And life, in its last lingering sands,
Is ebbing fast away,-
Then, though it be in accents weak,
And faint and tremblingly,
O give me strength in death to speak,
My Saviour died for me.
254 "Make thy way straight before my face."
THY way, not mine, O Lord
However dark it be:
Lead me by thine own hand,
Choose out the path for me.
Smooth let it be or rough,
It will be still the best;
Winding or straight, it leads
Right onward to thy rest.
2 I dare not choose my lot ;
I would not, if I might;
Choose thou for me, my God;
So shall I walk aright.
Take thou my cup, and it
With joy or sorrow fill,
As best to thee may seem;
Choose thou my good and ill.
3 Choose thou for me my friends,
My sickness or my health;
Choose thou my cares for me,
My poverty or wealth.
Not mine, not mine the choice,
In things or great or small
Be thou my guide, my strength,
My wisdom, and my all.
255 "Having a desire to depart, and to be with C. M. Christ, which is far better."
Wand mourns the present pain,
How sweet to think of peace at last,
And feel that death is gain!
HEN musing sorrow weeps the past,
2 'Tis not that murmuring thoughts arise,
And dread a Father's will;
'Tis not that meek submission flies,
And would not suffer still;
3 It is that heaven-taught faith surveys
The path that leads to light,
And longs her eagle plumes to raise,
And lose herself in sight.
4 It is that hope with ardour glows
To see him face to face,
Whose dying love no language knows
Sufficient art to trace.
5 It is that tortur'd conscience feels
The pangs of struggling sin;
Sees, though afar, the hand that heals,
And ends her war within.
60 let me wing my hallow'd flight
From earth-born woe and care,
And soar above these clouds of night,
My Saviour's bliss to share !
My God, my Father, while I stray,
Far from my home, on life's rough way,
O teach me from my heart to say,
"Thy will be done."
2 Though dark my path, and sad my lot,
Let me be still and murmur not,
And breathe the prayer divinely taught,
Thy will be done."
3 What though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved no longer nigh,
Submissive still would I reply,
"Thy will be done.
4 If thou shouldst call me to resign
What most I prize-it ne'er was mine;
I only yield thee what is thine-
"Thy will be done."
5 Renew my will from day to day,
Blend it with thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
'Thy will be done."
6 Let but my fainting heart be blest
With thy sweet Spirit for its guest,
My God, to thee I leave the rest;
'Thy will be done."
257 "My meditation of him shall be sweet."
WE my God ordains is right;
His will is ever just;
Howe'er he orders now my cause,
I will be still and trust.
He is my God;
Though dark my road,
He holds me that I shall not fall,
Wherefore to him I leave it all.
2 Whate'er my God ordains is right;
He never will deceive;
He leads me by the proper path,
And so to him I cleave,
And take content
What he hath sent;
His hand can turn my griefs away,
And patiently I wait his day.
3 Whate'er my God ordains is right;
Though I the cup must drink
That bitter seems to my faint heart,
I will not fear nor shrink;
Tears pass away
With dawn of day;
Sweet comfort yet shall fill my heart,
And pain and sorrow all depart.
4 Whate'er my God ordains is right;
My Light, my Life is he,
Who cannot will me aught but good;
I trust him utterly;
For well I know,
In joy or woe,
We soon shall see, as sunlight clear,
How faithful was our Guardian here.
5 Whate'er my God ordains is right;
Here will I take my stand,
Though sorrow, need, or death make earth
For me a desert land.
My Father's care
Is round me there,
He holds me that I shall not fall;
And so to him I leave it all.
Burial of the Dead.
258 "Lord, let me know my end, and the num- C. M.
ber of my days."
From the xxxix. Psalm.
ORD, let me know my term of days,
How soon my life will end:
The numerous train of ills disclose,
Which this frail state attend.
2 My life, thou know'st, is but a span,
A cipher sums my years;
And every man, in best estate,
But vanity appears.
3 Man, like a shadow, vainly walks,
With fruitless cares oppress'd;
He heaps up wealth, but cannot tell
By whom 'twill be possess'd.
4 Why then should I on worthless toys
With anxious cares attend?
On thee alone my steadfast hope
Shall ever, Lord, depend.
5 Lord, hear my cry, accept my tears,
And listen to my prayer,
Who sojourn like a stranger here,
As all my fathers were.
6 O spare me yet a little time;
My wasted strength restore,
Before I vanish quite from hence,
And shall be seen no more.
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