2 Without beginning or decline,
Object of faith, and not of sense;
Eternal ages saw him shine,
He shines eternal ages hence.
S As much when in the manger laid,
Almighty Ruler of the sky,
As when the six days' work he made
Fill'd all the morning stars with joy.
4 Of all the crowns Jehovah bears,
Salvation is his dearest claim;
That gracious sound well-pleased he hears,
And owns Emmanuel for his name.
5 A cheerful confidence I feel,
My well-placed hopes with joy I see;
My bosom glows with heavenly zeal
To worship him who died for me.
6 As man, he pities my complaint,
His pow'r and truth are all divine,
He will not fail, he cannot faint,
Salvation's sure, and must be mine.
1 Sweet day of rest! for thee I'd wait,
Emblem and earnest of a state
Where saints are fully blest!
For thee I'd look, for thee I'd sigh!
I'd count the days till thou art nigh,
Sweet day of sacred rest.
2 But oft (with shame I will confess)
My privilege my burden is,
No joy, alas! have I:
When I would take my harp and sing,
I find it oft without a string,
And lay it coldly by.
3 But while I thus confess my shame,
"Tis right that I should praise his name,
Who makes me sometimes sing.
Yes, Lord, (I'll speak it to thy praise,)
My cheerful song I sometimes raise,
And triumph in my king.
4 O let the case be always so,
My song no interruption know,
Till death shall seal my tongue.
In heav'n a nobler strain I'll raise,
And rest from ev'ry thing but praise ;
My heav'n an endless song.
THE ORPHAN.
father's new clos'd grave
Deep lay the winter's snow;
Green, now, the grass waves o'er his head,
And tall the tomb-weeds grow.
2 Along life's road no parent's hand
My homeless footsteps led;
No mother's arm in sickness sooth'd,
And rais'd my throbbing head.
3 But other hearts, Lord! thou hast warm'd With tenderness benign;
And in the stranger's eye I mark
The tear of pity shine.
4 The stranger's hand by thee is mov'd
To be the orphan's stay;
And, better far, the stranger's voice
Hath taught us how to pray.
5 Thou putt'st a new song in our mouth,
A song of praise and joy;
O may we not our lips alone,
But hearts, in praise employ !
6 To Him who little children took,
And in his bosom held,
And, blessing them with looks of love,
Their rising fears dispell'd;
7 To Him, while flow'rs bloom on the bank,
Or lambs sport on the lea;
While larks with morning hymns ascend,
Or birds chant on the tree;
8 To Him let ev'ry creature join
In prayer, and thanks, and praise :
Infants, their little anthems lisp;
Age, hallelujahs raise!
LO! WE HAVE LEFT ALL AND FOLLOWED
1 Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave and follow thee;
Naked, poor, despis'd, forsaken,
Thou, from hence, my all shalt be;
Perish ev'ry fond ambition,
All I've sought, or hop'd, or known,
Yet how rich is my condition,
God and heaven are still my own.
2 Let the world despise and leave me ;
They have left my Saviour too;
Human hearts and looks deceive me,
Thou art not, like them, untrue;
And whilst thou shalt smile upon me,
God of wisdom, love, and might,
Foes may hate, and friends may scorn me,
Show thy face and all is bright.
$ Go, then, earthly fame and treasure,
Come disaster, scorn, and pain,
In thy service pain is pleasure,
With thy favour loss is gain.
I have called thee Abba, Father,
I have set my heart on thee,
Storms may howl, and clouds may gather,
All must work for good to me.
4 Man may trouble and distress me,
"Twill but drive me to thy breast;
Life with trials hard may press me,
Heav'n will bring me sweeter rest.
Oh! 'tis not in grief to harm me,
While thy love is left to me,
Oh! 'twere not in joy to charm me,
Were that joy unmix'd with thee.
5 Soul, then know thy full salvation,
Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care,
Joy to find in ev'ry station
Something still to do or bear.
Think what spirit dwells within thee,
Think what Father's smiles are thine,
Think that Jesus died to save thee:
Child of heaven, canst thou repine?
6 Haste thee on from grace to glory,
Arm'd by faith and wing'd by prayer,
Heaven's eternal days before thee,
God's own hand shall guide thee there.
Soon shall close thy earthly mission,
Soon shall pass thy pilgrim days,
Hope shall change to glad fruition,
Faith to sight, and pray'r to praise. G.
1 The grave is not a place of rest,
As unbelievers teach,
Where grief can never win a tear,
Nor sorrow ever reach.
2 The eye that shed the tear is closed,
The heaving breast is cold;
But that which suffers and enjoys,
No narrow grave can hold.
3 The mould'ring earth and hungry worm The dust they lent may claim;
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