If F 3 All med'cines act by thy decree, Receive commission all from thee; But teems with health, when heav'n ordains, nd Jordan's waters hence were seen Grant me to know and do thy will; And save me from eternal pain. My crimes, my crimes arise in view, And pour the horrors of despair. My tortur'd breast, my streaming eyes; My God, my Father, and my friend. Had not thy Son vouchsaf'd to bleed; Admittance to the throne of grace. 9 When sin has shot its poison'd dart, And conscious guilt corrodes the heart, To draw the shaft and heal the wound. 10 What arrows pierce so deep as sin? What venom gives such pain within ? Rebuke my pangs, and make me whole. 11 O! if I trust thy sov’reign skill, And bow submissive to thy will, (C. M.) HYMN 122. On Recovery from Sickness. 1 WHEN we are rais'd from deep distress, Our God deserves our song; We take the pattern of our praise From Hezekiah's tongue. 2 The gates of the devouring grave Are open'd wide in vain, If he that holds the keys of death Command them fast again. 3 When he but speaks the healing word, Then no disease withstands; Fevers and plagues obey the Lord, And fly, as he commands. He can our frame restore, And they are found no more. “ Thou ever good and just; “ Thy pow'r is all my trust!" And dried my falling tears ; Through my remaining years. 1 MY God, since thou hast rais'd me up, Thee I'll extol with thankful voice; Restor'd by thine almighty pow'r, With fear before thee I'll rejoice. 2 With troubles worn, with pain oppress’d, To thee I cry'd, and thou didst save; Thou didst support my sinking hopes, My life didst rescue from the grave. 3 Wherefore, ye saints, rejoice with me, With me sing praises to the Lord; Call all his goodness to your mind, And all his faithfulness record. 4 His anger is but short: his love, Which is our life, hath certain stay; Grief may continue for a night, But joy returns with rising day. 5 Then, what I vow'd in my distress, In happier hours I now will give, And strive that in my grateful verse, His praises may forever live. 6 To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, The blest and undivided three; The one sole giver of all life, Glory and praise for ever be. FUNERALS. (C. M.) 1 HEAR what the voice from heav'n declares To those in Christ who die! 66 Releas'd from all their earthly cares, “ They'll reign with him on high." 2 Then why lament departed friends, Or shake at death's alarms? Death's but the servant Jesus sends To call us to his arms. Death hath no sting beside; But Christ, our ransom, died ! When in the grave he lay; To everlasting day! To Christ, our life, we'll sing, “ Where is thy victory, O grave? “ And where o death, thy sting ?" HYMN 125. (C. M) 1 WHEN those we love are are snatch'd away By death's resistless hand, That friendship must demand. With awful pow'r imprest; Sink deep in ev'ry breast. Behold the op'ning tomb; To-morrow death may come. May ev'ry heart obey ! Which calls to watch and pray. 5 O let us to that Saviour fly, Whose arm alone can save; And triumph o'er the grave. HYMN 126. (C. M.) Cut down in all his bloom! Now finish'd in the tomb! Thy years may end their flight: May come death's gloomy night. 3. To serve thy God no longer wait, To-day his voice regard; May be for ever barr’d. Thy youthful love to gain ; Shall never seek in vain. (L. M.) HYMN 127. Death of an Infant. But withers in the rising day; Thus swiftly fled its life, away. 2 It died ere its expanding soul Had ever burnt with wrong desires, Or ever quench'd its sacred fires. 3 It died to sin, it died to cares, But for a moment felt the rod : Such are the children of our God! VIII. INVITATION AND WARNING. (III. 1.) 2 Sinners, turn, why will ye die? God, your Saviour, asks you why? ill ye slight his grace, and die? 3 Sinners, turn, why will ye die ? God, the Spirit, asks you why? (IIL L) 1 HASTEN, sinner, to be wise ; Stay not for the morrow's sun: Wisdom, if you still despise, Harder is it to be won. 2 Hasten, mercy to implore; Stay not for the morrow's sun; Lest thy season should be o'er, Ere this ev'ning's stage be run. 3 Hasten, sinner, to return; Stay not for the morrow's sun; Lest thy lamp should cease to burn, Ere salvation's work is done. 4 Hasten, sinner, to be blest; Stay not for the morrow's sun; (IL 3.) 1 PEACE, troubled soul, whose plaintive moan Hath taught each scene the note of wo; Cease thy complaint, suppress thy groan, And let thy tears forget to flow : Behold, the precious balm is found, To lull thy ain, and heal thy wound. 2 Come, freely come, by sin opprest, On Jesus cast thy weighty load; Safe in the mercy of thy God: |