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When darkness long has veild my mind,
And smiling day once more appears, Then, my Redeemer, then I find,
The folly of my doubts and fears. Strait I upbraid my wandering heart,
And blush that I should ever be Thus prone
to act so base a part, Or harbour one base thought of thee. 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. Sweet truth, and easy to repeat,
But when my faith is sharply try'd, I find myself a learner yet,
Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide. But, O my Lord, one look from thee,
Subdues the disobedient will, Drives doubt and discontent away,
And thy rebellious worm is still.
Thou art as ready to forgive,
As I am ready to repine ;
Thou, therefore, all the praise receive;
Be shame, and self abhorrence mine.
There is a fountain fill’d with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel's veins ! And sinners, plung'd beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains. The dying thief rejoic'd to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, as vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb! thy precious blood
Shall never lose its pow'r,
'Till all the ransom'd church of God
Be sav'd, to sin no more.
E’er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song,
I'll sing thy power to save;
When this poor lisping stamm'ring tongue
Lies silent in the
Lord, I believe thou hast prepar'd,
Unworthy though I be,
For me a blood-bought free reward,
A golden harp for me!
'Tis strung, and tun'd, for endless years,
And form’d by pow'r divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name but thine.
BLINDED in youth by Satan's arts,
The world to our unpracticed hearts
A flattering prospect shows :
Our fancy forms a thousand schemes
Of gay delights, and golden dreams,
And undisturbed repose.
So in the desert's dreary waste,
By magic power produced in haste,
(As ancient fables say),
Castles, and groves, and music sweet,
The senses of the traveller meet,
And stop him in his way.
But while he listens with surprise,
The charm dissolves, the vision dies,
'Twas but enchanted ground;
Thus if the Lord our spirit touch,
The world, which promised us so much,
- A wilderness is found. At first we start, and feel distressed, Convinced we never can have rest
In such a wretched place ;
But He whose mercy breaks the charm,
Reveals his own Almighty arm,
And bids us seek his face.
Then we begin to love indeed,
When from our sin and bondage freed
By this beloved friend;
We follow him from day to day,
Assured of grace through all the way,
And glory at the end.
Dear is the hallow'd spot 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 hallow'd 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.
And dear the rustic harmony,
Sung with the pomp of village art;
That holy, heav'nly melody,
The music of a thankful heart.
In secret I have often pray'd,
And still the anxious tear would fall;
But on thy sacred altar laid,
The fire descends, and drives them all,
Oft when the world, with iron hands,
Has bound me in its 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 that heart rejoice.
Go, man of pleasure, strike thy lyre,
Of broken Sabbaths sing the charms,
Ours be the prophet's car of fire,
That bears us to a Father's arms.
Lord of the Sabbath, hear our vows,
On this thy day, in this thine house;
And own, as grateful sacrifice,
The songs which from the desert rise.
Thine earthly Sabbaths, Lord, we love;
But there's a nobler rest above;
To that our lab’ring souls aspire
With ardent hope and strong desire,