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Let the healing streams abound,
Make and keep me pure within. Thou of life the fountain art;
Freely let me take of Thee ; Spring Thou up within my heart ; Rise to all eternity.
LOST BUT FOUND.
I WAS a wandering sheep,
I would not be controlled.
I did not love my home,
I loved afar to roam.
The Shepherd sought his sheep,
The Father sought his child,
O’er deserts waste and wild.
Famished, and faint, and lone ; They bound me with the bands of love,
They saved the wandering one.
They spoke in tender love,
They raised my drooping head;
My fainting soul they fed.
They made me clean and fair ;
The long-sought wanderer !
Jesus my Shepherd is,
'T was He that loved my soul, ’T was He that washed me in his blood,
’T was He that made me whole. ’T was He that sought the lost,
That found the wandering sheep, 'T was He that brought me to the fold,
'Tis He that still doth keep.
I was a wandering sheep,
I would not be controlled :
I love, I love the fold !
I once preferred to roam :
H. Bonar. 1860. THOU art the Way ; and he who fighs,
1 Amid this starless waste of woe, To find a pathway to the skies,
A light from heaven's eternal glow,
Through which the saints undoubting trod, Till faith discovers, like the dove,
An ark, a resting-place in God.
Thou art the Truth, whose steady day
Shines on through earthly blight and bloom; The pure, the everlasting Ray,
The Lamp that shines e’en in the tomb ;
And guideth those that blindly go ;
Its lustre upon all below.
THE HOLY SPIRIT.
COME, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove,
With all thy quickening powers, Kindle a flame of sacred love
In these cold hearts of ours.
In vain we tune our formal songs,
In vain we strive to rise ; Hosannas languish on our tongues,
And our devotion dies.
Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove,
With all thy quickening powers; Come, shed abroad a Saviour's love, And that shall kindle ours.
Isaac Watts. 1674 - 1748. COME, MIGHTY SPIRIT.
COME, mighty Spirit, penetrate
This heart and soul of mine ; And my whole being with thy grace
Pervade, O Life divine !
As this clear air surrounds the earth,
Thy grace around me roll;
So pierce and fill my soul.
As from these clouds drops down in love
The precious summer rain,
That freshens all again.
As these fair powers exhale their scent
In gladness at our feet,
More heavenly and more sweet.
Thus life within our lifeless hearts
Shall make its glad abode ;
H. Bonar. 1860.