought my way thro', I have finished the work thou didst give me to do." Oh, that each from his Lord may receive the glad word, “Well and faithfully done, Enter into my joy, for the victory's won"! HYMN 48. L. M. ARM of the Lord, awake, awake! Say to the heathen, from thy throne, No more let earthly blood be spilt, The blood, that flowed from Jesu's side. HYMN 49. P. M. YE servants of God your Master proclaim, HYMN 50. S. M. How blessed are our ears, Which kings and prophets wish'd to hear, How blessed are our eyes, That see this heavenly light, Which kings and prophets wished to see, But died without the sight. Make bare thine arm, O Lord, Send forth thy truth abroad; Let sinners everywhere behold Their Saviour and their God. HYMN 51. P. M. THOU God of truth and love, Shew us thy Gospel's bright design, O, that thou wouldst unite In love our spirits here; Around thy throne appear: That all might meet before the Lamb, Come, Lord, and make us bear And join with earnest care To fight our passage through: Let Christians cheer each other on, Till all receive the starry crown! BLESS'D are they, who mourn for sin, With godly sorrow mourn; Who know its guilt, and feel its weight Too heavy to be borne. When sinners thus behold their state, And tremble at the sight, Christ sees the travail of his soul, Tho' red like crimson are their sins, Thus all the saints, once sinners here, Have wash'd their robes, and made them white In his atoning blood THE billows swell, the winds are high, My fears are great, my strength is small. And guard, and guide me thro' the storm; Defend me from each threat'ning ill; Control the waves: say, "Peace, be still!" Amidst the roarings of the sea, Still hangs my soul her hopes on thee: HYMN 54. L. M. SOVEREIGN Ruler of the skies, |