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The image of Thy Godhead here ; Who soughtest me with tender care Through all my wanderings wild and

drear ;
O Love, I give myself to Thee,
Thine ever, only Thine to be.
O Love, who ere life's earliest dawn

On me Thy choice hast gently laid ;
O Love, who here as Man wast born,

And wholly like to us wast made ; O Love, I give myself to Thee, Thine ever, only Thine to be.

284.-Constancy.

EPHESIANS V. 1. R. MILLER says of this Hymn that

"it is found in an extract from the Journal of Mrs. Steinkopff, and

forms part of an account of a service she attended at Waldbach church, on the afternoon of Sunday, June 11, 1820. The text was, 'He shall see of the travail of His soul, and shall be satisfied' (Isaiah liji. 11). After an earnest appeal to his hearers, Oberlin read some verses of a Hymn expressive of entire devotedness to God,

a

When we in Thy temple meet,
Lay our wants before Thy feet,
Pleading at the mercy-seat ;

Look from heaven and save!

and said : 'My dear friends, may these be the feelings of our hearts, and as such let us sing them.' They then sang them heartily."

This Hymn is given below, in Mrs. Daniel Wilson's translation, and is interesting, as illustrating Oberlin's habit, like Doddridge's, of enforcing his sermons by Hymns specially composed. The fifth line, or refrain of each verse, is omitted by some editors.

L.M.
LORD ! Thy heavenly grace impart,

And fix my frail inconstant heart ;
Henceforth my chief desire shall be
To dedicate myself to Thee :

To Thee, my God, to Thee.

When Thy love our hearts shall fill, And we long to do Thy will, Turning to Thy holy hill ;

Lord, accept and save !

O

Should we wander from Thy fold, And our love to Thee grow cold, With a pitying eye behold ;

Lord, forgive and save!

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289.—The Memory of Sin.

PSALM lxxix. 8.

C.M. 'HY mercy, Lord, hath made me whole,

, My sins Thou hast forgiven : Yet still the grief regains my soul,

Yet still my heart is riven.

Breathe through the pulses of desire

Thy coolness and Thy balm ; Let sense be dumb,-its heats expire : Speak through the earthquake, wind,

THY

and fire, O still small voice of calm !

7. G. WHITTIER.

Those buried sins of mine arise,

Again my heart runs o'er ;Once more those deep, repentant sighs,

Those bitter tears once more !

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