With thyself and God at war?
Turn thee, brother, homeward come!

2 Hast thou wasted all the powers

God for noble uses gave?
Squandered life's most golden hours ?
Turn thee, brother, God can save!

3 Is a mighty famine now

In thy heart and in thy soul?
Discontent upon thy brow ?
Turn thee, God will make thee whole!

4 He can heal thy bitterest wound,

He thy gentlest prayer can hear;
Seek him, for he may be found;
Call upon him; he is near.

L. M.

380.

BEDDOME.

Inconstancy lamented.

| The wandering star and fleeting wind

Are emblems of the fickle mind;
The morning cloud and early dew
Bring our inconstancy to view.

2 But cloud and wind, and dew and star,

Only a faint resemblance bear;
Nor can there aught in nature be
So changeable and frail as we.

3 Our outward walk and inward frame

Are scarcely through an hour the same; We vow, and straight our vows forget, And then those very vows repeat.

With contrite hearts, Lord, we confess
Our folly and unsteadfastness;
When shall these hearts more stable be,
Fixed by thy grace alone on thee!

1

S. M.

381. ANCIENT HYMNS.

Prayer for Pardon.
BEFORE thy mercy's throne,

Thy succor, Lord, we seek;
For thou art good and great alone ;

All helpless we, and weak.

2

3

4

Like sheep that go astray,

Our wilful course we've run,
From what thou wouldst, have turned away

And what thou wouldst not, done.
To us belong dismay

Of heart, and shame of face;
To thee, our sorrows to allay,

And all our guilt efface; —
To us, confession meek,

The penitential prayer ;
To thee, the words of peace to speak,

The contrite heart to spare.
Pour, for the Saviour's sake,

Thy spirit's healthful dew
On those who fain would sin forsake,
And thy pure ways pursue.
L. M.
382

ANONYMOUS.
In Spiritual Deadness.
1 O Thou, who all things dost control,

Chase this dead slumber from my soul !

5

With reverent joy, with loving awe,

Give me to keep thy perfect law. 2 O let a ray from thy pure light Pierce through the gathering shades of night! Touch my cold breast with heavenly fire,

And holy, conquering faith inspire. 3 This deadly slumber when I feel

Afresh upon my spirit steal,
Then, Lord, descend with quickening power,
And wake me, that I sleep no more!

C. M.

383.

DODDRIDGE.

The Voice of Divine Pardon.

1 My Father, let me hear thy voice

Pronounce the words of peace,
And all my warmest powers shall join

To celebrate the grace.

2 With gentle smile call me thy child,

And speak my sins forgiven;
The accents mild shall charm mine ear

All like the harps of heaven.
3 Cheerful, where'er thy hand shall lead,

The darkest path I 'll tread;
Cheerful I 'll quit these mortal shores,

And mingle with the dead.
4 When dreadful guilt is done away,

No other fears we know;
That hand which scatters pardons down,

Shall crowns of life bestow.

L. M.

384.

DODDRIDGE.

Communing with our Hearts.

1 RETURN, my roving heart, return,

And chase these shadowy forms no more ,
Seek out some solitude to mourn,
And thy forsaken God implore.

2 Wisdom and pleasure dwell at home;

Retired and silent seek them there;
True conquest is ourselves t' o'ercome,
True strength to break temptation's snare.

3 And thou, my God, whose piercing eye

Distinct surveys each deep recess,
In these abstracted hours draw nigh,
And with thy presence fill the place.

4 Through all the mazes of my heart,

My search let heavenly wisdom guide;
And still its radiant beams impart,
Till all be searched and purified.

5 Then, with the visits of thy love,

Vouchsafe my inmost soul to cheer; Till every grace shall join to prove, That God hath fixed his dwelling there.

L. M.
385.

HILLHOUSE. The Song of the Forgiven is the sweetest in Heaven. 1 Earth has a joy unknown in heaven,

The new-born peace of sin forgiven!
Tears of such pure and deep delight,
Ye angels ! never dimmed your sight.

2 Ye saw, of old, on chaos rise

The beauteous pillars of the skies:
Ye know where morn, exulting, springs,

And evening folds her drooping wings. 3 Bright heralds of the Eternal Will,

Abroad his errands ye fulfil ;
Or, throned in floods of beamy day,

Symphonious in his presence play. 4 But I amid your choirs shall shine,

And all your knowledge will be mine:
Ye on your harps must lean to hear
A secret chord that mine will bear.

L. M.

386. MORAVIAN

The Soul seeking Rest and Pardon. 1 0 Thou, in whom the weary find

Their sweet and permanent repose, Physician of the sin-sick mind, Relieve my wants, assuage my woes; And let

my

soul on thee be cast, Till life's fierce tyranny be passed. 2 Loosed from my God, and far removed,

Long have I wandered to and fro;
O’er earth in endless circles roved,
Nor found whereon to rest below:
Back to my God at last I fly ;

For oh! estranged from thee, I die.
3 Selfish pursuits, and nature's maze,

The things of earth, for thee I leave :
Put forth thy hand, thy hand of grace;
Into the ark of love receive;
Take this poor, fluttering soul to rest,
And lodge it, Saviour, in thy breast.