How bless’d Thy creature is, O God, When with a single eye, He views the lustre of Thy Word, The dayspring from on high! Through all the storms that veil the skies And frown
To tell the Saviour all my wants, How pleasing is the task! Nor less to praise Him when He grants Beyond what I can ask. My laboring spirit vainly seeks To tell but half
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! I wish, Thou knowest, to be resign’d, And wait
The twentieth year is well nigh past Since first our sky was overcast;- Ah would that this might be the last! My Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker
Sin enslaved me many years, And led me bound and blind; Till at length a thousand fears Came swarming o’er my mind. “Where,” said I, in deep distress, “Will these sinful pleasures end? How
England, with all thy faults, I love thee still My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrain’d to love thee. Though thy
Oh that those lips had language! Life has pass’d With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine thy own sweet smiles I see, The same that oft in childhood
Thus heav’nward all things tend. For all were once Perfect, and all must be at length restor’d. So God has greatly purpos’d; who would else In his dishonour’d works himself endure Dishonour, and be
(Phillipians, iv.11) Fierce passions discompose the mind, As tempests vex the sea, But calm, content and peace we find, When, Lord, we turn to Thee. In vain by reason and by rule We try
‘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
God gives his mercies to be spent; Your hoard will do your soul no good. Gold is a blessing only lent, Repaid by giving others food. The world’s esteem is but a bribe, To
Hatred and vengeance, my eternal portion, Scarce can endure delay of execution, Wait, with impatient readiness, to seize my Soul in a moment. Damned below Judas:more abhorred than he was, Who for a few
Jesus! where’er Thy people meet, There they behold Thy mercy seat; Where’er they seek Thee, Thou art found, And every place is hallow’d ground. For Thou, within no walls confined, Inhabitest the humble mind;
Written when the news arrived. Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore. Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was
His master taken from his head, Elisha saw him go; And in desponding accents said, “Ah, what must Israel do?” But he forgot the Lord who lifts The beggar to the throne; Nor knew
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