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C. M.


Ps. 6.

1 O HEAL me, Lord, for I am weak;

My bones are vexed with pain ;
Let not thy hot displeasure speak;

Thy burning wrath restrain.
My soul what sore vexations try!

How long shall they assail ?
Return, and listen to my cry;

Let mercy, Lord, prevail. 2 Of thee no memory remains

In death's relentless cave;
To thee ascend no grateful strains

Of glory from the grave:
With ceaseless pain I groan and weep,

So cruel are my foes;
My very couch in tears I steep,

My bed with grief o'erflows. 3 Depart from me, all who rejoice

Iniquity to share;
The Lord hath heard my moaning voice,

And listened to my prayer;
What though my foes despise the Lord,

And my destruction plot ?
Vexation shall be their reward,

And sudden shame their lot.



C. M.

TATE & BRADY. The Soul thirsting for God. Ps. 42. 1 AS pants the hart for cooling streams,

When heated in the chase,
So longs my soul, O God, for thee,

And thy refreshing grace.
2 For thee, my God, the living God,

My thirsty soul doth pine;
O, when shall I behold thy face,

Thou majesty divine?
3 I sigh, whene'er my musing thoughts

Those happy days present,
When I, with troops of pious friends,

Thy temple did frequent; —
4 When I advanced with songs of praise,

My solemn vows to pay,
And led the joyful, sacred throng,

That kept the festal day.
5 One trouble calls another on,

And, bursting o'er my head,
Falls spouting down, till round my soul

A roaring sea is spread.
6 But when thy presence, Lord of life,

Has once dispelled this storm,
To thee I'll midnight anthems sing,

And all my vows perform. 7 Why restless, why cast down, my soul ?

Hope still; and thou shalt sing
The praise of him who is thy God,

Thy health's eternal Spring.

7s M. 6L.

The Soul panting for God. Ps. 42.
1 AS the hart, with eager looks,

Panteth for the water-brooks,
So my soul, athirst for thee,
Pants the living God to see ;
When, 0, when, with filial fear,

Lord, shall I to thee draw near ?
2 Why art thou cast down, my soul ?

God, thy God, shall make thee whole;
Why art thou disquieted ?
God shall lift thy fallen head,
And his countenance benign
Be the saving health of thine.

S. M.

FURNESS. « As the Hart panteth after the Water-brooks, so panteth my Soul

after thee, O God." Ps. 42.
1 HERE is a world of doubt,

A sorrowful abode;
O, how my heart and flesh cry out

For thee, the living God!.
2 As for the water-brooks

The hart, expiring, pants,
So for my God my spirit looks,

Yea, for his presence faints.
3 I know thy joys, 0 earth,

The sweetness of thy cup;
Oft have I mingled in thy mirtel,
And trusted in thy hope.

4 But, ah, how woes and fears

Those hollow joys succeed !
That cup of mirth is mixed with tears,

That hope is but a reed. 5 What have I then below,

Or what but thee on high?
Thee, thee, O Father, would I know,

And in thee live and die !



C. M.

Walking with God.
1 O FOR a closer walk with God,

A calm and heavenly frame,
A light to shine upon the road

That leads me to the Lamb !

2 Where is the blessedness I knew

When first I saw the Lord ?
Where is the soul-refreshing view

Of Jesus and his word ?

3 What peaceful hours I once enjoyed !

How sweet their memory still !
But they have left an aching void

The world can never fill.

4 Return, O holy Dove, return,

Sweet messenger of rest!
I hate the sins that made thee mourn,

And drove thee from my breast.


S. M.

WATTS. Looking upward. 1 THE heavens invite mine eye;

The stars salute me round;
Father, I blush, I mourn, to lie

Thus groveling on the ground. 2 My warmer spirits move,

And make attempts to fly;
I wish aloud for wings of love

To raise me swift and high, 3 Beyond those crystal vaults,

And all their sparkling balls; They're but the porches to thy courts,

And paintings on thy walls. 4 Vain world, farewell to you;

Heaven is my native air;
I bid my friends a short adieu,

Impatient to be there.

L. M.

Watts. A Sight of God mortifies us to the World. 1 UP to the fields where angels lie,

And living waters gently roll, Fain would my thoughts leap out and fly,

But sin hangs heavy on my soul. 2 Had I a glance of thee, my God,

Kingdoms and men would vanish soon, Vanish as though I saw them not, As a dim candle dies at noon.

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