Page images

5 Or if on joyful wing

Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon,

and stars forgot,
Upwards I fly;
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!

Sarah Flower Adams. 1815.

In Sickness.

C. M. 1 WHEN languor and disease invade

This trembling house of clay,
'Tis sweet to look beyond my pains,

And long to fly away.
2 Sweet to look inward, and attend

The whispers of His Love:
Sweet to look upward, to the place

Where Jesus pleads above.
3 Sweet to look back, and see my name

In life's fair book set down;
Sweet to look forward, and behold

Eternal joys my own.
4 Sweet to reflect how grace divine,

My sins on Jesus laid;
Sweet to remember that His Blood

My debt of suffering paid.
5 Sweet in His Righteousness to 'stand,

Which saves from second death;
Sweet to experience, day by day,

His Spirit's quickening breath.
6 Sweet on His faithfulness to rest,

Whose Love can never end;
Sweet on His covenant of grace

For all things to depend.

7 Sweet, in the confidence of faith,

To trust His firm decrees ;
Sweet to lie passive in His hands,

And know no will but His.
8 If such the sweetness of the streams,

What must the Fountain be,
Where saints and angels draw their bliss
Immediately from Thee!

Augustus M. Toplady. 1777. a. 592 For the Aged.

C. P. . 1 With years opprest, with sorrow worn, Dejected, harassed, sick, forlorn,

To Thee, O God, I pray:
To Thee my withere hands arise,
To Thee I lift these failing cyes;

O cast me not away!
2 Thy mercy heard my infant prayer:
Thy Love, with all a mother's care,

Sustained my childish days :
Thy goodness watched my ripening youth,
And formed my heart to love Thy truth,

And filled my lips with praise.
3 O Savior, has Thy grace declined ?
Can years affect the eternal Mind,

Or time its Love decay?
A thousand ages in Thy sight,
And all their long and weary flight,

Are gone like yesterday.
4 Then, even in age and grief, Thy Name
Shall still my languid heart inflame,

And bow my faltering knee:
O yet this bosom feels the fire ;
This trembling hand and drooping lyre
Have yet a strain for Thee!

5 Yes, broken, tuneless, still, O Lord,
This voice, transported, shall record

Thy goodness, tried so long;
Till, sinking slow with calm decay,
Its feeble murmurs melt away
Into a seraph's song.

Sir Robert Grant, 1839.


C. M. 1 Our God, our Help in ages past,

Our Hope for years to come ;
Our Shelter from the stormy blast,

And our eternal Home!
2 Under the shadow of Thy throne

Thy saints have dwelt secure;
Sufficient is Thine arm alone,

And our defence is sure.
3 Before the hills in order stood,

Or earth received her frame,
From everlasting Thou art God,

To endless years the same.
4 Thy word commands our flesh to dust:

“Return, ye sons of men;"
All nations rose from earth at first,

And turn to earth again.
5 Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away;
They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.
6 Like flowery fields the nations stand,

Pleased with the morning light:
The flowers beneath the mower's hand

Lie withering ere 'tis night.

7 Our God, our Help in ages past,

Our Hope for years to come,
Be Thou our Guard while troubles last,
And our eternal Home!

Watts. 1719.


C. M. 1 THEE we adore, Eternal Name,

And humbly own to Thee,
How feeble is our mortal frame,

What dying worms are we !
2 Our wasting lives grow shorter still,

As days and months increase ;
And every beating pulse we tell

Leaves but the number less.
3 The year rolls round, and steals away

The breath that first it gave :
Whate'er we do, where'er we be,

We're travelling to the grave.
4 Dangers stand thick through all the ground,

To push us to the tomb;
And fierce diseases wait around,

To hurry mortals home.
5 Great God! on what a slender thread

Hang everlasting things!
The eternal states of all the dead

Upon life's feeble strings.
6 Infinite joy or endless woe

Attends on every breath;
And yet how unconcerned we go

Upon the brink of death!
7 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense,

To walk this dangerous road;
And if our souls are hurried hence,
May they be found with God.

Watts. 1709.

578 Gravi me terrore pulsas, 8,7 1 0 What terror in thyr fprethought,

Ending scene of mortal life!
Heart is sickoned, reins are loosened,

Thrills each nerve, with terror rife,
When the anxious heart, depicteth

All the anguish of the strife !
2 Christ, unconquered King of glory!

Thou my wretched soul relieve
In that last extremest terrores

Where the body she must leave :
Let the Accuser of the brethren

O'er me then no power receive!
3 Let the Prince of darkness vanish,

And Gehenna's legionsfly!'
Shepherd, Thou Thy sheep, thus ransomed,

To Thy country lead on high,
Where forever in fruition
I may see Thee eye to eye!

John Mason Neale. 1851.

Tr. Peter Damian. d. 1072. 579

L. M. 61. Mein Gott, ich weiss wohl das ich sterbe. 1 My God, I know that I must die:

My mortal life is passing hence;
On earth I neither hope nor try

To find a lasting residence.
Then teach me by Thy heavenly grace

With joy and peace my death to face. 2 My God, I know not when I die;

What is the moment or the hour;
How soon the clay may broken lie,

How quickly pass away the flower :
Then may Thy child preparèd be

Through time to meet eternity.

« PreviousContinue »