Contented now upon my thigh I halt till life's short journey end; All helplessness, all weakness, I On thee alone for strength depend; Nor have I power from thee to move ; Thy nature and thy name is Love. Lame as I am, I take the prey ; Hell, earth, and sin with ease o'ercome ; I leap for joy, pursue my way, And, as a bounding hart, Hy home; Dost ask who that may be ? MARTIN LUTHER. Translation of F. H. HEDGE. JEWISH HYMN IN JERUSALEM. CHARLES WESLEY. God of the thunder ! from whose cloudy seat The fiery winds of Desolation flow; Father of vengeance ! that with purple feet Like a full wine-press tread'st the world below; The embattled armies wait thy sign to slay, Nor springs the beast of havoc on his prey, Nor withering Famine walks his blasted way, Till thou hast marked the guilty land for woe. O GOD! OUR HELP IN AGES PAST. O GOD! our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, And our eternal home! Or earth received her frame, To endless years the same. Are like an evening gone ; Before the rising sun. Bears all its sons away ; Dies at the opening day. Our hope for years to come, ISAAC WATTS. God of the rainbow ! at whose gracious sign The billows of the proud their rage suppress; Father of mercies! at one word of thine An Eden blooms in the waste wilderness, And fountains sparkle in the arid sands, And timbrels ring in maidens' glancing hands, And marble cities crown the laughing lands, And pillared temples rise thy name to bless. lo O'er Judah's land thy thunders broke, O Lord ! The chariots rattled o'er her sunken gate, Her sons were wasted by the Assyrian's sword, Even her foes wept to see her fallen state ; And heaps her ivory palaces became, Her princes wore the captive's garb of shame, Her temples sank amid the smouldering flame, For thou didst ride the tempest cloud of fate. O'er Judah's land thy rainbow, Lord, shall beam, And the sad City lift her crownless head, And songs shall wake and dancing footsteps gleam In streets where broods the silence of the dead. The sun shall shine on Salem's gilded towers, | On Carmel's side our maidens cull the flowers | To deck at blushing eve their bridal bowers, And angel feet the glittering Sion tread. A MIGHTY FORTRESS IS OUR GOD. EIN' FESTE BURG IST UNSER GOTT, A bulwark never failing ; Of mortal ills prevailing. On earth is not his equal. Our striving would be losing ; The man of God's own choosing. Thy vengeance gave us to the stranger's hand, And Abraham's children were led forth for slaves. With fettered steps we left our pleasant land, Envying our fathers in their peaceful graves. The strangers' bread with bitter tears we steep, And when our weary eyes should sink to sleep, In the mute midnight we steal forth to weep, Where the pale willows shade Euphrates' waves. The born in sorrow shall bring forth in joy ; | Thy mercy, Lord, shall lead thy children home; He that went forth a tender prattling boy Yet, ere he die, to Salem's streets shall come ; And Canaan's vines for us their fruit shall bear, And Hermon's bees their honeyed stores prepare, And we shall kneel again in thankful prayer, Where o'er the cherub-seated God full blazed the irradiate throne. HENRY HART MILMAN. WHEN JORDAN HUSHED HIS WATERS STILL. When Jordan hushed his waters still, Hark! from the midnight hills around, On wheels of light, on wings of flame, “O Zion, lift thy raptured eye ; “See, Mercy, from her golden urn, He comes to cheer the trembling heart; THOMAS CAMPBELL. THE MOTHER'S HYMN. “Blessed art thou among women." LORD, who ordainest for mankind Benignant toils and tender cares, We thank thee for the ties that bind The mother to the child she bears. We thank thee for the hopes that rise Within her heart, as, day by day, The dawning soul, from those young eyes, Looks with a clearer, steadier ray. And, grateful for the blessing given With that dear infant on her knee, The voice to lisp a prayer to thee. Such thanks the blessed Mary gave When from her lap the Holy Child, Sent from on high to seek and save The lost of earth, looked up and smiled. All-Gracious ! grant to those who bear A mother's charge the strength and light To guide the feet that own their care In ways of Love and Truth and Right. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. MORTALS, AWAKE! WITH ANGELS JOIN. MORTALS, awake ! with angels join, And chant the solemn lay ; To hail the auspicious day. And sweet seraphic fire And strung and tuned the lyre. Swift through the vast expanse it flew, And loud the echo rolled ; 'T was more than heaven could hold. Down through the portals of the sky Th' impetuous torrent ran; To bear the news to man. And glory leads the song ; “Good-will and peace" are heard throughout The harmonious angel throng. Hail, Prince of life! forever hail, Redeemer, Brother, Friend ! Though earth and time and life should fail, Thy praise shall never end. MEDLEY HOW SWEET THE NAME OF JESUS SOUNDS! How sweet the name of Jesus sounds In a believer's ear! It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, And drives away his fear, It makes the wounded spirit whole, And calms the troubled breast; "T is manna to the hungry soul, And for the weary, rest. By thee my prayers acceptance gain, Although with sin defiled ; Satan accuses me in vain, And I am owned a child. Jesus ! my Shepherd, Guardian, Friend, My Prophet, Priest, and King; My Lord, my Life, my Way, my End, Accept the praise I bring. Weak is the effort of my heart, And cold my warmest thought; But when I see thee as thou art, I'll praise thee as I ought. Till then I would thy love proclaim With every fleeting breath ; And may the music of thy name Refresh my soul in death! JOHN NEWTON. NOW TO THE HAVEN OF THY BREAST. Now to the haven of thy breast, O Son of man, I fly; Be thou my refuge and my rest, For O, the storm is high ! Protect me from the furious blast, My shield and shelter be ; Hide me, my Saviour, till o'erpast The storm of sin I see. As welcome as the water-spring Is to a barren place, Jesus, descend on me, and bring Thy sweet, refreshing grace. As o'er a parched and weary land A rock extends its shade, So hide me, Saviour, with thy hand, And screen my naked head. In all the times of my distress Thou hast my succor been ; And, in my utter helplessness, Restraining me from sin, How swift to save me didst thou move, In every trying hour! 0, still protect me with thy love, And shield me with thy power ! JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL. Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly, While the tempest still is high ! Till the storm of life is past ; 0, receive my soul at last ! Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on thee; Still support and comfort me. All my help from thee I bring ; With the shadow of thy wing. Wilt thou not regard my call ? Wilt thou not regard my prayer ? Lo! on thee I cast my care ; While I of thy strength receive ! Dying, and behold I live. Thou, O Christ, art all I want; More than all in thee I find ; Heal the sick, and lead the blind, I am all unrighteousness ; Thou art full of truth and grace. Plenteous grace with thee is found, Grace to cover all my sin ; Make and keep me pure within. Freely let me take of thee; CHARLES WESLEY, SWEETEST SAVIOUR, IF MY SOUL SWEETEST Saviour, if my soul Were but worth the having, Any thought of waving. CHARLES WESLEY. What (childe), is the balance thine, Thinc the poise and measure ? Finger not my treasure. Leading to this favour : Is beyond my savour. Get without repining; Follow my resiging : GEORGE HERBERT. ROCK OF AGES, CLEFT FOR ME. Rock of Ages, cleft for me, AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOPLADY. JUST AS I AM. WHEN GATHERING CLOUDS AROUND I VIEW. When gathering clouds around I view, Just as I am, — without one plea, O Lamb of God, I come ! I come ! O Lamb of God, I come ! I come ! O Lamb of God, I come ! I come ! O Lamb of God, I come ! I come ! O Lamb of God, I come! I come ! If aught should tempt my soul to stray Just as I am, - thy love unknown Has broken every barrier down ; Now, to be thine, yea, thine alone, O Lamb of God, I come ! I come ! ANONYMOL'S. Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry, SIR ROBERT GRANT. “THOU HAST PUT ALL THINGS UNDER HIS FEET." O NORTII, with all thy vales of green ! O South, with all thy palms ! From peopled towns and fields between Uplift the voice of psalms. God's well-beloved Son. His kingdom is begun. When at his feet shall lie All rule, authority, and power, Beneath the ample sky; When he shall reign from pole to pole, The Lord of every human soul ; When all shall heed the words he said, Amid their daily cares, And by the loving life he led Shall strive to pattern theirs : And he who conquered Death shall win The mightier conquest over Sin. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. O, HAPPY DAY THAT FIXED MY CHOICE ! O, HAPPY day that fixed my choice On thee, my Saviour and my God! Well may this glowing heart rejoice, And tell its raptures all abroad. 'T is done, the great transaction 's done! I am my Lord's, and he is mine ; He drew and I followed on, Charmed to confess the voice divine. me, Now rest my long-divided heart, Fixed on this blissful centre, rest; Nor ever from thy Lord depart, With him of every good possessed. High Heaven, that heard the solemn vow, That vow renewed shall daily hear; Till in life's latest hour I bow, And bless in death a bond so dear. PHILIP DODDRIDGE. HOPEFULLY WAITING. “ Blessed are they who are homesick, for they shall come at last to their Father's house."- HEINRICH STILLING. Not as you meant, О learned man, and good ! Do I accept thy words of truth and rest; God, knowing all, knows what for me is best. And gives me what I need, not what he could, Nor always as I would ! Him and the Elder Brother face to face, Not as a homesick child who all day long If for a time some loved one goes away, And leaves us our appointed work to do, Can we to him or to ourselves be true And so our work delay ? The absence brief by doing well our task, Not for ourselves, but for the dear One's sake! And at his coming only of him ask Approval of the work, which most was done, Our Father's house, I know, is broad and grand ; In it how many, many mansions are ! And far beyond the light of sun or star, Four little ones of mine through that fair land Are walking hand in hand ! I love not, or that I forget Yet I'm not homesick, and the children here Think you I would be joyful as my days go by, Counting God's mercies to me. He who bore |