4 Grace often gives celestial joys,
But sin, as oft my peace destroys:
Sin is resolv'd to hold me fast,
But grace shall conquer sin at last!

437.

1 SIN, like a venomous disease,
Infects our vital blood;

The only balm is sov'reign grace,
And the physician-God!

C. M.

2. Our beauty and our strength are fled,
And we draw near to death;

But Christ the Lord recalls the dead
With his almighty breath.

3 Madness, by nature, reigns within,
The passions burn and rage,

Till God's own Son, with skill divine,
The inward fire assuage.

4 We lick the dust, we grasp the wind,
And solid good despise;
Such is the folly of the mind,

Till Jesus makes us wise.

5 We give our souls the wounds they feel,
We drink the pois'nous gall,
And rush with fury down to hell;
But Heav'n prevents the fall.

6 The man possess'd among the tombs
Cuts his own flesh, and cries;

He foams, and raves, till Jesus comes,
And the foul spirit flies.

"These are they which came out of great tribulation; and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb." Rev. vii. 14.

1 BRETHREN, those who come to bliss,
Come thro' sore temptations;
May we all remember this,

And endure with patience.

2 See the suff'ring church of Christ,
Gather'd from all quarters:

All contain❜d in that red list
Were not murder'd martyrs.

3 Saints who feel the load of sin,
Yet come off victorious,

Suffer martyrdom within,

Tho' it seems less glorious.

4 Th' Holy Ghost will make the soul
Feel its sad condition;

For the sick, and not the whole,
Need the good Physician.

5 Of that mighty multitude,

Who of life were winners, This we safely may conclude,All were wretched sinners.

6 All were loathsome in God's sight,

(Save as view'd in Jesus)

:

Wash'd their robes, and made them white; Now they sing his praises.

7 Ev'ry kindred, tongue, and tribe,
From their tribulation,

Stand, and to the Lamb ascribe
All their free salvation.

8 Let us likewise laud the Lamb;
And in all affliction

Count our case with theirs the same,
And take consolation.

439.

INNUMERABLE foes
Attack the child of God;
He feels within the weight of sin,
A grievous, galling load!
Temptations, too, without,
Of various kinds, assault;
Sly snares beset his trav'ling feet,
And make him often halt.

S. M.

From sinner and from saint
He meets with many a blow :
His own bad heart creates him smart,
Which only God can know.

4

But, tho' the host of hell

5

Be neither weak nor small,

One mighty foe deals dang'rous woe,
And hurts beyond them all.-

'Tis pride, accursed pride!
That spirit by God abhorr❜d:

Do what we will, it haunts us still,
And keeps us from the Lord.

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

It blows its pois'nous breath,
And bloats the soul with air;

The heart uplifts with God's own gifts,
And makes ev'n grace a snare.

Awake-nay, while we sleep,
In all we think or speak,

It puffs us glad, torments us sad ;
Its hold we cannot break.

In other ills we find

The hand of Heav'n not slack
Pride only knows to interpose,
And keep our comfort back.
"Tis hurtful when perceiv'd;
When not perceiv'd, 'tis worse:
Unseen or seen, it dwells within,
And works by fraud or force.
Against its influence pray-
It mingles with the pray'r;

Against it preach, it prompts the speech:
Be silent,-still 'tis there.

This moment, while I write,

I feel its pow'r within;

My heart it draws to seek applause,
And mixes all with sin.

Thou meek and lowly Lamb,
This haughty tyrant kill :

That wounded thee, tho' thou wast free,
And grieves thy Spirit still.

Our condescending God,
To whom else shall we go?

14.

Remove our pride, whate'er betide;
And lay and keep us low.

Mount Calvary's the place
Where pride cannot intrude;
For, should it dare to rise up there,
"Twould soon be drown'd in blood!

RESIGNATION.

440.

C. M.

1 SINCE all the winding tracks of time
God's watchful eye surveys,
O! who so wise to chuse our lot,
And regulate our ways?

2 Assure us of thy wondrous love,
Unmeasurably kind,

And then, to thine unerring will
Be ev'ry wish resign'd.

3 Good when he gives-supremely good, Nor less when he denies;

E'en crosses from his sov'reign hand
Are blessings in disguise!

4 Thy saints, while ages roll away,
In endless fame survive;

Their glories, o'er the griefs of time,
Grandly triumphant live!