PRAYER. L ORD, teach us how to pray aright, With reverence and with fear: Though duft and afhes in Thy fight, We may, we muft, draw near. Burdened with guilt, convinced of fin, God of all grace, we come to Thee Give deep humility; the sense A ftrong, defiring confidence, To hear Thy voice and live; - Patience, to watch, and wait, and weep, Though mercy long delay; Courage our fainting souls to keep, And truft Thee, though Thou flay. Give these, and then Thy will be done; Shall pray, and pray aright. James Montgomery. 1803-1853. IF THE LORD'S PRAYER. F any be distreffed, and fain would gather Our Father. For we of hope and help are quite bereaven Who art in Heaven. Thou fhoweft mercy, therefore for the same Hallowed be Thy name. Of all our miseries caft up the sum; Show us Thy joys, and let Thy kingdom come. We mortal are, and alter from our birth; Thou conftant art, Thy will be done on earth. Thou madeft the earth as well as planets seven. As 't is in Heaven. Nothing we have to use or debts to pay, Except Thou give it us. Give us this day Wherewith to clothe us, wherewith to be fed, Our daily bread. We want, but we want no faults, for no day paffes But we do fin, Forgive us our trespaffes. No man from finning ever free did live; As we forgive. If we repent our faults, Thou ne'er disdaineft us; We pardon them That trespass against us; Forgive us that is past, a new path tread us; And lead us — We, Thine own people and Thy chosen nation - Not into temptation. Thou that of all good graces art the giver, But deliver Us from the fierce affaults of world and devil And flesh, so fhalt Thou free us From all evil. To these petitions let both church and laymen, Amen. COME, let us pray: 't is sweet to feel COM That, while we at his footftool kneel, Though sorrows cloud life's dreary way, Come, let us pray: the burning brow, Our God will chase our griefs away; Come, let us pray: the mercy-seat The contrite spirit there: O loiter not, nor longer stay From Him who loves us; - let us pray. THE HOUR OF PRAYER. Y God! is any hour so sweet, MY From blush of morn to evening star, As that which calls me to Thy feet, The hour of prayer? Bleft is the tranquil hour of morn, Then is my ftrength by Thee renewed No words can tell what sweet relief Hushed is each doubt, gone every fear; My spirit seems in heaven to stay; And e'en the penitential tear Is wiped away. Charlotte Elliott. |