CCCXLI. Hear, gracious God! my humble moan ;` When will the mournful night be gone, My God! Oh! could I make the claim, And call Thee mine, by every name By every name of power and love Nor should my humble hopes remove, Yet, though my soul in darkness mourns, Here I would rest till light returns, Speak, Lord, and bid celestial peace O smile, and bid my sorrows cease, Then shall my drooping spirit rise, And change these deep complaining sighs For songs of sacred praise! Anne Steele. 1760. CCCXLII. And shall I sit alone, Oppress'd with grief and fear, If He my Father be, His pity He will show, From cruel bondage set me free, And inward peace bestow. If still He silence keep, He knows and feels, whene'er I weep, Then will I humbly wait, Nor once indulge despair; My sins are great, but not so great As His compassions are. Benjamin Beddome. [1818.] CCCXLIII. O that my load of sin were gone! O that I could at last submit At Jesus' feet to lay it down, To lay my soul at Jesus' feet! When shall mine eyes behold the Lamb, Rest for my soul I long to find; Fain would I learn of Thee, my God, This moment would I take it up, Come, Lord, the drooping sinner cheer, CCCXLIV. Come, let us to the Lord our God His voice commands the tempest forth, And stills the stormy wave; And, though His arm be strong to smite, 'Tis also strong to save. Long hath the night of sorrow reign'd; God shall appear, and we shall rise Our hearts, if God we seek to know, As dew upon the tender herb, As showers that usher in the spring, So shall His Presence bless our souls, That hallow'd morn shall chase away The sorrows of the night. III. John Morrison. 1770. FAITH. "Looking unto Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our Faith."-(HEB. xii. 2.) CCCXLV. Come, O thou Traveller unknown, My company before is gone, And I am left alone with Thee; I need not tell Thee who I am, Thyself hast call'd me by my name; Look on Thy hands, and read it there! In vain Thou strugglest to get free, Wilt Thou not yet to me reveal 'Tis all in vain to hold Thy tongue, Or touch the hollow of my thigh; Out of my arms Thou shalt not fly : What though my shrinking flesh complain, And murmur to contend so long? I rise superior to my pain; When I am weak, then I am strong: And when my all of strength shall fail, I shall with the God-Man prevail. My strength is gone; my nature dies; I fall, and yet by faith I stand: I stand, and will not let Thee go, |