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Seite 206 - Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own, Paul should himself direct me. I would trace His master-strokes, and draw from his design. I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain, And plain in manner ; decent, solemn, chaste, And natural in gesture ; much impressed Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds May feel it, too ; affectionate in look And tender in address,...
Seite 321 - Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — Ah, that maternal smile ! It answers — Yes. I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu l But was it such ? — It was.
Seite 321 - But was it such? — It was. — Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more!
Seite 33 - The hand that gave it, still supplies The gracious light and heat ; His truths upon the nations rise, They rise, but never set. 4 Let everlasting thanks be thine, For such a bright display, As makes a world of darkness shine With beams of heavenly day.
Seite 38 - It can bring with it nothing But he will bear us through : Who gives the lilies clothing Will clothe his people too : Beneath the spreading heavens No creature but is fed ; And he who feeds the ravens Will give his children bread.
Seite 307 - His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, With caution and good heed. But finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which galled him in his seat. X So, Fair and softly...
Seite 28 - Dear dying Lamb ! Thy precious blood Shall never lose its power, Till all the ransomed church of God Be saved, to sin no more.
Seite 34 - His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour ; The bud may have a bitter taste, But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief is sure to err,* And scan his work in vain : God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain.
Seite 34 - Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.