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A. Ewing, 1830-95

To Thee, O dear, dear Savior! My spirit turns for rest,

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2 This earth is but a vale of tears, Where grief on every side appears; Sad hours of conflict, toil, and woe Here ebb and flow,

Till we are summoned hence to go.

3 Today with joy our hearts beat high; Tomorrow in the grave we lie: Though as the rose we bloom today, We soon decay,

And sorrow everywhere hath sway.

4 Lord, may we meditate aright

How soon we all must fade from sight,

How swiftly from the earth we fly, All born to die,

Rich, poor, wise, simple, low and high.

5 Few are our days and sad below, Our daily bread is toil and woe:

But God in His good time will send A peaceful end:

Death from a foe is made a friend.

6 And though our sins against us rise,
To heaven we lift our trusting eyes;
For God is merciful, and gave,
Our souls to save,

His Son belovéd to the grave.

7 This thought in every pain and grief Brings comfort, sweet and full relief, That we shall rise when Christ apNo more in tears, [pears, As now, in these our pilgrim years. 8 O Jesus Christ, the Son of God, Who hast redeemed us with Thy blood,

Thy precious wounds our refuge be: For rest we flee,

O Lord, our only hope, to Thee.

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We sing the praise of Him who died, Of Him who died up-on the cross;

The sin-ner's hope let men de-ride, For this we count the world but loss.

2 Inscribed upon the cross we see
In shining letters, God is love;
He bears our sins upon the tree,
He brings us mercy from above.

3 The cross, it takes our guilt away,
It holds the fainting spirit up,
It cheers with hope the gloomy day,
And sweetens every bitter cup.

4 It makes the coward spirit brave,
And nerves the feeble arm for fight,
It takes the terror from the grave,
And gilds the bed of death with light.

5 The balm of life, the cure of woe,
The measure and the pledge of love,
The sinner's refuge here below,
The angels' theme in heaven above.
T. Kelly, 1815

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2 So vile I am, how dare I hope to stand

In the pure glory of that holy land?
Before the whiteness of that throne appear?

Yet there are hands stretched out to draw me near.

3 The while I fain would tread the heavenly way,
Evil is ever with me day by day;

Yet on mine ears the gracious tidings fall,
"Repent, confess, thou shalt be loosed from all."

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