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2 When the world has passed away,
When draws near the judgment-day,
When the awful trump shall sound,
Say, O, where wilt thou be found?
3 When the Judge descends in light,
Clothed in majesty and might,
When the wicked quail with fear,
Where, O, where wilt thou appear?
4 What shall soothe thy bursting heart,
When the saints and thou must part
When the good with joy are crowned,
Sinner, where wilt thou be found?

5 While the Holy Ghost is nigh,
Quickly to the Saviour fly;

Then shall peace thy spirit cheer;
Then in heaven shalt thou appear.

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The barren Fig-Tree.

1 SEE, in the vineyard of the Lord A barren fig-tree stands ;



It yields no fruit, no blossom bears,
Though planted by his hands.

2 From year to year he seeks for fruit,
And still no fruit is found;
It stands, amid the living trees,
A cumberer of the ground.

3 But, see, an Intercessor pleads,
The barren tree to spare;
"Let justice still withhold his hand,
And grant another year.

4 "Perhaps some means of grace untried May reach the stony heart;

The softening dews of heavenly grace
May life anew impart.

5 “But if these means should prove in vain, And still no fruit is found,

Then mercy shall no longer plead,
But justice cut it down."




The Sinner entreated to awake.

1 SINNER, rouse thee from thy sleep;
Wake, and o'er thy folly weep;
Raise thy spirit, dark and dead;
Jesus waits his light to shed.

2 Wake from sleep; arise from death;
See the bright and living path;
Watchful, tread that path; be wise;
Leave thy folly; seek the skies.

3 Leave thy folly; cease from crime;
From this hour redeem thy time;
Life secure without delay;

Evil is thy mortal day.

4 O, then, rouse thee from thy sleep;
Wake, and o'er thy folly weep;
Jesus calls from death and night;
Jesus waits to shed his light.


C. M.

The fruitless Fig-Tree.


1 SEE how the fruitless fig-tree stands Beneath the owner's frown;

The axe is lifted in his hands,

To cut the cumberer down.

2 "Year after year, I come," he cries, "And still no fruit is shown;

I see but empty leaves arise;

Then cut the cumberer down.

3 "The axe of death, at one sharp stroke,
Shall make my justice known;
Each bough shall tremble at the shock
Which cuts the cumberer down."

4 Sinner, beware! — the axe of death
Is raised, and aimed at thee:
Awhile thy Maker spares thy breath;
Beware, O barren tree!



C. M.

Solemn Apprehension.


1 WHEN, rising from the bed of death,
O'erwhelmed with guilt and fear,
I see my Maker face to face,
O, how shall I appear!

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2 If yet, while pardon may be found,
And mercy may be sought,

My heart with inward terror shrinks,
And trembles at the thought,-

3 When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclosed In majesty severe,

And sit in judgment on my soul, —
O, how shall I appear!

4 But there's forgiveness, Lord, with thee;
Thy nature is benign;

Thy pardoning mercy I implore,
For mercy, Lord, is thine.


C. M.


Painful Recollections.

1 AS o'er the past my memory strays,
Why heaves the secret sigh?

"Tis that I mourn departed days,
Still unprepared to die.

2 The world and worldly things beloved
My anxious thoughts employed;
And time, unhallowed, unimproved,
Presents a fearful void.

3 Yet, holy Father, wild despair

Chase from my laboring breast:

Thy grace it is which prompts the prayer;
That grace can do the rest.


4 My life's brief remnant all be thine;
And when thy sure decree
Bids me this fleeting breath resign,
O, speed my soul to thee.


C. M.

Sense of Ingratitude.


1 DEAR Saviour, when my thoughts recall
The wonders of thy grace,
Low at thy feet, ashamed, I fall,

And hide this wretched face.

2 Shall love like thine be thus repaid?
Ah, vile, ungrateful heart!
By earth's low cares detained, betrayed
From Jesus to depart;-

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3 From Jesus, who alone can give
True pleasure, peace, and rest;
When absent from my Lord, I live
Unsatisfied, unblest.

4 But he, for his own mercy's sake,
My wandering soul restores;
He bids the mourning heart partake
The pardon it implores.

5 O, while I breathe to thee, my Lord,
The penitential sigh,

Confirm the kind, forgiving word,
With pity in thine eye.

6 Then shall the mourner, at thy feet,
Rejoice to seek thy face;

And, grateful, own how kind, how sweet,
Is thy forgiving grace.




Confession of Sin.

1 GOD of mercy, God of grace,
Hear our sad, repentant songs;

O, restore thy suppliant race,
Thou, to whom our praise belongs.

2 Deep regret for follies past,
Talents wasted, time misspent ;
Hearts debased by worldly cares,
Thankless for the blessings lent;-
3 Foolish fears, and fond desires,
Vain regrets for things as vain,
Lips too seldom taught to praise,
Oft to murmur and complain;-

4 These, and every secret fault,

Filled with grief and shame, we own;
Humbled at thy feet we lie,

Seeking pardon from thy throne.

5 God of mercy, God of grace,
Hear our sad, repentant songs;
O, restore thy suppliant race,
Thou, to whom our praise belongs.


C. M.


Repentance in View of the Cross.

1 AND can mine eyes, without a tear,
A weeping Saviour see?

Shall I not weep his groans to hear,
Who groaned and died for me?

2 Blest Jesus, let those tears of thine
Subdue each stubborn foe;

Come, fill my heart with love divine,
And bid my sorrows flow.


S. M.


Holy Fear of God.

1 AH, how shall fallen man
Be just before his God!
If he contend in righteousness,
We fall beneath his rod.

2 If he our ways should mark
With strict, inquiring eyes,

Could we for one of thousand faults
A just excuse devise?

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