Jesus all the day long Was my joy and my song; I first found in the blood of the Lamb; O that all his salvation might see; When at first I believ'd, What a joy I receiv'd, What a heaven in Jesus's name! 3 'Twas a heaven below, My Redeemer to know, He hath lov'd me, I cried, He hath suffer'd and died To redeem such a rebel as me. 5 On the wings of his love, I was carried above And the angels could do nothing more, All my sin, and temptation, and pain; Than to fall at his feet, And the story repeat, And the lover of sinners adore. 6 And I could not believe That I ever should grieve, That I ever should suffer again. O! the rapturous height Of that holy delight, Which I feel in the life-giving blood! Of my Saviour possest, I am perfectly blest, And am fill'd with the fulness of God. 2. My Father's house is built on high, 3 While here, a stranger far from home, I'm going home, &c. 4. Let others seek a home below, Which flames devour, or waves o'erflow; A heavenly mansion near the throne. I'm going home, &c. 5. Then fail this earth, let stars decline, That heavenly mansion stands for me. I'm going home, &c. In gentle and flowing style. V. C. TAYLOR. From Taylor's Sacred Minstrel. 3. I yield my powers to thy command; To thee I con- secrate my days; b3 bb_4 j 1 My God, in whom are all the springs 2. Up to the Heavens I raise my cry; 4 High o'er the earth his mercy reigns, 5 Be thou exalted, O my God, [dwell; 282 The Hour of Prayer. 1 Blest hour, when mortal man retires To hold communion with his God, To send to Heaven his warm desires, And listen to the sacred word. [sign 2 Blest hour, when earthly cares reWhile, all around, the calm divine Their empire o'er his anxious breast, Proclaims the holy day of rest. [nigh, Blest hour, when God himself draws Well pleased his people's voice to hear; To hush the penitential sigh, And wipe away the mourner's tear. 4 Blest hour! for where the Lord resorts, Foretastes of future bliss are given, And mortals find his earthly courts The house of God, the gate of Heaven. 1 God of our fathers, 'tis thy hand Hath turned the tide of death away, That rolled in madness o'er the land, And filled thy people with dismay. 2 Thy voice awak'd us from our dream, Thy spirit taught our hearts to feel; 'Twas thy own light, whose radiant beam Came down our duty to reveal. 3 Almighty Parent, still in thee Our spirits trust for strength divine; Gird us with heaven's own energy, And o'er our paths let wisdom shine. 4 The work of man's destruction stay; The tide of fire still backward press; Drive each delusive mist away, And every humble effort bless. |