"I fain would strike my harp divine,

"Before the Father's throne,

"There cast my crown of Righteousness, "And sing what grace has done!

"Ah! leave me not in this base world, "A stranger still to roam;

"Come, Lord, and take me to Thyself; Come, Jesus, quickly come!"

66

Robert C. Chapman. 1837-1857

CCCLXXVI.

Jesus, I my cross have taken,
All to leave, and follow Thee;
Destitute, despised, forsaken,
Thou, from hence, my all shalt be:
Perish every fond ambition,

All I've sought, or hoped, or known;
Yet how rich is my condition!

God and Heaven are still my own!

Let the world despise and leave me,
They have left my Saviour too;
Human hearts and looks deceive me ;
Thou art not, like them, untrue :
And, while Thou shalt smile upon me,
God of wisdom, love, and might,
Foes may hate, and friends may shun me;
Show Thy face, and all is bright!

Go, then, earthly fame and treasure!
Come, disaster, scorn, and pain!
In Thy service, pain is pleasure,
With Thy favour, loss is gain!

I have call'd Thee, Abba, Father!

I have stay'd my heart on Thee! Storms may howl, and clouds may gather, All must work for good to me.

Man may trouble and distress me,
'Twill but drive me to Thy breast;
Life with trials hard may press me,
Heaven will bring me sweeter rest!
O! 'tis not in grief to harm me,

While Thy love is left to me!
O! 'twere not in joy to charm me,
Were that joy unmix'd with Thee!

Take, my soul, thy full salvation;
Rise o'er sin, and fear, and care;
Joy to find, in every station,
Something still to do or bear :
Think what Spirit dwells within thee!
What a Father's smile is thine!
What a Saviour died to win thee!

Child of Heaven, shouldst thou repine ?

Haste then on from grace to glory,

Arm'd by faith, and wing'd by prayer ;
Heaven's eternal day's before thee,

God's own hand shall guide thee there!
Soon shall close thy earthly mission,
Swift shall pass thy pilgrim days;
Hope soon change to glad fruition,
Faith to sight, and prayer to praise !

Henry Francis Lyte. [1833.]

VI.

JOY.

"In whom, though now ye see Him not, yet believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable, and full of glory." 1 PET. i. 8.)

CCCLXXVII.

My God, the Spring of all my joys,
The Life of my delights,

The Glory of my brightest days,
And Comfort of my nights:

In darkest shades if He appear,
My dawning is begun ;

He is my soul's sweet Morning-star,
And He my rising Sun.

The opening heavens around me shine
With beams of sacred bliss,

While Jesus shows, His heart is mine,
And whispers, I am His.

My soul would leave this heavy clay
At that transporting word,
Run up with joy the shining way
T'embrace my dearest Lord.

Fearless of hell and ghastly death,
I'd break through every foe:
The wings of love and arms of faith
Should bear me conqueror through.
Isaac Watts. 1709.

CCCLXXVIII.

Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far;
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree,
And seem by Thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow Thee.

There, if Thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,

Oh with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!

There, like the nightingale, she pours

Her solitary lays,

Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.

Author and Guardian of my life;
Sweet Source of light Divine;
And, all harmonious names in one,
My Saviour! Thou art mine!

What thanks I owe Thee, and what love,
A boundless, endless store,

Shall echo through the realms above

When time shall be no more!

William Cowper. 1779.

CCCLXXIX.

There's not a bird, with lonely nest

In pathless wood or mountain crest,
Nor meaner thing, which does not share,
O God! in Thy paternal care!

There's not a being now accurst,

Who did not taste Thy goodness first;

And every joy the wicked see

Received its origin from Thee.

Each barren crag, each desert rude,
Holds Thee within its solitude;

And Thou dost bless the wanderer there,
Who makes his solitary prayer.

In busy mart and crowded street,
No less than in the still retreat,

Thou, Lord, art near, our souls to bless

With all a parent's tenderness !

And every moment still doth bring
Thy blessings on its loaded wing;

Widely they spread through earth and sky,
And last to all eternity!

Through all creation let Thy Name
Be echoed with a glad acclaim !
That let the grateful Churches sing;
With that let heaven for ever ring!

And we, where'er our lot is cast,
While life and thought and feeling last,
Through all our years, in every place,
Will bless Thee for Thy boundless grace!
Baptist Wriothesley Noel. [1841.]

CCCLXXX.

The child leans on its parent's breast,
Leaves there its cares, and is at rest;
The bird sits singing by his nest,