6 That precious blood! oft when I kneel, Cold and ashamed in prayer,

I look to Heaven, and comfort feel,
For me 'tis pleading there.

7 That precious blood in life's last night,
My panoply shall be ;

And death, forbidden in wrath to smite,
Shall only set me free.

*XLII.

"The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit."-Psalm li. 17. 1 LORD, if thou deignest to impart Sweet peace and heavenly joy to me, With deepest penitence of heart,

Oh let them still united be!

2 For ill would it become thy child
E'er to forget what I have been ;
Though thou, benign and reconciled,
Shed'st on me now thy smile serene.
3 I would "walk softly" all my days,
Whether my life be long or brief;
And even with my hymns of praise,
Would blend the tear of contrite grief.

4 Thou hast forgiven all my sin,

For ever blessed be thy name!
But still, whene'er I look within,

My own heart covers me with shame.

5 And not an hour its flight can speed,
(Nor will, I fear, till life shall end,)
In which by thought, or word, or deed,
I do not against thee offend.

6 When I have reached that blissful shore,
Where sin can ne'er defile nor grieve,
Then only shall I weep no more,
And joy of penitence take leave.

*XLIII.

AN ACT OF FAITH IN SICKNESS.

1 Do I not trust in thee, O Lord? Do I not rest on thee alone?

Is not the comfort of thy word

The sweetest cordial I have known?

When vex'd with care, bowed down with grief,

Where else could I obtain relief?

2 And is it not my chief desire

To feel a passing stranger here?
Do not my thoughts and hopes aspire
Beyond this transitory sphere?
And art not thou, while here I roam,
My hope, my hiding-place, my home?
3 And now, that weakness and decay

Forewarn me that my change draws nigh, Do I not feel, from day to day,

Thou lookest down with pitying eye?

Do I not hear a "small still voice"

Bidding me still "in hope rejoice ?"

4 Oh yes! these things are real and true,
Thy promise is for ever sure;

And all I now am passing through,
And all I yet may have to endure,
Will but endear thy word to me,
And draw me nearer, Lord, to thee.

5 To thee my inmost spirit clings,

Like the poor dove that left the ark!
When I forsake thy sheltering wings,
I meet a waste of waters dark;
Then back I fly, and grace implore,
Never to wander from thee more.

6 And now on thee I cast my soul;
Come life or death, come ease or pain;
Thy presence can each fear control,
Thy grace can to the end sustain—
Those whom thou lovest, heavenly Friend,
Thou lovest even to the end.

XLIV.

"They came to a place which was named Gethsemane. Jesus

ofttimes resorted thither with his disciples."-Mark xiv. 32; John xviii. 2.

1 JESUS, while he dwelt below,

(As divine historians say)

To a garden oft would go,

Near to Kedron's brook it lay; When from noise he would be free, Then he sought Gethsemane. 2 Thither, by their Master brought, His disciples likewise came; There the heavenly truths he taught, Often set their hearts on flame; All things to them seemed to agree To endear Gethsemane.

3 Here they oft conversing sat,

Or might join with Christ in prayer,
Oh! what blest devotion that,
When the Lord himself was there!
Yet how little could they see
Why he chose Gethsemane.

4 Full of love to man's lost race,

On his conflict much he thought,
This he knew the destined place,
And he loved the sacred spot;
Love to them, and love to me,
Made him love Gethsemane.

5 Many woes had he endured;

Many sore temptations met;
Patient, and to pain inured;
But the sorest trial yet,
Was to be sustained in thee,
Mournful, dark Gethsemane !

6 Came at length the dreadful night, Vengeance with its iron rod, Stood, and with collected might,

Bruised the harmless Lamb of God.
See, my soul, thy Saviour see,
Prostrate in Gethsemane !

7 View him in that dark recess,
Agonizing, bathed in blood,
View thy Maker's deep distress,
Hear the cries and groans of God;
Then reflect what sin must be
Gazing on Gethsemane !

8 Oh what wonders love has done,
But how little understood,

God well knows, and God alone,
What produced that sweat of blood;
Who can thy deep mysteries see,
Wonderful Gethsemane ?

9 There my God bore all my guilt,
This through grace can be believed;
But the horrors that he felt,

Are too vast to be conceived;
None can penetrate through thee,
Doleful, dread Gethsemane!

10 Lord! I have no claim to share
In a favour so divine,