Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His

purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan his work in vain ;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.

TEMPTATION.

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.

O Lord, the pilot's part perform,

And guide and guard me through the storm; Defend me from each threatening ill,

Control the waves, say, "Peace, be still."

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.

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.

* John xiii. 7.

Though tempest-tossed and half a wreck,
My Saviour through the floods I seek;
Let neither winds nor stormy main
Force back my shattered bark again.

SUBMISSION.

O LORD, my best desire fulfil,
And help me to resign

Life, health, and comfort to thy will,
And make thy pleasure mine.

Why should I shrink at thy command,
Whose love forbids my fears?
Or tremble at the gracious hand
That wipes away my tears?

No, let me rather freely yield
What most I prize to Thee;
Who never hast a good withheld,
Or wilt withhold from me.

Thy favour, all my journey through
Thou art engaged to grant;
What else I want, or think I do,
"Tis better still to want.

Wisdom and mercy guide my way,
Shall I resist them both?

A poor blind creature of a day,

And crushed before the moth!

But ah! my inward spirit cries,
Still bind me to thy sway;
Else the next cloud that veils my skies,
Drives all these thoughts away.

C. Whittingham, Printer, Chiswick.

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