THOU Friend of sinners! who hast bought
Our freedom with thy precious blood;
Whose grace my wandering feet hath sought,
To bring me to the fold of God;
My sins forgive, my fears remove,
And fill my heart with grateful love.
Thee, let my ardent soul pursue;
To Thee with fervent love aspire;
Oh may thy spirit still renew
Within my heart that heavenly fire;
And ever prompt my jealous care
To guard the sacred treasure there.
In suffering, be thy love my peace;
In weakness, be thy love my power; And when this mortal life shall cease, Bless with thy love my dying hour; Point me to realms of endless day, And wipe the latest tear away.
NAAMAN'S PRIDE AND FOLLY.
II. Kings v. 12.
THUS arrogant and thus absurd,
Was he who then the prophet heard;
We blame his language;-are not we
As foolish and as proud as he?
A fountain is unsealed to save,
Of virtue passing Jordan's wave,
Beyond Bethesda's healing spring,-
Though ruffled by an angel's wing.
There might we in this gospel day,
Wash all our leprosy away,
Cleanse from our spirits every stain,
And more than child-like whiteness gain.
But faith is low, and pride is high,
We view that fount with doubting eye,
And choose with proud and angry tone
Well-springs and fountains of our own.
O Thou! whose love that fount unseal'd
By which alone we can be heal'd,
Strengthen our faith, subdue our pride,
Nor let our leprosy abide.
Teach us in simple faith to prove,
The power of thy redeeming love;
That like the Syrian we may see
And own there is no God but thee.
BARTON.
OH! sweet as vernal dews that fill
The closing buds on Sion's hill,
When evening clouds draw thither;
So sweet, so heavenly 'tis to see
The members of one family
Live peacefully together.
The children, like the smiling flowers,
On which descend the sun and showers,
Their hues of beauty blending;
The parents, like the willow boughs,
On which the lovely foliage grows,
Their friendly shade extending.
Yet leaves the greenest will decay,
And flowers the brightest fade away,
When Autumn winds are sweeping;
And be the household e'er so fair,
The hand of death will soon be there,
And turn the scene to weeping.
But leaves again will clothe the trees, And lilies wave beneath the breeze,
When spring comes smiling hither; And friends who parted at the tomb, May yet again renew their bloom, And meet in heaven together.
DEAR is the hallowed morn to me
When village bells awake the day;
And, by their sacred minstrelsy,
Call me from earthly cares away.
And dear to me the winged hour
Spent in thy hallowed courts, O Lord!
To feel devotion's soothing power,
And catch the manna of thy word.
And dear to me the loud Amen
Which echoes through the blest abode, Which swells and sinks, and swells again, Dies on the walls, but lives to God.
In secret I have often prayed,
And still the anxious tear would fall;
But on thy sacred altar laid,
The fire descends and dries them all.
Oft when the world, with iron hands,
Has bound me in his six-days chain,
This bursts them, like the strong man's bands,
And lets my spirit loose again.
Then dear to me the Sabbath morn,
The village bells, the shepherd's voice;
These oft have found my heart forlorn,
And always bid my heart rejoice.
Go, man of pleasure, strike thy lyre,
Of broken Sabbaths sing the charms ;
Our's be the prophet's car of fire
That bears us to our Father's arms.
CUNNINGHAM.
FROM every thing our Saviour saw,
Lessons of wisdom he would draw;
The clouds, the colours of the sky;
The gentle breeze that whispers by;
The fields white o'er with waving corn;
The lilies that the vale adorn;
The reed that trembles in the wind;
The tree on which no fruit we find;
The barren sand, the flinty rock,
That bears unmoved the tempest's shock;
The thorns that on the earth abound;
The tender grass that clothes the ground;
The cheerful birds that fly in air;
The sheep that needs the shepherd's care;
The pearls that deep in ocean lie;
The gold that charms the miser's eye;
All from his lips some truth proclaim,
And tell of their Creator's name.
|