Winter threat'ned to destroy
Faith and love, and ev'ry joy;
If iny life was in the root,

Srill I could not yield chee fruit.
4 Speak, and by thy gracious voice

Make my drooping soul rejoice ;
O beloved Saviour, halte,
Tell me, all the storms are past :
On thy garden deign to imile,
Raise the plants, enrich the foil;
Soon thy presence will restore

Life to what seem'd dead before. 5 Lord, I long to be at home,

Where these changes never come !
Where the saints no winter fear,
Where 'tis spring throughout the year :
How unlike this state below!
There the flow'rs unwith’ring blow;
There no chilling blasts annoy;
All is love, and bloom, and joy.

XXXIV. Summer Storms,

"HO' the morn may be serene,

Not a threat'ning cloud be seen,
Who can undertake to say,
'Twill be pleasant all the day?
Tempests suddenly may rise,
Darkness overspread the skies,
Lightnings flash, and thunders roar,

Ere a short liv'd day be o'er.
2 Often thus the child of grace

Enters on his Christian race ;
Guilt and fear are overborne,
'Tis with him a summer's morn;

Book III. Hymn 68.

H 4


While his new-felt joys abound,
All things seem to smile around;
And he hopes it will be fair,

All the day, and all the year.
3 Should we warn him of a change,

He would think the caution stranges
He no change or trouble fears,
Till the gath'ring storm appears *;
Till dark clouds bis fun conceal,
Till temptation's pow'r be feel ;
Tben he trembles, and looks pale,

All his bopes and courage tail. 4 But the wonder-working Lord

Soothes the tempeft by his word ;
Stills the thunder, stops the rain,
And his fun breaks forth again :
Soon the cloud again returns,
Now he joys, and now be mourns ;
Oft his sky is overcaft,

Ere the day of life be paft. 5 Try'd believers too can say,

In the courfe of one short day,
Tho' the morning has been fair,
Prov'd a golden hour of pray's,
Sin, and Satan, long ere night,
Have their comforts put to flight;
Ah! what heart-felt peace and joy

Unexpected storms destroy. 6 Dearest Saviour, call us foon

To thine high eternal noon;
Never there shall tempest rise,
To conceal thee from our eyes:
Satan shall no more deceive,
We no more thy Spirit grieve;
But thro' cloudless endlefs days,
Sound, to golden harps, thy praise.
Book I. Hymn 44.

green and

XXXV. Hay-time. * THE HE grafs, and flow'rs, which clothe the

And look fo

Touch'a by the scythe, defenceless yield,

And fall, and fade away.
2 Fit emblem of our mortal state !

Thus in the fcripture glass,
T'he young, the strong, the wife, the greatz,

May see themselves but grass *.
3. Ah! trust not to your fleeting breath,

Nor call your time your own ;
Around you fee the fcythe of death

Is mowing thousands down.
4 And you, who hitherto are fpar'd,

Must shortly yield your lives; Your wisdom is, to be prepara

Before the stroke arrives.
5 The grass, when dead, revives no more ja

You die to live again;
But oh! if death should prove the door

To everlasting pain.
6 Lord, help us to obey thy call,

That, from our fins set free, When like the grafs our bodies fall,

Our fouls may spring to thee.

XXXVI. Harveft. * SEE! the corn again in car!

How the fields and valleys finite !
Harvest now is drawing near,

the farmer's toil :
Isaiah, al. 7.



Gracious Lord, secure the crop,
Satisfy the poor with foods -

In thy mercy is our hope,
* We have finn'd, but thou art good.
2 While I view the plenteous grain

As it ripens on the stalk,
May I not instruction gain
Helpful to my daily walk ?
All this plenty of the field
Was produc'd from foreign feeds;
· For the earth itself would yield

Ooly crops of useless weeds.
B Tho', when newly fown, it lay

Hid awhile beneath the ground,
(Some might think it thrown away),
Now a large increase is found:
Tho'conceal'd, it was not lost;
Tho'it dy'd, it lives again;
Eastern storms, and nipping frosis,

Have oppos'd its growth in vain. 4 Let the praise be all the Lord's,

As the benefit is ours !
He, in season, still affords
Kindly heat, and gentle show'rs:
By his care the produce thrives,
Waving o'er the furrow'd lands

And when harvest-time arrives,

Ready for the reaper stands. 5

Thus in barren hearts he fows
Precious feeds of heav'nly joy *;
Sin and hell in vain oppose,
None can grace's crop dettroy :
Threat'ned oft, yet till it blooms,
After many changes past,
Death, the reaper, when he comes,
Finds it fully ripe at last.
Hofea, xiv. 7.; Mark, iv, 26.-29.

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XXXVII. Praise for the Incarnations -
weeter sounds than muốc knows

Charm me in Emmanuel's name;.
All her hopes my spirit owes

To his birth, and crofs, and shame. 2 When he came, the angels fung,

“ Glory be to God on high;" Lord, unloose my stamm'ring tongue,

Who should louder fing than 1? 3. Did the Lord a man become,

That he might the law fulfil, Bleed and suffer in my room,

And can'st thou, my tongue, be still ? 4. No, I must my praises bring,

Tho' they worthless are and weak; For should I refuse to fing,

Sure the very stones would speak. So my Saviour, Shield, and Sun,

Shepherd, Brother, Husband, Friend, Ev'ry precious name in one,

I will love thee without end.

XXXVIII. C. JEHOVAH JESUS. * MY song shall bless the Lord of all,

My praise hall climb to his abode; Thee, Saviour, by that name I call,

The great, fupreme, the mighty God. 2. Without beginning or decline,

Object of faith, and not of sense ;
Eternal ages faw him fhine,
He thines eternal ages hence.


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