When sleep, death's semblance, o'er me spread,
And I unconscious lay,
Thy watchful care was round my bed,
To guard my feeble clay.
O let the same almighty care
My waking hours attend;
From every danger, every snare,
My heedless steps defend.
Smile on my minutes as they roll,
And guide my future days;
And let thy goodness fill my soul
With gratitude and praise.
As every day, thy mercy spares,
Will bring its trials or its cares,
O Saviour, till my life shall end,
Be Thou my counsellor and friend;
Teach me thy precepts all divine,
And be thy great example mine.
When each day's scenes and labours close,
And wearied nature seeks repose,
With pardoning mercy, richly blest,
Guard me, my Saviour, while I rest:
And as each morning sun shall rise,
O lead me onward to the skies.
And at my life's last setting sun,
My conflicts o'er, my labours done;
Jesus, thine heavenly radiance shed,
To cheer and bless my dying bed-
And from death's gloom my spirit raise,
To see thy face, and sing thy praise.
Invitation to the Young.
YE hearts with youthful vigour warm,
In smiling crowds draw near,
And turn from every mortal charm,
A Saviour's voice to hear.
He, Lord of all the worlds on high,
Stoops to converse with you;
And lays his radiant glories by,
Your friendship to pursue.
“The soul, that longs to see my face,
Is sure my love to gain ;
And those that early seek my grace,
Shall never seek in vain."
What object, Lord, my soul should move,
If once compared with Thee?
What beauty should command my love,
Like what in Christ I see?
Away, ye false delusive toys,
Vain tempters of the mind! 'Tis here I fix my lasting choice, And here true bliss I find.
John iv. 10-14.-" Living Water."
THE fountain in its source,
No drought of summer fears; The farther it pursues its course, The nobler it appears.
But shallow cisterns yield
A scanty, short supply;
The morning sees them amply fill'd,
At evening they are dry.
The cisterns I forsake,
O Fount of bliss, for Thee;
My thirst with living water slake,
And drink eternity.
HAPPINESS! thou lovely name,
Where's thy seat? Oh tell me where !
Learning, pleasure, wealth, and fame,
All cry out-" it is not here."
Not the wisdom of the wise
Can inform me where it lies,
Not the grandeur of the great
Can the bliss, I seek, create.
Object of my first desire,
JESUS! crucified for me,
All to happiness aspire
Only to be found in Thee:
Thee to praise and Thee to know,
Constitute our bliss below:
Thee to see and Thee to love
Constitute our bliss above.
Lord! it is not life to live
If thy presence thou deny,
Lord! if thou thy presence give,
'Tis no longer death-to die.
Source and giver of repose,
Simply from thy smile it flows,
Peace and happiness are thine,
Mine they are if thou art mine.
Whilst I feel thy love to me,
Every object teems with joy;
Here, O may I walk with Thee
Then into thy presence die!
Let me but Thyself possess,
Total sum of happiness!
Real bliss I then shall prove,
Heaven below and heaven above.
Love of Jesus valued.
SWEET Jesu! when I think on Thee,
My heart for joy doth leap in me:
Thy blest remembrance yields delight,
But far more sweet will be thy sight.
Of Him who did salvation bring,
I could for ever think and sing;
When with his name I'm charm'd in song,
I wish myself all ear and tongue.
The joy's too great, I must confess;
I feel a bliss I can't express ;
Thy love, my Saviour, ne'er can cloy,
Fountain of bliss, and source of joy.
O, let me ever share thy grace,
Still taste thy love, and view thy face!
Still let my tongue resound thy name,
And Jesus be my constant theme.
Bless'd Jesus, what delicious fare,
How sweet thy entertainments are!
Never did angels taste above
Redeeming grace and dying love.
BRIGHTEST and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid;
Star of the east, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid.
Cold on his cradle the dew-drops are shining,
Low lies his bed with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore Him in slumber reclining,
Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all.
Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion,
Odours of Edom, and offerings divine,
Gems of the mountain, and pearls of the ocean,
Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the mine?
Vainly we offer each ample oblation,
Vainly with gold would his favour secure ;
Richer by far is the heart's adoration,
Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid ;
Star of the east, the horizon adorning,
Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid.
The Song of the Angels.
HARK! what mean those holy voices,
Sweetly sounding through the skies? Lo! th' angelic host rejoices;
Heavenly hallelujahs rise.
Listen to the wondrous story,
Which they chaunt in hymns of joy:
Glory in the highest, glory!
Glory be to God most high:
"Peace on earth, good-will from heaven,
Reaching far as man is found;
Souls redeem'd, and sins forgiven ;—
Loud our golden harps shall sound.
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