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4 My God, to thee my soul shall turn; For thee my noblest passions burn,

And drink in bliss from thee alone; I fix on that unchanging home, Where never-fading pleasures bloom,

Fresh springing round thy radiant throne.


C. M.


The Vanity of Man as Mortal Ps. 39.

1 TEACH me the measure of my days,

Thou Maker of my frame;
I would survey life's narrow space,

And learn how frail I am.

2 A span is all that we can boast,

An inch or two of time;
Man is but vanity and dust

In all his flower and prime.
3 See the vain race of mortals move

Like shadows o'er the plain ;
They rage and strive, desire and love,

But all the noise is vain.

4 Some walk in honor's gaudy show;

Some dig for golden ore;
They toil for heirs they know not who,

And straight are seen no more.
5 What should I wish or wait for, then,

From creatures, earth and dust?
They make our expectations vain,

And disappoint our trust.


L. M. J. SHIRLEY, altered. 1 THE glories of our birth and state

Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armor against fate;

Death lays his icy hands on kings. 2 Princes and magistrates must fall,

And in the dust be equal made, The high and mighty with the small,

Sceptre and crown with scythe and spade. 3 The laurel withers on our brow;

Then boast no more your mighty deeds : Upon death's purple altar now

See where the victor victim bleeds!

4 All heads must come to the cold tomb;

Only the actions of the just Preserve in death a rich perfume,

Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.


C. M.


Man frail and God eternal. Ps. 90.

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 Before the hills in order stood,

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

To endless years the same.

3 Thy word commands our flesh to dust –

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

And turn to earth again.
4 A thousand ages in thy sight

Are like an evening gone,
Short as the watch that ends the night,

Before the rising sun.
5 Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

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

Dies at the opening day.
6 Our God, our help in ages past,

Our hope for years to come,
Be thou our guard while troubles last,

And our eternal home.

L. M.

WATTS Man mortal and God eternal. Ps. 90. 1 THROUGH every age, eternal God,

Thou art our rest, our safe abode :
High was thy throne ere heaven was made,

Or earth, thy humble footstool, laid.
2 Long hadst thou reigned ere time began,

Or dust was fashioned to a man;
And long thy kingdom shall endure,

When earth and time shall be no more. 3 Death, like an overflowing stream,

Sweeps us away; our life's a dream,
An empty tale, a morning flower,
Cut down and withered in an hour.

4 Teach us, O Lord, how frail is man,

And kindly lengthen out our span,
Till a wise care of piety
Fit us to die and dwell with thee.

C. M.

Watts. Human Frailty, and God our Preserver. 1 LET others boast how strong they be,

Nor death nor danger fear ;
But we'll confess, O Lord, to thee,

What feeble things we are.
2 Fresh as the grass our bodies stand,

And flourish bright and gay ;
A blasting wind sweeps o'er the land,

And fades the grass away.
3 Our life contains a thousand springs,

And dies if one be gone :
Strange that a harp of thousand strings

Should keep in tune so long.
4 But 'tis our God supports our frame,

The God that built us first;
Salvation to the almighty name

That reared us from the dust.

C. M.

DODDRIDGE. Human Frailty and divine Compassion. 1 LORD, we adore thy wondrous name,

And make that name our trust, Which raised at first this curious frame

From mean and lifeless dust.

2 Awhile these frail machines endure,

The fabric of a day;
Then know their vital powers no more,

But moulder back to clay.
3 Yet, Lord, whate'er is felt or feared,

This thought is our repose,
That he, by whom this frame was reared,

Its various weakness knows.
4 Thou view'st us with a pitying eye,

While struggling with our load;
In pains and dangers thou art nigh,

Our Father and our God.
5 Gently supported by thy love,

We tend to realms of peace,
Where every pain shall far remove,

And every frailty cease.

C. M.

Watts. The Pilgrimage of the Saints. 1 BY glimmering hopes and gloomy fears

We trace the sacred road; Through dismal deeps and dangerous snares

We make our way to God.
2 A thousand savage beasts of prey

Around the forest roam ;
But Judah's Lion guards the way,

And guides the strangers home.
3 Long nights and darkness dwell below,

With scarce a twinkling ray ;
But the bright world to which we go

Is everlasting day.

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