Where, in thy presence fully blest,
Thy chosen saints for ever rest.


ThE billows swell, the winds are high,
Clouds overcast my wintry sky;
Out of the depths to thee I call,—
My fears are great, my strength is small.

O Lord, the pilot's part perform,
And guard and guide me through the storm;
Defend me from each threatening ill,
Control the waves,—say, "Peace! be still."

Amidst the roaring of the sea
My soul still hangs her hope on thee;
Thy constant love, thy faithful care,
Is all that saves me from despair.

Dangers of every shape and name
Attend the followers of the Lamb,
Who leave the world's deceitful shore,
And leave it to return no more.

Though tempest-tossed and half a wreck,
My Saviour through the floods I seek;
Let neither winds nor stormy main
Force back my shattered bark again.


God of my life, to thee I call,
Afflicted at thy feet I fall;
When the great water-floods prevail,
Leave not my trembling heart to fail!

Friend of the friendless and the faint,
Where should I lodge my deep complaint,
Where but with Thee, whose open door
Invites the helpless and the poor!

Did ever mourner plead with thee,
And Thou refuse that mourner's plea?
Does not the word still fixed remain,
That none shall seek thy face in vain?

That were a grief I could not bear,
Didst thou not hear and answer prayer;
But a prayer-hearing answering God
Supports me under every load.

Fair is the lot that's cast for me;
I have an Advocate with thee;


Let me not angrily declare

No pain was ever sharp like mine, Nor murmur at the cross I bear,

But rather weep, remembering thine.


O Lord, my best desire fulfil,

And help me to resign Life, health, and comfort to thy will,

And make thy pleasure mine.

Why should I shrink at thy command,
Whose love forbids my fears?

Or tremble at the gracious hand
That wipes away my tears?

No, rather let me freely yield
What most I prize to thee;

Who never hast a good withheld,
Or wilt withhold, from me.

Thy favour, all my journey through,
Thou art engaged to grant;

What else I want, or think I do,
Tis better still to want.

Wisdom and mercy guide my way,

Shall I resist them both?
A poor blind creature of a day,

A»d crushed before the moth!

Bstt *h! nr inward spirit cries,
Stui bind me to thy sway:

fist :S? ae\; ciocd that veils the skies X'Vtws 4l^ these thoughts away.

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The soul, a dreary province once

Of Satan's dark domain,
Feels a new empire formed within,

And owns a heavenly reign.

The glorious orb whose golden beams

The fruitful year control,
Since first obedient to thy word,

He started from the goal,

Has cheered the nations with the joys

His orient rays impart; But, Jesus, 'tis thy light alone

Can shine upon the heart.


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.


To tell the Saviour all my wants,

How pleasing is the task!
Nor less to praise him when he grants

Beyond what I can ask.

My labouring spirit vainly seeks

To tell but half the joy,
With how much tenderness he speaks,

And helps me to reply.

Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,

Such secrets to declare; Like precious wines their taste they lose,

Exposed to open air.

Bat this with holiness I proclaim,

Nor care if thousands hear, Sweet is the ointment of his name,

Not life is half so dear.

And can Voo frown, my former friends,
Who knew what once I was,

Atad Krtiae the soog thit tlras commends
The Maa who bore the cross?

TrasS oe, I draw use likeness true,

Ami not as tisor raints;
Sach hocccr Ear he give to yoa.

Fee saoh. have all his *nfn:>

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