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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.


C. M.

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!

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;—

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 0, 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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