Hymns and Poems

by A. L. O. E.

HYMNS.

I.
THE WILLING SACRIFICE.

The precious blood of Christ my Lord,

The Saviour all-divine,

Was shed to cleanse men’s souls from guilt;

That blood has flowed for mine!

But what return can sinners make

For love so great, so free?

All is too little, oh! my God,

To sacrifice to Thee.

If all that I possessed on earth,

Before thy feet were laid,

Light as the dust the gift would prove

In heaven’s balance weighed.

The costly treasures of the skies

Thou didst resign for me;

All is too little, oh! my God,

To sacrifice to Thee.

But Thou wilt not disdain a heart

That would Thy word obey,

That loves to own the mighty debt

It never hopes to pay.

For were each hair upon my head

A separate life to be,[1]

All were too little, oh! my God,

To sacrifice to Thee.

II.
THE RESURRECTION.

The Summer blossoms fast decay

Beneath the Autumn’s chilling breath,

And man is passing thus away,

Touched by the silent hand of Death.

Still fading—falling—day by day

The withered petals strew the plain,

They never more shall deck the spray—

But man shall rise again!

Behold the bare and leafless tree

Blushes in spring to beauty bright;

Where the dark root was buried—see

The eager floweret springs to light!

The sun his gentle influence shed

To break cold winter’s icy chain—

So God shall wake us from the dead,

We all shall rise again!

As beauteous day succeeds to night,

So glory dawns upon the grave—

Praise to the Sun of life and light,

Who lived to bless, and died to save!

We calmly gaze on life’s dark close,

The tomb shall not our forms retain—

E’en as our God and Saviour rose

His own shall rise again!

III.
HYMN FOR THE COMMUNION.

I do not dare, O holy Lord,

Approach Thy sacred shrine

Trusting in mine own righteousness,

For nought but sins are mine,

But in the merits of Thy Son,

The Saviour all-divine.

Unworthy as I own I am

Christ’s feast of love to share,

In His name hear my humble cry,

For His sake grant my prayer,

And let Thy mercy cleanse my soul,

And shed Thy Spirit there!

Oh, make me one with my dear Lord

In His appointed rite,

A branch of the Eternal Vine

Not fruitless in His sight;

His own on earth, His own in heaven

Through ages infinite!

IV.
THE BEACON.

When shades of night around him close,

The lighthouse guard has charge to keep,

And trim the beacon-fire, which glows

Like a red star above the deep.

Still calm and bright

Must shine that light

That guides the seaman on his way,

Till morning gleam

And lighthouse beam

Fade in the rosy blush of day.

Like charge is to the Christian given

In grief or joy, in storm or strife,

To glorify the God of heaven

Both by his lips and by his life.

Still pure and bright

Must shine his light,

And shed around a holy ray,

A flame of love

Lit from above,

And shining on to perfect day.

Pride, discontent, mistrustful fear,

Too oft, alas! the beacon hide;

The sinner must be humbled here

That Jesus may be glorified.

So pure and bright

Shall shine his light,

To other hearts a beam convey,

A flame of love

Lit from above,

Still shining on to perfect day.

Lord, feed our lamps with heavenly grace,

And let them to Thy glory shine,

Nor let our weakness e’er disgrace

The holy faith which seals us Thine!

Then pure and bright

Shall shine our light,

Our heavenly Father’s grace display,

A flame of love

Lit from above,

Still shining on to perfect day!

V.
THE BLOSSOMING ROD.

An angel of comfort from heaven sped—

All nature brightened as he drew near

Where a poor man toiled in his lowly shed

And thanked the Lord for his scanty bread;

The angel breathed in the Christian’s ear,

“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;

Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”

He spread his pinions, then paused again

Where prayer from a sick man’s couch was heard;

In weary weakness, in restless pain,

For tedious months had the sufferer lain,

But his pale face beamed at the whispered word:

“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;

Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”

Then the angel flew where a mother prayed

For a son on a course of evil bent;

She wept—half trustful and half afraid,

Beseeching Him who alone could aid;

And to her was the message of comfort sent—

“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;

Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”

With cares depressed, and with trials worn,

A persecuted believer knelt;

With drooping heart she had meekly borne

The unkind taunt and the look of scorn,

Till the angel’s smile was like sunshine felt.

“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;

Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”

Then the seraph hovered where death had been,

In its little coffin an infant lay;

The parents wept, but a calm serene

Stole over their souls, as a hand unseen

Gently wiped the trickling tears away.

“Your God beholds, and will not forget;

Your bud shall blossom in glory yet!”

Happy such to whom griefs come not in vain,

Though afflictions bow, or the world contemn,

Thrice blest in sorrow, thrice blest in pain,

Reproach is honour, and loss is gain,

For the angel of peace shall visit them—

Their God beholds, and will not forget;

Their rod shall blossom in glory yet!

VI.
HYMN FOR THE PENITENT CONVICT.

I dare not raise my guilty eye

The gaze of man to meet,

A helpless sentenced wretch I lie,

Lord Jesus! at Thy feet.

Too justly scorned by all beside,

I trembling come to Thee;

If Thou for chief of sinners died,

Is there not hope for me?

The dying thief in torments hung

While sinners scoffed around;

With feeble breath and faltering tongue

He mercy sought—and found.

There flowed before his eyesight dim

The blood which made him free;

If Jesus heard and pitied him

Is there not hope for me?

The weeping prodigal returned

His father’s house to seek;

His supplication was not spurned—

Love still could welcome speak.

Like him, in grief and penitence,

To mercy’s door I flee,

O Father, wilt thou spurn me thence;

Is there not hope for me?

Yes, there is hope! while He, once crowned

With thorns, now pleads in heaven,

Rejoices o’er the lost one found,

The wanderer forgiven;

To those who mourn and turn from sin

He offers mercy free;

I feel another life begin—

There yet is hope for me!

VII.
HYMN FOR THE BLIND.

I cannot see the sunny gleam

Which gladdens every eye but mine,

But I can feel the warming beam,

And bless the God who made it shine.

O Lord, each murmuring thought control,

Let no repining tear-drop fall,

Pour holy light upon my soul,

That I may own Thy love in all!

I cannot see the flow’rets blow,

All sparkling from the summer showers,

But I can breathe their sweet perfume,

And bless the God who made the flowers.

O Lord, each murmuring thought control,

Let no repining tear-drop fall,

Pour holy light upon my soul,

That I may own Thy love in all!

I cannot see the pages where

Thy holy will is written, Lord;

But I can seek Thy house of prayer,

And humbly listen to Thy word,

Which bears my thoughts to that bright place

Where I at Thy dear feet may fall,

Behold my Saviour face to face,

And see and own His love in all!

VIII.
THE HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS.

The stately mansion riseth beneath the builder’s hand,

When our children sleep in dust that mansion still may stand;

But a nobler and more lasting dwelling to the saints is given,

In a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heaven.

The poor in spirit and the meek, the merciful and pure,

On them the Saviour blessings breathed, for ever to endure;

Those persecuted for His sake, from friends or kindred driven,

Share a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heaven.

And those who deeply mourn their sins shall find there yet is room,

For such the Lord endured the cross, descended to the tomb;

He ready stands to welcome those whose contrite hearts are riven,

To a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heaven.

What matter, then, how lowly be the roof above our head,

What matter then how soon the stranger o’er our graves may tread,

If we are pressing on with hearts renewed and sins forgiven,

To a house not made with hands, eternal in the Heaven!

IX.
SEXTON’S HYMN.

I’ve laid the earth above the child

Whose life was but a summer’s day;

I knew that God, in mercy mild,

Had called his happy soul away.

Then therefore weep

O’er those who sleep?

Their precious dust the Lord will keep,

Till He appear

In glory here,

The harvest of the earth to reap.

I’ve laid the earth above the youth

Whose early days to God were given,

Whose end bore witness to this truth,

None die too soon who live for Heaven!

Then wherefore weep

O’er those who sleep?

Their precious dust the Lord will keep,

Till He appear

In glory here,

The harvest of the earth to reap.

I’ve laid the earth o’er reverend age,

Whose hoary hairs were glory’s crown,

The saint had closed his pilgrimage,

And gently laid life’s burden down.

Then wherefore weep

O’er those who sleep?

Their precious dust the Lord will keep,

Till He appear

In glory here,

The harvest of the earth to reap.

And soon the earth will close o’er me,

Yet mourn I not my life’s decline,

Lord! pardoned—ransomed—saved by Thee,

Living or dying—I am Thine!

Oh! wherefore sigh

For those who die

In Christ? the forms that mouldering lie

Shall burst the sod

To meet their God.

And mount with seraph wings on high!

X.
THE SECOND ADVENT.

Now in the East Hope’s trembling light

Proclaims a brighter dawning,

Though woe endureth for a night,

Joy cometh in the morning.

For many weary ages past

Hath sin’s dark night prevailing,

A gloom o’er all the nations cast,

Whence rose the sound of wailing.

The idol-gods have many a shrine

Where, bound in chains of error,

Myriads shut out from light divine

Crouch down in shame and terror.

But in the East Hope’s rosy light

Proclaims a brighter dawning;

Though woe endureth for a night,

Joy cometh in the morning.

Pleasure has thrown her torches’ glare

Upon a world benighted,

And Science in the murky air

Her glimmering tapers lighted;

Some joys, like fireflies, played and glanced

To mock our vain pursuing,

And Folly’s meteors wildly danced

Above the gulf of ruin!

But in the East Hope’s purer light

Proclaims a brighter dawning;

Though woe endureth for a night,

Joy cometh in the morning!

Like Cynthia from her silver car,

The Church could darkness brighten;

Each high example, like a star,

Shone forth to cheer and lighten.

But I shall need nor star nor moon

In that clear day before me,

The Sun of Righteousness shall soon

Burst forth in cloudless glory!

Yes, in the East Hope’s kindling light

Proclaims a brighter dawning;

Though woe endureth for a night,

Joy cometh in the morning!

XI.
HOPES THAT ABIDE.

Earth’s bright hopes must fade,

Not those which grace hath given;

Joys were fleeting made,

But not the joys of Heaven!

Stars that shine above,

And flowers that cannot wither,

These are types of peace and love

That shall abide for ever.

Who that seeks the skies

Would mourn earth’s pleasures blighted,

Weep o’er broken ties

Soon to be re-united?

Blest e’en awhile to be

In darkness and in sorrow,

Assured we soon the dawn shall see

Of an eternal morrow!

XII.
SOLDIER’S HYMN.

There is a sword of glittering sheen,—

All unite to defend the right!

Its blade is bright and its edge is keen,

But the wound it gives is a wound unseen,—

And who would flinch in the glorious fight!

There is a foe—a ruthless foe—

Such unite to oppose the right;

In secret ambush he croucheth low,

And the blow he strikes is a deadly blow,—

But flinch not we in the glorious fight!

There is a banner floating wide,—

All unite to defend the right!

The blood of martyrs its folds has dyed,

When the best and bravest fought side by side,—

Who would not flinch in the glorious fight!

There is a Leader exalted high,—

All unite to defend the right!

Through Him His followers hosts defy,

Through Him they learn to do and to die,

And scorn to flinch in the glorious fight!

There is a palm—a victor’s palm,—

All unite to defend the right!

’Twill be given in realms of peace and calm

To the steadfast spirit, the stalwart arm,

That never flinched in the glorious fight.

Then shall lips touched with living flame

In song unite, in the world of light;—

In our Leader’s strength, in our Leader’s name,

We fought—we struggled—we overcame,

And victors stood in the glorious fight!

XIII.
HYMN FOR NIGHT.

After labour sweet is rest,

Gently the wearied eyelids close;

As an infant sleeps on his mother’s breast,

The child of God may in peace repose.

Whether we sleep, or whether we wake,

We are His who gave His life for our sake.

He to whom darkness is as light,

Tenderly guards his slumbering sheep;

The Shepherd watches His flock by night,

The feeble lambs He will safely keep.

Whether we sleep, or whether we wake,

We are His who gave His life for our sake.

Death’s night comes,—it may now be near,—

Lord! if our faith be fixed on Thee,

Oh! how calm will that rest appear,

Oh! how sweet will the waking be!

Whether we sleep, or whether we wake,

We are His who gave His life for our sake.

XIV.
SONG OF JOY.

The balmy Spring awakes the flowers

That long had slept in Winter’s night,

Her light green robe adorns the bowers,

And all is beauty, all delight.

With joy I view earth’s smiling frame,

And bless, O Lord, and bless Thy name!

Thou hast vouchsafed me buoyant health,

A cheerful, light, and bounding heart;

Contentment—better far than wealth,

And Hope—that rests when joys depart.

What gratitude such gifts should claim,—

For these, O Lord, I bless thy name!

Surrounded from my earliest days

By those who loved—who love me still,

My grateful heart I humbly raise

To Him, by whose Almighty will

To me earth’s sweetest blessings came;

I praise and magnify His name!

But more than all I thank Thee, Lord,

For sins through Thy dear blood forgiven,

The comforts of Thy precious Word,

And hopes of endless bliss in Heaven;

Bought by Thy suffering and Thy shame,—

For these, O Lord, I bless Thy name!

Lord! should it be Thy sovereign will

To blast my earthly happiness,

Yet give me grace to praise Thee still,

With trembling lips Thy wisdom bless;

Crushed or exalted—still the same,

To bless, with fervour bless Thy name!

Should all life’s pleasures disappear,

Support me with Thy heavenly love,—

And when my course is ended here,

Oh, raise my soul to bliss above,

With saints to magnify Thy fame,

And bless, for ever bless Thy name!

XV.
THE RETROSPECT.

When on Zion’s hill we rest

In the mansions of the blest,

What a strange and fleeting dream

All life’s hopes and fears will seem?

What will all our pleasures here—

Titles—honours—then appear?

Like a bubble on the river,

Bright awhile—then lost for ever!

Things that now employ each thought,

Warmly wished for, fondly sought—

We may smile, and wonder much

Heirs of Heaven could stoop to such!

Will the petty wrongs of earth

Seem one moment’s anger worth;

Or a friend’s depart—the sorrow

Felt by those so soon to follow?

All that time bestowed will be

Lost in bright eternity;

Save the harvest Christian Love

Sowed on earth—to reap above!

XVI.
THE SUPPLICANT.

A helpless sinner in Thy sight,

At mercy’s threshold, Lord, I wait;

Inscribed in characters of light,

Thy promise shines upon the gate.

“Ask—ye shall receive;

Seek—and ye shall find;

Knock—and enter in, but leave

All sins and doubts behind.”

I ask Thy boundless grace to share,

I seek for pardon through Thy blood,

I knock by earnest, fervent prayer,—

Lord, hear and answer me for good!

“Ask—ye shall receive;

Seek—and ye shall find;

Knock—and enter in, but leave

All sins and doubts behind.”

Yes; each mistrustful doubt of Thee,

Each long-indulged, besetting sin,

Repented and renounced must be

By those who dare to venture in.

Then asking—we receive,

And seeking—we shall find,

Till, entering Heaven’s gate, we leave

Earth, sin, and death behind!

XVII.
WEAVER’S HYMN.

How swiftly flies man’s mortal thread

Within the mighty loom of Time;

What brilliant hues on some are shed,

While some are stained with woe or crime!

But they bright webs are weaving,

Who, trusting and believing,

Through scenes of sorrow, scenes of joy,

God’s grace are still receiving.

’Tis thus the Christian we behold

In sickness and in want resigned,

Because religion’s thread of gold

Is in his gloomy lot entwined.

A bright web he is weaving

When, trusting and believing,

He from a loving Father’s hand

Each trial is receiving.

Death soon will break our thread in twain,

Time’s busy loom itself must rest;

Nought but a winding-sheet remain

Of all that mortals here possest.

Then every trial leaving,

No more o’er sorrows grieving,

How blest the Christian, from his Lord

The crown of life receiving!

XVIII.
EMIGRANT’S HYMN.

Father of Heaven, Thy guidance we implore

Where’er Thy providence our steps may send;

With drooping hearts we leave our native shore,

Do Thou be with us always—to the end!

Protect and guard us on the lonely sea,

Though angry storms our flutt’ring canvas rend,

The anchor of our hope is fixed on Thee,

Do Thou be with us always—to the end!

Prepare for us a home beyond the wave,

Where we in honest toil our days may spend,

Till gently sinking to a peaceful grave;

And be Thou with us always—to the end!

Oh! bless the dear ones whom we leave behind!

Though severed now from parent—brother—friend—

In Thee the parted yet may union find,

With them and us be always—to the end!

Nor time nor space can from Thy love divide;

For ever near to bless and to defend,

Our lives—our all—we to Thy care confide,

Be with us always—even to the end!

XIX.
FISHERMEN’S HYMN.

There were fishermen once by the blue Galilee,

Whose lives were as toilsome and hard as our own,

They launched in the morning their boats in the sea,

Their nets in the soft heaving waters were thrown.

A plentiful blessing rewarded their toil,

Though all the night long they had laboured in vain,

Their vessels were filled with the glittering spoil,

And slowly, deep-laden, they moved o’er the main.

’Twas the presence of Christ that a miracle wrought,

The richly filled net was cast forth at His word,

And the draught far surpassing their hopes or their thought,

Was the least of the blessings bestowed by the Lord.

Be with us, O Lord! when we launch forth alone,

Be with us when toiling our bread to obtain,

Though Thy presence no more be by miracles known,

Who labour in faith, will not labour in vain.

But we ask Thee for blessings more precious by far

Than the depths of the earth or the ocean can yield,

Make us feel, like Thy Peter, what sinners we are,

Make us know that, though sinners, our pardon is sealed.

Make us willing to quit all that keep us from Thee,

Like the chosen disciples in ages long past,

Like them, throughout life, Thy true followers be,

And anchor in Heaven’s safe haven at last!

XX.
TEACHER’S HYMN.

“Feed thou My lambs,” the Saviour said

To one whose spirit burned to prove

By toils endured, or life-blood shed,

The strength of his devoted love.

“Feed thou My lambs;” oh! sacred trust

E’en for a great apostle meet,

To raise the feeble from the dust,

And guide them to the Saviour’s feet.

“Feed thou My lambs.” And ever thus

His flock the heavenly Shepherd tends;

His mild command He breathes to us,

And to our care His sheep commends.

“Feed thou My lambs;” despised on earth

The friendless little one may be,

But who can tell the priceless worth

Of one soul, Lord, redeemed by Thee!

May we pursue the blest employ

Endowed with wisdom from above,

And count it privilege and joy

To feed the lambs whom Thou dost love!

XXI.
WORKMAN’S HYMN.

Before the morning’s toil begin,

We thank Thee, Giver of all good,

For needful health and strength to win,

By daily labour, daily food.

The seeing eye, the skilful hand,

The powerful arm, are gifts from Thee;

Thou for our comfort all hast planned,

Used to Thy glory all should be.

When Thou didst come to visit man,

A lowly lot, O Lord, was Thine;

In poverty Thy life began,

Shall we at poverty repine?

Thou who dost all our trials know,

Thou who didst all our sorrows share,

The comforts of Thy grace bestow,

And make us rich in faith and prayer.

Soon will the hours of toil be past,

And calm repose at night be given;

So life’s short day is closing fast,

And sweet will be the rest of Heaven!

XXII.
SEMPSTRESS’S HYMN.

Day after day my weary task I ply,

And half the night to ceaseless toil is given;

When weary is my heart and dim mine eye,

I seem to hear the Saviour’s voice from Heaven:

“Come unto Me, all ye by toil opprest,

Come unto Me, and I will give you rest.”

When all my labour scarce can bread procure,

And weak with want my feeble fingers move;

When dear ones round me hunger’s pangs endure,

My drooping spirit hears that voice of love:

“Come unto Me, all ye by grief opprest,

Come unto Me, and I will give you rest.”

O Lord, how shall I come? my sinful heart

Is prone to murmur, and Thy truth forget;

Dare I approach Thee, holy as Thou art?

Methinks I hear that gentle whisper yet:

“Come unto Me, all ye by sin opprest,

Come unto Me, and I will give you rest.”

Oh, let me patiently await the day

When Christ my Lord in glory shall appear,

When tears shall be for ever wiped away,

And those who trust Him now His voice shall hear:

“Come, faithful servants, of My Father blessed,

And I will give you everlasting rest.”

XXIII.
RAGGED BOY’S HYMN.

I would not take what is not mine, for hoards of wealth untold,—

Far better grasp the red-hot steel, than touch another’s gold;

The love of money, God hath said, of evil is the root,

And if dishonesty thence spring, destruction is the fruit.

I would not take what is not mine, though none were near to see,

Conscience would my accuser stand, and God my judge would be;

The covetous desire, the wicked thought I would control,—

What shall it profit man to gain the world, and lose his soul?

I would not take another’s goods,—the loser might repine,

His loss might heavy seem to him, but small compared to mine;

For oh! more precious far than all the wealth to nobles given,

An honest name, a quiet conscience, and the hope of Heaven!

I would not take what is not mine, but treasure seek above,

Gained without money, without price, from our Redeemer’s love;

Time cannot change it, moth corrupt, nor thieves break through and steal,

And all eternity will but its boundless worth reveal!

XXIV.
RAGGED GIRL’S HYMN.

The Sabbath sun has risen high,

And sweetly sounds the Sabbath bell,

My basket now untouched must lie,

This day I neither buy nor sell.

The Sabbath rest I will not break,

But God’s commands my study make,

And trust the word

Of my dear Lord,

“I will not leave thee, nor forsake.”

But I am poor, with none to aid,

And Satan sore is tempting me,

“If thou give up the Sabbath trade,

The Sabbath meal is not for thee.”

My God, oh, let me never break

The least command that Thou didst make,

But trust the word

Of my dear Lord,

“I will not leave thee, nor forsake.”

When Christ was faint with hunger’s pain,

The Tempter urged God’s blessed Son

In way unmeet relief to gain;

But steadfast stood the Holy One,

His perfect faith no doubt could shake,

The least command He would not break,

He knew the love

Of God above,

Would never leave Him, nor forsake.

Now, high in heaven, He hears and grants

The prayers of those in faith who pray;

My earthly cares, my earthly wants,

O Saviour, at Thy feet I lay:

Supply Thy servant’s need, and make

Her soul of heavenly food partake,

For still, O Lord,

I trust Thy word,

“I’ll never leave thee, nor forsake.”

XXV.
POLICEMAN’S HYMN.

In the silence of night when the stars glimmer o’er me,

The sound of my tread breaks the stillness alone,

I think of the far-distant mansions of glory,

Where angels keep watch round the Holy One’s throne.

Then, when clock after clock tells the hours that are fleeting,

I think how each brings the day near and more near,

When around the dread judgment-seat multitudes meeting,

The last solemn verdict of justice shall hear.

On the right hand will stand Christ’s redeemed ones, possessing

Robes washed in His blood, with His righteousness crowned;

On the left the lost souls that rejected the blessing;

O God, in which number shall I then be found?

Am I resting my hopes on His infinite merit,

Who suffered our pardon and peace to procure;

Am I seeking the aid of His life-giving Spirit

To make my heart penitent, humble, and pure?

Oh! for those who believe there is “no condemnation,”

The Judge shall Himself be their Saviour and Friend,

His voice shall award them eternal salvation,

And bliss, in His presence, which never shall end.

XXVI.
PAUPER’S HYMN.

Far from the friends to me most dear,

Within the crowded ward I lie,

Destined, perhaps, mid strangers here

To suffer and to die.

Time may all other joys remove

Yet leaves he still Faith, Hope, and Love.

Faith to the cross my spirit leads,

And tells of One now glorified,

Who at the Father’s right hand pleads

For those for whom He died.

What trials can too bitter prove

While yet there rest Faith, Hope, and Love?

Hope whispers of that happy place

Where I my Saviour shall behold,

And sing the wonders of His grace

To harp of shining gold.

What sorrows can our patience move

While still remain Faith, Hope, and Love?

Love draws my heart towards my kind,

Makes me in each a brother (or sister) see,

To cheer the sad, to help the blind,

Are joys still left to me.

Bless my companions, heavenly Dove,

Fill them with Faith, and Hope, and Love.

There is no pain or sorrow here,

For those who will God’s lesson learn,

But Faith may brighten, Hope may cheer,

And Love to blessing turn;

Then Peace descending from above

Unites with Faith, and Hope, and Love.

XXVII.
POSTMAN’S HYMN.

In daily rounds my constant course I keep,

Expected oft, but never asked to stay,

Nor know I who may laugh, or who may weep

When gazing at the tidings I convey.

So is there one who comes to rich and poor,

Expected long, unwelcome though he be;

When death’s loud knock is sounding at my door,

What are the tidings he will bring to me?

The haughty man to great possessions heir,

The selfish man, whose treasure is below,

The selfish man all full of worldly care—

To them his message is of fear and woe.

Bold Sabbath-breakers, scoffers at God’s word,

Who rush on paths which conscience must condemn,

When death’s loud knock is at their dwellings heard,

Oh! fearful tidings must he bring to them.

The contrite, mourning o’er repented sin,

The meek in heart, whose treasure is above,

The faithful, who a heavenly crown would win—

To such his message is of peace and love.

He comes to tell them that their griefs are o’er,

That Christ from sin and sorrow sets them free;

Oh! when death’s knock is sounding at my door,

Such blessed tidings may he bring to me!

XXVIII.
SERVANT’S HYMN.

To whom do I obedience owe,

Who should my willing service claim?

One master dwelling here below,

And One above the starry frame.

Oh! may the thought of Him above,

Each Christian servant’s zeal awake,

To serve with faithfulness and love—

For Christ, our heavenly Master’s sake.

The earnest follower of the Lord,

Must by the badge of truth be known,

Integrity that shrinks from fraud,

And needs no eye—save God’s alone

The cheerful heart, the ready mind

That can in labour pleasure take,

To every kindly act inclined,

For Christ, our heavenly Master’s sake.

Though our best service is, we own,

To God “unprofitable” still,

The Lord, to whom the heart is known,

Rewards the attempt to do His will.

Oh! through His mercy may we rise,

When the last trump our sleep shall break,

And find a welcome in the skies,

For Christ, our heavenly Master’s sake!

XXIX.
MINER’S HYMN.

When verdant fields are seen no more,

Where Heaven’s beams can never shine,

Earth’s hidden treasures to explore

We labour in the gloomy mine.

But bright the torches’ yellow rays

That light us on our darksome way,

And sweet the voice of Hope that says,

“We soon shall see the light of day.”

And thus awhile must all mankind

Toil on and labour here below,

Poor sinful mortals, weak and blind,

And subject all to pain and woe.

But brightly shines God’s holy Word

Which lights us on our darksome way,

And sweet the hope its leaves afford,

“We soon shall see a heavenly day.”

The Lord of Angels deigned to come

To bear our punishment and pain,

He made our dark abode His home,

That we might rise, that we might reign.

And those who in His Word delight,

Who trust His love, His will obey,

Shall shine in robes of spotless white

In Heaven’s everlasting day!

XXX.
GARDENER’S HYMN.

Ere our first parents fell, the ground

All beauty and abundance crowned;

But now the soil our labour needs,—

The earth produces thorns and weeds.

And trials on our pathway grow,

The prickly care, the stinging woe,

How oft the wounded spirit bleeds,—

Our life produces thorns and weeds.

But—worse than all—we find within,

The poisoned roots of pride and sin,

From them our misery proceeds,—

The heart produces thorns and weeds.

But, Lord, Thou bidst Thy sunbeams glow,

Thy gentle raindrops fall below;

When industry has dressed the bowers,

The earth produces fruits and flowers.

So when Thy love its radiance lends,

Thy Spirit like the dew descends,

When Faith, and Hope, and Peace are ours,

Our life produces fruits and flowers.

Oh! lead us to that blissful shore,

Where thorns and weeds are known no more,

Where Death can never reach the bowers,

To blast the fruit or blight the flowers!

XXXI.
LABOURER’S HYMN.

I bless Thee, Lord, in early spring,

When first the daisy decks the mead,

And in the furrowed ground we fling,

With hope and prayer, the golden seed.

Let children in life’s spring-time days

Lift up their hearts in prayer and praise!

I bless Thee in the summer heat,

When cattle seek the cooling streams,

And o’er green fields of waving wheat

The sun pours down his ripening beams.

Let man in life’s bright summer days

Lift up his heart in prayer and praise!

I bless Thee in the autumn morn,

When varied tints are on the leaves,

When gaily sounds the hunter’s horn,

Where reapers bind the golden sheaves.

Let man in life’s declining days

Lift up his heart in prayer and praise!

I’ll bless my God in winter’s gloom,

When Nature sleeps beneath the snow;

Oh! grant that when, beneath the tomb,

My body lies in slumber low,

Thou wilt my soul to Heaven raise,

Where all is joy and all is praise!

XXXII.
WIFE’S HYMN.

Help me, Lord Jesus, to fulfil

The duties of a wedded wife,

Obedient to my husband’s will,

The joy and sunshine of his life.

Upon my brow no angry cloud,

Upon my lips no hasty word,

Not one rebellious thought allowed,

His wishes to my own preferred.

Help me to make my husband’s home

The calm abode of peace and love,

Where strife and discord ne’er may come,

A type of that we seek above.

To walk together in Thy sight,

To share each other’s joys and woes,

Together pray at dawn of light,

Together praise at evening’s close;

Each ready, when temptation lowers,

With gentle counsel, kindly aid;

Lord Jesus! let such lot be ours,

Oh, bless the tie which Thou hast made!

United “until death us part,”

Not death the Christian bond can sever;

Who love Thee here with faithful heart,

With Thee shall live, and love for ever!

XXXIII.
HYMN OF INDUSTRY.

Not alone in God’s house, or in seasons of prayer,

Must the power of a Christian’s religion be shown,

At his home, at his counter, and everywhere

Must the strength of his faith by his actions be known;

For the clear path of duty is marked in God’s Word,

“Be not slothful in business, but serving the Lord.”

Not slothful in business! God wills that we toil,

From the claims of our calling permits no retreat,

Though indolence may from the sentence recoil,

“If the hand will not labour, the mouth should not eat;”

Faith to industry must but new motive afford,

“Be not slothful in business, but serving the Lord.”

Yes, serving the Lord; ’mid our toils and our cares

May we never forget the great Master we serve,

Who the mansions of light for His people prepares;

For though man from his Maker can nothing deserve,

God hath graciously promised Himself to reward

Their labours of love who are “serving the Lord.”

To the hand ever prompt in the business of life,

But which never would close over fraudulent gain,

To the heart firm and strong in the world’s busy strife,

Which can holy, and humble, and faithful remain,

God in life and in death will His blessing accord,

“Be not slothful in business, but serving the Lord.”

XXXIV.
SOCIAL HYMN.

How beautiful is Nature’s face!

God made all things so fair,

Each keeps its own allotted place,

Nor hate, nor strife are there.

The hill and the plain,

The grass and forest tree,

The mighty waters of the main,

The lily on the lea,—

The sunny sky is over all,

And all is harmony.

So in the social world we stand

In God’s appointed way,

And some He destines to command,

And others to obey.

The rich and the poor,

The lowly and the great,

The peasant at his cottage door,

The Sovereign in her state,—

One holy tie uniteth all

Who on one Master wait.

How glorious is the mountain height,

Whence kindly streamlets flow

To bless the peaceful valleys, bright

With bending corn below!

The fair mountain-crown

Shall envy assail,

Or pride trample down

The harvest of the vale?—

The unity in Nature’s world

In Man’s world should prevail.

Oh! let not Satan overthrow

The order God designed;

The seeds of bitter envy sow,

And pride, among mankind.

Let rich love the poor,

The humble bless the great,

The servant guard the master’s store,

The monarch serve the state,—

Each—in his separate sphere—to God

His talents consecrate.

XXXV.
NATIONAL HYMN.

O God of Hosts, our fathers’ God,

Thy blessing on our country shed,

Watch o’er the land our sires have trod,

Watch o’er the land our sons will tread.

We pray for our Jerusalem,

Keep discord from her homes afar,

Let thy strong arm deliver them

From famine, pestilence, and war.

Though Britain spurns th’ invader’s sword

As her white cliffs repulse the tide,

We would our grateful hearts, O Lord!

Lift up in praise, and not in pride.

The race is not unto the swift,

Nor is the battle to the strong;

Success and safety are Thy gift,

The glory must to Thee belong.

Let our dear land in safety rest,

Her people happy, loyal, free,

Blest amongst nations—still most blest

In that pure faith which leads to Thee!

XXXVI.
SOLDIER’S HYMN.

Holy warfare, Lord, is mine

Against a foe I cannot see,—

Oh! aid me with Thy grace divine,

Thy faithful soldier let me be.

Thy armour—faith and righteousness,

Thy holy Word within my hand,

When fierce temptations round me press

Let me thy faithful soldier stand.

Should false shame lure me to deny

The truth, or waver in the right,

Let me the insidious foe defy,

And as Thy faithful soldier fight.

And oh! when death’s keen shafts descend,

And failing pulse, and glazing eye,

Warn that the conflict soon must end,

Thy faithful soldier let me die!

Washed in Thy blood, let me appear

Where crowns are to the conquerors given,—

Through Christ alone we triumph here,

Or wear the victor’s wreath in Heaven!

XXXVII.
THE WISE MEN FROM THE EAST.

“Where is thy new-born Lord, O Judah? Zion—where thy King?

The treasures of our distant land to Him we tribute bring;

Lo! in the East we saw His star, the day-spring from on high,

And we have come to worship Him enthroned in majesty!”

Thus spake the Eastern sages, thus the pious Gentiles spake,

But Judah would not know her Lord, His people would not wake;

The earth’s Creator was on earth, unnoticed or forgot,

The Saviour came unto His own, His own received Him not.

The Gentile world that lay in darkness, they have seen the light,

Wherefore doth Zion turn away on whom it rose so bright!

Oh! thou that bearest joyful tidings, why so mute art thou?

Lift up thy voice, Jerusalem, behold thy Saviour now!

Oh! joy to those who seek Messiah while He may be found;

Again the heavenly harbinger sheds its soft lustre round,

Not on proud tower or stately palace streams the radiance mild,

But where the carpenter’s meek wife bends o’er her blessed Child.

Hail, Mary, highly-favoured, hail! God’s power o’ershadoweth thee,

Blessed amongst all women thou in thy humility!

Yea, rather blessed they who seek Christ’s precepts to fulfil,—

His mother, brethren, sisters, they who know and do His will.

The sages to the infant Saviour bring their offerings meet,

Rich odours fill the perfumed air, gold glitters at His feet;

Oh! happy thus His poverty’s sharp trial to defer,

To minister to Him who came to all to minister!

May we not deem when He in glory comes, th’ eternal Lord

Will all those offerings of faith remember and reward,—

That richer than the wealth of worlds that hallowed gold will be,

Those sacred odours fragrance breathe through all eternity?

But now the Saviour sits enthroned above the Seraphim;

When all creation owns his sway, and angels worship Him,

Can our poor gifts acceptance find before His glorious throne?

The earth is His and all therein, not e’en our lives our own.

Lo! here the “Man of sorrows” representatives hath left,

The sick, the prisoners, the poor, of all but hope bereft;

Aid to “the least of these His brethren” to the Lord is given,

Off’rings of love to those He loves, He will accept in Heaven.

But still the noblest gift that man can lay before God’s throne

Is the rich tribute of a heart that trusts in Him alone;

The poorest—least—this gift may bring, but oh! it will outweigh

The treasures of the universe upon the judgment-day!

XXXVIII.
SONG OF HOPE.

How highly blest were those who saw

On earth their gracious Lord,

Who dared approach His sacred form,

Who listened to His word,

Whose faith the Son of God approved,—

Whom the Redeemer saw, and loved!

Disciples hearkening to the voice

Which reached the inmost soul,

That voice which could awake the dead,

The winds and waves control;

Who heard—oh! more than happiness—

Those accents pardon, praise, or bless!

Who gazed on that soul-searching eye,

Which every thought foresaw,

From whose calm power the hypocrite

Shrank with instinctive awe,—

Yet saw on them its glances fixed

With tender mercy—love unmixed!

And may not such ecstatic bliss

Be granted e’en to me?

Though death destroy this mortal flesh,

These eyes my God shall see,

When coming in the clouds of light

His glory bursts upon my sight!

To hear the Saviour’s voice of love

Pronounce the gracious word,

“Come, blessed of My Father, come,

Enter the kingdom of your Lord;”

To meet the smile in eyes divine—

Oh! can such rapture e’er be mine!

It may, it may, it is prepared

For all who love Him here,

Who humbly search His written word,

And serve with faith and fear;

They all shall see Messiah’s face

Radiant with glory, love, and grace!

The hand that guides their course on earth

Shall wipe all tears away,

The light which cheers their thorny path

Shall flash to perfect day;

Where Jesus reigns His saints shall be,

With Him through all eternity!

XXXIX.
THE FEARFUL HEART.

“Lord, carest Thou not that we perish!”

Cried his followers in agonized fear,

When the black stormy sky,

And the waves dashing high,

Made death with its terrors seem near.

The Saviour awoke from His slumber—

He spake, and rebuked the rude main;

Though the wild cry for aid

Feeble faith had betrayed,

E’en that cry was not uttered in vain.

“Lord, careth Thou not that we perish!”

This oft is the cry of despair,

When affliction’s waves roll,

And the agonized soul

Scarce can breathe forth her anguish in prayer.

Yet the Saviour is watching beside us,

His eye cannot slumber or sleep,

The bark which he guides

Where His Presence abides

Can never be wrecked on the deep.

Oh! how soon would our inward griefs vanish,

Our souls fear no perils without,

Could we hear His mild love

Thus our terrors reprove,

“Ye of little faith, why did ye doubt?”

XL.
CONVICTION OF SIN.

When Peter by the miracle

Knew his celestial guest,

At the Redeemer’s feet he fell

By sense of guilt opprest;

“Depart!” he cried, subdued and awed,

“I am a sinful man, O Lord!”

So must the wisest, holiest, best,

Their past transgressions own,

And on the Saviour’s mercy rest

Their hopes of heaven alone;

To all applies the suppliant word,

“Have mercy on a sinner, Lord!”

Can vain thoughts, covetous desires,

And proud presumptuous hearts,

Endure the pure eye that requires

Truth in the inward parts?

Self-righteousness, deluding sin,

Would shrink if light but streamed within.

Nor deem we good deeds can atone

For one—the smallest—sin;

That virtues, in the balance thrown,

May God’s acceptance win,—

On tainted works man dare not rest,

“Unprofitable” at the best.

Ne’er be the impious hope allowed;

No more let mortals aim

From God, or from themselves, to shroud

Their helplessness and shame,

But at Thy feet, Lord Jesus, fall,

Like Peter, and confess it all!

The spotted leprosy of guilt

Within we must have seen,

Ere we in faith cry, “If Thou wilt,

Lord! Thou canst make me clean!”

Oh! let us first our frailty see

Then find our cure, our all in Thee!

XLI.
THE SACRED GUEST.

When from the branches’ leafy screen

Zaccheus on his Master gazed,

What must his glad surprise have been

When the Lord’s eye to him was raised!

Christ singled out that one frail man

From all the throng that round Him pressed,

And to the slighted publican

These gracious words the Lord addressed.

“Make haste, descend, this day will I

With thee abide.” Zaccheus heard,

Received his Master joyfully,

And reaped the blessing of that word:

“This day salvation to this home

Is come,” thus Christ the blessing gave;

“For lo! the Son of man is come

That which was lost to seek and save!”

Mortal, on earth though low-esteemed,

Thou, like the publican, mayst be;

The eye that on Zaccheus beamed

May now be, is now fixed on thee.

From Him retirement is no screen,

Thy insignificance no shroud;

And still all cold as thou hast been

To thee the Saviour speaks aloud.

“Lo! at the door I stand and knock,

If any open unto Me,

The portals of his heart unlock,

I, even I, his Guest will be.”

Oh! can that sacred Guest in vain

Crave entrance to a sinner’s heart;

Can pride itself unmoved remain,

Or madness pray Him to depart?

No; sure with grateful joy alone

Thou wilt thy Lord and Saviour meet,

Within thy heart prepare His throne,

And pour thy treasures at His feet!

For think not Christ thy Guest can be

Unless thy works His presence prove,

As in Zaccheus, God in thee

See acts of justice, deeds of love.

Pure is the heart if God be there,

That shrine no second lord receives;

Christ suffers not His “house of prayer”

To be the shameful “den of thieves.”

Far from the temple that He loves

He drives base passions, selfish care,

With His own blood each stain removes,

Then comes and dwells for ever there!

XLII.
THE MOURNER.

Forth from the city gate of Nain

Slow wends the funeral array,

And friends by love or pity led

Swell the procession on its way.

There from one closely shrouded form

The deep low sobs convulsive burst—

The widow mourns her only son,

And grief for her has done its worst.

The Saviour meets the sorrowing one,

And they that bear the bier stand still,

The voice of grief is hushed in awe,

And all in silence wait His will.

The “Man of Sorrows” sees her woe,

He who knew grief, for grief can feel;

Weep not, thou mourner, Christ is near,

As Man to pity, God to heal.

He speaks the word, and death obeys:

Is it the breeze that stirs the shroud?

The stiffened limbs relax, they move

With new and wondrous life endowed.

Life dawns upon the ashen cheek,

Through each cold vein life’s currents run,

The dead man rises from his bier—

The widow clasps her living son!

Oh! ye bereaved ones, whose sad tears

Some loved and lifeless form bedew,

The Eye that saw and pitied her

Looks in compassion down on you;

Although no miracle at once

Your loved one to your arms restore,

That voice which waked the widow’s son

Shall bid him live, to die no more.

XLIII.
THE CHRISTIAN BOND.

When in our breasts we feel the flame of love,

Kindled by heaven, becoming dim and low,

When cold our feelings are to God above,

Unsympathizing to His poor below,

When kindness seems a task, and words impatient flow;

How shall we cherish love’s declining light?

By drawing forth from memory’s treasure-cave

The recollection of that mournful night

When Jesus to the flock He died to save

Gave His last mild commands, His parting blessing gave.

Muse on the solemn scene, till faith have power

The inspired narrative to realize;

And round the board at evening’s silent hour

The chosen twelve appear, their anxious eyes

Fixed on the Lamb of God, the spotless Sacrifice.

Lo! on the bread His sacred hand he lays,

That hand so soon transfixed for them to be;

See the Redeemer’s sad uplifted gaze,

And hear the accents breathing mournfully,

“This do ye in remembrance still of Me!”

Nor this the sole command by Christ then given

To His disciples, loved unto the last,

At that sad meeting, when the Lord of Heaven

Beheld death’s awful hour approaching fast,

The cross—the anguish which all mortal woe surpassed;

When He surveyed His small devoted band,

And all that He for them would suffer knew,

The Saviour breathed that heavenly command,

That bond of union to His faithful few,

“Love one another e’en as I have loved you.”

As I have loved you. Oh! more than love,—

Language can breathe, and thought conceive no more;

It is not “as thyself”—this mounts above

All human feeling, bids us higher soar,

Gaze on the cross, and feel the love a Saviour bore!

And can we ever rudely tear aside

The band Messiah twined around His own?

Envy, resentment, petulance, or pride,

Erase the mark by which His flock are known?

Hath Christ ne’er loved us, to us no mercy shown?

XLIV.
THE CURE AT GETHSEMANE.

The awful night hath passed, the day

Soon o’er the mountains will be breaking,

And from their sleep of sorrow now

The Saviour’s followers are waking;

The Lord hath risen from His knees,

His soul resigned on God relies,

The cup of vengeance now is full,

The Victim waits the sacrifice.

Hark! hark! what sounds the stillness break,—

The clouds of danger darken o’er Him,

The traitor bands surround their Lord,

And His betrayer stands before Him.

Then love bursts through the bonds of fear—

Forth from the scabbard leaps the sword,

The apostle strikes the hasty blow

To save—or to avenge his Lord!

Oh! many a miracle of love

The Lord had wrought for souls believing,

Now stilling storms, now by His power

The wants of multitudes relieving;

But the last miracle of Christ,

Ere to His fearful trial brought,

Was wrought when captive and betrayed—

And for His persecutor wrought.

He touched the wound—and it was healed;

Oh! deed, unmeasured love revealing;

Ere it was nailed upon the cross

That gracious hand’s last touch was healing!

And when the lighter wrongs we bear

Rouse in our hearts vindictive fire,

Shall not remembrance of that deed

Thrill on our souls, and calm our ire?

Sweet are the thoughts that wondrous cure

Wrought at Gethsemane may yield us;

We, too, were rebels to our King,

And He, though rebels, touched and healed us.

Let us to all men mercy show,

As we through only mercy live;

Rejoice, like Christ, the poor to bless,

Like Christ, the guilty to forgive!

XLV.
HYMN FOR THE COMMUNION.

At the foot of the Cross where my Saviour is bleeding,

By faith let me now with His followers bend;

Let me hear for my pardon His voice interceding,

And see, for my sins, these dear life-drops descend.

As when His fierce murderers mocked and defied Him,

The Maries still clung to their Master adored,

Nor for thrones would have quitted their station beside Him,

Their long mournful watch by their crucified Lord;

So, unmoved by the scoffs of the foe and blasphemer,

I would muse upon all that my Saviour hath borne;

Permitted to watch by the dying Redeemer,

And gaze on that pale brow encircled with thorn.

Oh! let such remembrance be present before me

When called on the feast of His love to partake,

Let my spirit commune with her Lord now in glory,

And trembling behold what He bore for our sake!

XLVI.
HYMN FOR THE DYING.

The day of life is closing,

Its last faint beam has fled;

Yet faith, on Christ reposing,

Can Death’s cold waters tread;

The dark sea spreads before me,

Upon the brink I stand;

Oh, guide me, Lord of Glory,

To Heaven’s blissful strand!

To Thee, Lord, I flee,

My trust is in Thee;

“O death, where is thy sting? O grave, thy victory?”

No longer here detain me,

I hear my Saviour’s voice,

I feel His arm sustain me,

I triumph and rejoice!

The Lord will bless for ever

Those who His love have known,

Nor life, nor death shall sever

The Saviour from His own!

Victorious and free

His people shall be;

“O death, where is thy sting? O grave, thy victory?”

XLVIL
DEATH IS NOT DREADFUL.

Death is not dreadful, no!

Though sad affection weeps,

The grave is but the cradle where

The future seraph sleeps,

And smiling Faith her watch above

The peaceful slumberer keeps.

Death is not dreadful, no!

’Twere terrible to die,

E’en to the best, if called to stand

Before the Deity

Bare in their guilt,—without a friend

To meet the Judge’s eye.

But oh! the weakest saint

May fearless pass the flood,

His robe shall shine as white as light

Washed in his Saviour’s blood;

The Judge Himself shall plead his cause,

Who as his Surety stood.

Death is not dreadful, no!

It bids us reap at last

The joyful harvest of our tears,

Our toils and trials past;

It gives us our inheritance,

How glorious and how vast!

Death is not dreadful, no!

It is the Saviour’s voice

Calling His lambs unto the fold;

They hear it, and rejoice:

In life or death “to be with Christ”

This is His servants’ choice.

So, when the long night comes,

In peace they close their eyes,

Humbly confiding in His care

Whose love all change defies,—

Bowing to His Almighty will,

All-merciful, All-wise.

Then welcome be the night

Preceding endless day,

Thrice blessed the Gospel’s glorious light,

That chased its gloom away,

And showed us life beyond the tomb

In Christ, the sinner’s Stay.

XLVIII.
NEVER FORSAKEN.

Why dread the future, trembling one,

Since whatsoe’er the griefs it bring,

A Father’s voice pronounced the fate

It bears upon its rapid wing?

Canst thou not trust thy earthly hopes

To Him in whom thy soul confides;

Nor cast thy cares upon thy Lord

When angels whisper “God provides.”

“Why for the morrow take ye thought?”

The God of truth and mercy said;

His gracious arm supports thee now,

His sheltering wing is o’er thee spread;

He ne’er forgets His human pangs—

The stricken soul, the tortured limb—

Nor gives a moment’s needless pain

To those who love and trust in Him!

What dost thou fear, what dost thou dread?

The rushing wind—the billow’s roar?

The gale, though rude, by love is sent

To speed thy course to Heaven’s shore.

More fatal were a death-like calm;

The stormy voyage not long can last,

The Saviour’s welcome overpays

A thousand-fold the perils past.

Fear not,—what should God’s children fear?

The dreaded clouds may roll away;

Unnumbered mercies oft received

Should strengthen faith to trust to-day.

Enough—without the Lord’s consent

None from thy head one hair can sever;

Enough—thou art the Almighty’s care;

Afflicted, but forsaken never!

XLIX.
THY FATHER’S FRIEND.

Forsake not thou thy father’s friend,

Forsake not thou thine own;

Though care and grief his form may bow,

And frosts of age be on his brow,

And like a leafless willow now

He stand on earth alone.

Forsake not thou thy father’s friend,

Revere the hoary head;

Thou may’st have little to bestow

To lessen want, or lighten woe,

But who does not the solace know

Which kindly words can shed!

Forsake not thou thy father’s friend;

So when thy strength is o’er,

May’st thou ne’er want a friend in need,

Thy age to cheer, thy footsteps lead,

But he who is a “Friend indeed”

Be thine for evermore!

L.
FEAR OF GOD AND FEAR OF MAN.

The fear of God most high—

It is a holy fear;

It makes us pass through life as those

Who know their Lord is near.

The fear of sinful man—

’Tis a debasing fear,

Shame will be theirs who dare not brave

A censure or a sneer.

It was the fear of God

By which the Hebrews three

Undaunted met the tyrant’s frown—

Unmoved the flames could see.

It was the fear of man

Weak Pilate’s breast within,

That stained his hands with guiltless blood,

His soul with blackest sin.

No courage is like that

Which steadfast faith bestows;

With God our Friend, we would be safe

Were all the world our foes!

Faith but the duty sees

Where doubt would danger scan;

’Tis through the fear of God alone

We crush the fear of man.

LI.
THE SINNERS’ PORTION.

Who Wisdom’s path forsakes

Leaves all true joy behind;

He who the peace of others breaks,

No peace himself shall find.

Flowers above and thorns below,

Little pleasure, lasting woe,

Such is the fate that sinners know.

The drunkard gaily sings

Above his foaming glass,

But shame and pain the revel brings

Ere many hours can pass.

Flowers above and thorns below,

Little pleasure, lasting woe,

Such is the fate that sinners know.

The thief may count his gains;—

If he the sum could see

Of future punishment and pains,

Sad would his reckoning be.

Flowers above and thorns below,

Little pleasure, lasting woe,

Such is the fate that sinners know.

The Sabbath-breaker spurns

What Wisdom did ordain;

God’s rest to Satan’s use he turns,

A blessing to a bane.

Flowers above and thorns below,

Little pleasure, lasting woe,

Such is the fate that sinners know.

O Lord, to Thee we pray,

Do Thou our faith increase,

Make us to walk in Wisdom’s way,

The only way of peace!

For flowers above and thorns below,

Little pleasure, lasting woe,

Such is the fate that sinners know.

LII.
DEATH-BED HYMN.

Standing upon the awful brink,

Almost too faint to pray or think,

Thou who canst pain and fear control,

My God, have mercy on my soul!

A chilling gloom I feel within,

A trembling consciousness of sin;

I cannot to my mind recall

What sins—but Thou hast marked them all.

Oh, let my soul some promise hear

From Thy blest Word to calm her fear;

Oh, bid this doubt, this anguish cease—

My Saviour say, “Depart in peace!”

Thou know’st I loved Thee,—weak might be

My faith—but it was fixed on Thee;

Thou didst a gracious promise make—

Oh, save me for Thy mercy’s sake!

Methinks I hear my Lord reply:

“Fear not, for I am ever nigh;

In life—in death—beyond the grave—

My arm shall guide, support, and save.

“Thy ransom hath been paid by love,

Thy mansion is prepared above;

No power of death, or hell, or sin,

From Me one pardoned soul shall win!”

LIII.
SAVE ONE!

Souls are perishing before thee,

Save—save one!

It may be thy crown of glory,

Save—save one!

From the waves that would devour,

From the raging lion’s power,

From destruction’s fiery shower,

Save—save one!

Not in thine own strength confiding,

Save—save one;

Faith and prayer thy efforts guiding,

Save—save one!

None can e’er, unless possessing

Heavenly aid and heavenly blessing,

To the work of mercy pressing,

Save e’en one.

Who the worth of souls can measure?

Save—save one!

Who can count the priceless treasure?

Save—save one!

Like the stars shall shine, for ever

They who faithfully endeavour

Dying sinners to deliver,

Save—save one!

LIV.
NEW YEAR’S HYMN,
WRITTEN AT THE TIME OF THE INDIAN MUTINY, 1857.

In the year that hath passed o’er us,

Many suffered woe and pain;

Time can ne’er the brave restore us,

Far in distant India slain.

Praying, praising,

Saints have joined the martyr-train.

But another year is dawning,

We are spared its light to see;

May each blessing, may each warning,

Draw us nearer, Lord, to Thee—

Like Thy martyrs

Faithful unto death to be!

May Thy Word, salvation bringing,

Shine where darkness now appears;

Plenteous be the harvest springing,

That was sown in blood and tears;—

Light from darkness,

Joy from sorrow, hope from fears!

Blessed hope now set before us,

Satan’s slaves shall burst their thrall,

All the nations join the chorus

To the Lord who died for all;—

Ransomed millions

At the Saviour’s feet shall fall!