PLEADING FOR MERCY. WHEN at Thy footstool, Lord, I bend, And plead with Thee for mercy there, O think Thou of the sinner's Friend, And for His sake receive my prayer! O think not of my shame and guilt, My thousand stains of deepest dye: Think of the blood which Jesus spilt, And let that blood my pardon buy. Think, Lord, how I am still Thy own, The trembling creature of Thy hand; Think how my heart to sin is prone, And what temptations round me stand. O think how blind and weak am I, How strong and wily are my foes: They wrestled with Thy hosts on high; How should a worm their might oppose? O think upon thy holy word, And every plighted promise there— How prayer should evermore be heard, And how Thy glory is to spare. O think not of my doubts and fears, My strivings with Thy grace divine : Think upon Jesus' woes and tears, Thine eye, Thine ear, they are not dull; Thine arm can never shortened be: Behold me here—my heart is full— Behold, and spare and succour me. No claim, no merits, Lord, I plead ; I come a humbled helpless slave: But, ah! the more my guilty need, The more Thy glory, Lord, to save. TO ELLEN, WEEPING IN CHURCH ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HER FATHER'S DEATH, WHEN FIFTEEN YEARS OLD. Ан wherefore should the silent tear Down Ellen's youthful visage stray, When such a Hand unseen is near To wipe each falling drop away ; And wherefore mourn a parent's doom, Extends His arms and bids her come, And dwell with Him whose name is Love; Who ne'er that orphan will disown, Whom Jesus' blood has made His own? That gentle Hand, ah would she see, And prove its power to soothe and heal! Ah would she to that Father flee, And know how well he loves her weal! Ah would she learn how sweet it is Come, then, and give that heart to Him, The Spirit seeks to live thy Friend, |