Manasseh with blood Jerusalem fill'd ;* In evil long harden'd The Lord he defied; Yet he too was pardon'd When mercy he cried. 7 Of sinners the chief, And viler than ali, The jailor or thief, Manasseh or Saul; Since they were forgiven, Why should I despair, While Christ is in heaven, And still answers prayer.
HYMN X.
The Waiting Soul.
1 BREATHE from the gentle south, O Lord, And cheer me from the north; Blow on the treasures of thy word, And call the spices forth!
2 I wish, thou know'st, to be resign'd, And wait with patient hope; But hope delayed fatigues the mind, And drinks the spirits up.
3 Help me to reach the distant goal, Confirm my feeble knee, Pity the sickness of a soul
That faints for love of thee.
4 Cold as I feel this heart of mine, Yet since I feel it so
It yields some hope of life divine, Within, however low.
5 I seem forsaken and alone, I hear the lion roar, And ev'ry door is shut but one, And that is mercy's door.
6 There, till the dear Deliv'rer come, I'll wait with humble prayer; And when he calls his exile home, The Lord shall find him there.
14 Be thou my refuge, Lord, my hiding-place, I know no force can tear me from thy side; Unmov'd I then may all accusers face, And answer ev'ry charge with "Jesus died."
5 Yes, thou didst weep, and bleed, and groan, and die,
Well hast thou known what fierce temptations mean;
Such was thy love; and now, enthron'd on high,
The same compassions in thy bosom reign. 6 Lord, give me faith:-he hears: what grace is this!
Dry up thy tears, my soul, and cease to grieve;
He shows me what he did, and who he is, I must, I will, I can, I do believe.
1 APPROACH, my soul, the mercy-seat Where Jesus answers prayer, There humbly fall before his feet, For none can perish there.
2 Thy promise is my only plea, With this I venture nigh; Thou callest burden'd souls to thee, And, such, O Lord, am I.
3 Bow'd down beneath a load of sin, By Satan sorely press'd,
By wars without, and fears within, I come to thee for rest.
4 Be thou my shield and hiding-place! That, shelter'd near thy side, I may my fierce accuser face,
And tell him, "Thou hast died." 5 O wond'rous love! to bleed and die, To bear the cross and shame, That guilty sinners, such as I, Might plead thy gracious name. 6"Poor tempest-tossed soul, be still, My promis'd grace receive :" "Tis Jesus speaks-I must, I will, I can, I do believe.
4 He speaks-obedient to his call Our warm affections move; Did he but shine alike on all,
Then all alike would love.
5 Then love in every heart would reign, And war would cease to roar; And cruel and blood-thirsty men Would thirst for blood no more.
6 Such Jesus is, and such his grace, O may he shine on you !* And tell him, when you see his face, I long to see him too.
Rest for Weary Souls. 1 Does the gospel-word proclaim Rest for those who weary be?t Then, my soul, put in thy claim, Sure that promise speaks to thee; Marks of grace I cannot show, All polluted is my best; Yet I weary am, I know, And the weary long for rest. 2 Burden'd with a load of sin, Harass'd with tormenting doubt, Hourly conflicts from within, Hourly crosses from without: All my little strength is gone, Sink I must without supply; Sure upon the earth is none Can more weary be than I. 3 In the ark the weary dovet
Found a welcome resting-place; Thus my spirit longs to prove Rest in Christ, the ark of grace. Tempest-toss'd I long have been, And the flood increases fast; Open, Lord, and take me in, Till the storm be overpast. 4 Safely lodg'd within thy breast, What a wondrous change I find! Now I know thy promised rest Can compose a troubled mind: You that weary are, like me, Hearken to the gospel call; To the ark for refuge flee, Jesus will receive you all!
2 Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will.
3 Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread, Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
4 Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace; Behind a frowning providence, He hides a smiling face.
5 His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. 6 Blind unbelief is sure to err,*
And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.
1 'Tis my happiness below, Not to live without the cross, But the Saviour's power to know, Sanctifying every loss: Trials must and will befall; But with humble faith to see Love inscribed upon them all, This is happiness to me.
2 God, in Israel, sows the seeds Of affliction, pain, and toil; These spring up and choke the weeds Which would else o'erspread the soil: Trials make the promise sweet, Trials give new life to prayer; Trials bring me to his feet, Lay me low, and keep me there. 3 Did I meet no trials here,
No chastisement by the way; Might I not with reason fear, I should prove a cast-away, Bastards may escape the rod,f Sunk in earthly, vain delight; But the true-born child of God Must not, would not, if he might.
2 What are the mines of shining wealth, The strength of youth, the bloom of health! What are all joys compar'd with those Thine everlasting word bestows.
3 Long unafflicted, undismayed, In pleasure's path secure I strayed;
Thou mad'st me feel thy chast'ning rod,* And straight I turn'd unto my God. 4 What though it pierc'd my fainting heart, I bless thine hand that caus'd the smart; It taught my tears a while to flow, But sav'd me from eternal woe.
5 Oh! had'st thou left me unchastis'd, Thy precepts I had still despis'd; And still the snare in secret laid, Had my unwary feet betrayed. 6 I love thee, therefore, O my God! And breathe towards thy dear abode, Where in thy presence fully blest, Thy chosen saints for ever rest.
1 THE billows swell, the winds are high, Clouds overcast my wintry sky; Out of the depths to thee I call, My fears are great, my strength is small. 2 O Lord! the pilot's part perform,
And guide and guard me thro' the storm; Defend me from each threat'ning ill, Control the waves, say, "Peace be still." 3 Amidst the roaring of the sea,
My soul still hangs her hope on thee; Thy constant love, thy faithful care Is all that saves me from despair. 4 Dangers of every shape and name Attend the followers of the Lamb, Who leave the world's deceitful shore, And leave it to return no more.
5 Though tempest-toss'd, and half a wreck, My Saviour through the floods I seek; Let neither winds nor stormy main Force back my shatter'd bark again. C.
Looking upwards in a Storm. 1 Gon of my life, to thee I call,
Afflicted at thy feet I fall;+ When the great water-floods prevail, Leave not my trembling heart to fail! 2 Friend of the friendless and the faint! Where should I lodge my deep complaint? Where but with thee, whose open door Invites the helpless and the poor. 3 Did ever mourner plead with thee, And thou refuse that mourner's plea? Does not the word still fix'd remain, That none shall seek thy face in vain? 4 That were a grief I could not bear, Didst thou not hear and answer prayer; But a prayer-hearing, answ'ring God, Supports me under every load.
5 Fair is the lot that 's cast for me; I have an advocate with thee;
They whom the world caresses most, Have no such privilege to boast.
6 Poor, though I am, despis'd, forgot,* Yet God, my God, forgets me not; And he is safe, and must succeed, For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead. C.
The Valley of the Shadow of Death. 1 My soul is sad and much dismayed; See, Lord, what legions of my foes, With fierce Apollyon at their head, My heavenly pilgrimage oppose! 2 See, from the ever-burning lake, How like a smoky cloud they rise! With horrid blasts my soul they shake, With storms of blasphemies and lies.
3 Their fiery arrows reach the mark,† My throbbing heart with anguish tear; Each lights upon a kindred spark, And finds abundant fuel there.
4 I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord; Oh! I would drive it from my breast, With my own sharp two-edged sword, Far as the east is from the west.
5 Come, then, and chase the cruel host, Heal the deep wounds I have receiv'd! Nor let the powers of darkness boast, That I am foil'd, and thou art griev'd.
HYMN XXI. The Storm hushed.
1 'Tis past-the dreadful stormy night Is gone, with all its fears! And now I see returning light, The Lord, my Sun, appears.
2 The tempter, who but lately said, I soon should be his prey,
Has heard my Saviour's voice, and fled With shame and grief away.
3 Ah! Lord, since thou didst hide thy face, What has my soul endur'd? But now 'tis past,-I feel thy grace, And all my wounds are cur'd! 4 O wondrous change! but just before, Despair beset me round,
I heard the lion's horrid roar,
And trembled at the sound. 5 Before corruption, guilt and fear, My comforts blasted fell; And unbelief discover'd near The dreadful depths of hell. 6 But Jesus pitied my distress, He heard my feeble cry, Reveal'd his blood and righteousness And brought salvation nigh.
HYMN XXII.
Help in Time of Need.
1 UNLESS the Lord had been my stay, With trembling joy my soul may say, My cruel foe had gain'd his end: But he appear'd for my relief, And Satan sees with shame and grief, That I have an almighty Friend.
2 Oh! 'twas a dark and trying hour, When, harass'd by the tempter's power, I felt my strongest hopes decline! You only who have known his arts, You only who have felt his darts, Can pity such a case as mine. 3 Loud in my ears a charge he read, (My conscience witness'd all he said,) My long black list of outward sin; Then bringing forth my heart to view, Too well what's hidden there he knew, He show'd me ten times worse within. 4 'Twas all too true, my soul replied, But I remember Jesus died,
And now he fills a throne of grace: I'll go as I have done before, His mercy I may still implore,
I have his promise, "Seek my face."
5 But, as when sudden fogs arise, The trees, and hills, the sun and skies, Are all at once conceal'd from view: So clouds of horror, black as night, By Satan rais'd, hid from my sight The throne of grace and promise too. 6 Then, while beset with guilt and fear, He tried to urge me to despair,
He tried, and he almost prevail'd; But Jesus, by a heavenly ray, Drove clouds, and guilt, and fear away, And all the tempter's malice fail'd.
HYMN XXIII.
Peace after a Storm.
1 WHEN darkness long has veil'd my mind, And smiling day once more appears, Then, my Redeemer, then I find The folly of my doubts and fears.
2 Straight I upbraid my wand'ring heart, And blush that I should ever be Thus prone to act so base a part,
Or harbour one hard thought of thee! 3 Oh! let me then at length be taught, What I am still so slow to learn, That God is love, and changes not, Nor knows the shadow of a turn.
1 WHEN my prayers are a burden and task, No wonder I little receive;
O Lord! make me willing to ask, Since thou art so ready to give: Although I am bought with thy blood, And all thy salvation is mine,
At a distance from thee my chief good, I wander, and languish, and pine.
2 Of thy goodness of old when I read, To those who were sinners like me, Why may I not wrestle and plead, With them a partaker to be? Thine arm is not short'ned since then, And those who believe in thy name, Ever find thou art Yea and Amen, Through all generations the same.
3 While my spirit within me is press'd With sorrow, temptation, and fear, Like John, I would flee to thy breast,* And pour my complaints in thine ear: How happy and favour'd was he, Who could on thy bosom repose! Might this favour be granted to me, I'd smile at the rage of my foes. 4 I have heard of thy wonderful name, How great and exalted thou art; But ah! I confess to my shame, It faintly impresses my heart: The beams of thy glory display, As Peter once saw thee appear; That, transported like him, I may say, "It is good for my soul to be here."t
5 What a sorrow and weight didst thou feel, When nail'd, for my sake, to the tree! My heart sure is harder than steel, To feel no more sorrow for thee; Oh! let me with Thomas descry The wounds in thy hands and thy side, And have feelings like his, when I cry, "My God and my Saviour has died!" 6 But if thou hast appointed me still To wrestle, and suffer, and fight; O make me resign to thy will, For all thine appointments are right: This mercy, at least, I entreat, That, knowing how vile I have been, I, with Mary, may wait at thy feet,} And weep o'er the pardon of sin.
HYMN XXVI. Self-acquaintance.
1 DEAR Lord! accept a sinful heart,
Which of itself complains,
And mourns, with much and frequent smart, The evil it contains.
2 There fiery seeds of anger lurk,
Which often hurt my frame;
And wait but for the tempter's work, To fan them to a flame.
3 Legality holds out a bribe
To purchase life from thee;
And discontent would fain prescribe How thou shalt deal with me.
4 While unbelief withstands thy grace, And puts the mercy by, Presumption, with a brow of brass, Says, "Give me, or I die."
5 How eager are my thoughts to roam In quest of what they love; But, ah! when duty calls them home, How heavily they move!
6 O cleanse me in a Saviour's blood! Transform me by thy power; And make me thy belov'd abode, And let me rove no more.
John xiii. 25. ↑ John ax. 23.
HYMN XXVII. Bitter and Sweet.
1 KINDLE, Saviour, in my heart A flame of love divine: Hear, for mine I trust thou art,
And sure I would be thine: If my soul has felt thy grace, If to me thy name is known, Why should trifles fill the place Due to thyself alone?
2 "Tis a strange mysterious life I live from day to day; Light and darkness, peace and strife, Bear an alternate sway: When I think the battle won,
I have to fight it o'er again; When I say I'm overthrown, Relief I soon obtain.
3 Often at the mercy-seat,
While calling on thy name, Swarms of evil thoughts I meet, Which fill my soul with shame: Agitated in my mind, Like a feather in the air, Can I thus a blessing find?
My soul, can this be prayer?
4 But when Christ, my Lord and Friend, Is pleas'd to show his power; All at once my troubles end, And I've a golden hour: Then I see his smiling face, Feel the pledge of joys to come; Often, Lord, repeat this grace, Till thou shalt call me home.
HYMN XXVIII. Prayer for Patience.
1 LORD, who hast suffer'd all for me, My peace and pardon to procure, The lighter cross I bear for thee Help me with patience to endure. 2 The storm of loud repining hush;
I would in humble silence mourn; [bush. Why should the unburnt, though burning Be angry, as the crackling thorn?
3 Man should not faint at thy rebuke, Like Joshua falling on his face,* When the curs'd thing that Achan took Brought Israel into just disgrace.
4 Perhaps some golden wedge suppress'd, Some secret sin, offends my God; Perhaps that Babylonish vest, Self-righteousness, provokes the rod.
5 Ah! were I buffeted all day,
Mock'd, crown'd with thorns, and spit upon, I yet should have no right to say, My great distress is mine alone.
6 Let me not angrily declare, No pain was ever sharp like mine,
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