1 BLEST Saviour! Friend divine!

Thou source of boundless love! The hope of all Thy saints on earth, The joy of all above!

2 How can I tell Thy worth?

How make Thy glories known? No language can Thy goodness speak, No tongue Thy mercies own! 3 My words can not express The sweetness of Thy name! Nor can my feeble lips declare The wonders of Thy fame! 4 Then take my trusting heart; I can not give Thee more; Make rich my soul's deep poverty From Thine unwasting store!

SWABIA. S. M.

423

S. M.

ISAAC WATTS.

1 COME, we that love the Lord,
And let our joys be known;
Join in a song with sweet accord,
And thus surround the throne.
2 The sorrows of the mind

Be banish'd from this place!
Religion never was design'd
To make our pleasures less.
3 The hill of Zion yields

A thousand sacred sweets,
Before we reach the heav'nly fields,
Or walk the golden streets.

4 Then let our songs abound,

And every tear be dry;

We're marching o'er this hallow'd ground To fairer worlds on high.

ANON.

GILCREST. S. M.

J. H. ROSECRANS.

Which kings and prophets waited for,
And sought, but never found!

4 How blessed are our eyes
That see this heav'nly light!
Prophets and kings desir'd it long,
But died without the sight.

5 The watchmen join their voice,
And tuneful notes employ;
Jerusalem breaks forth in songs,
And deserts learn the joy.

Within Thy courts we bend,

1 You messengers of Christ, His sov'reign voice obey;

Our Father and our Friend.

2 But Thou art not alone
In courts by mortals trod;
Nor only is the day Thine own
When man draws near to God.

3 Thy temple is the arch

Of yon unmeasured sky; Thy Sabbath the stupendous march Öf grand eternity.

4 Lord, may that holier day

Dawn on Thy servants' sight; And purer worship may we pay In heav'n's unclouded light.

DETROIT. S. M.

And peace attend your way.
2 The Master, whom you serve,
Will needful strength bestow;
Depending on His promis'd aid,
With sacred courage go.

3 Mountains shall sink to plains,
And hell in vain oppose;
The cause is God's, and must prevail,
In spite of all His foes.

4 Go, spread a Saviour's fame,
And tell His matchless grace
To the most guilty and deprav'd
Of Adam's fallen race.

E. P. HASTINGS.

Blest Comfort-er Di-vine, Whose rays of heav'nly love

A-mid our gloom and darkness shine, And point our souls a- bove.

429

S. M.

MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

1 BLEST Comforter Divine,
Whose rays of heav'nly love
Amid our gloom and darkness shine,
And point our souls above;

2 Thou, whose inspiring breath
Can make the cloud of care,
And e'en the gloomy vale of death,
A smile of glory wear;

3 Thou, who dost fill the heart
With love to all our race,
Blest Comforter, to us impart
The blessings of Thy grace.

1 My soul, be on thy guard; Ten thousand foes arise;

GEO. HEATH.

2 In Zion you must dwell,

Her altar ne'er forsake;
Must come to all her solemn feasts,
Of all her joys partake.

3 She must employ your thoughts,
And your unceasing care;
Her welfare be your constant wish,
And her increase your pray'r.

4 With humbleness of mind
Among her sons rejoice;
A meek and quiet spirit is,
With God, of highest price.
5 Never offend, nor grieve

Your brethren by the way;
But shun the dark abodes of strife,
Like children of the day.

6 In all your Saviour's ways
With willing footsteps move;
Be faithful unto death, and then
You'll reign with Him above.

1 Mr spirit on Thy care,

H. F. LYTE.

Blest Saviour, I recline;
Thou wilt not leave me to despair,
For Thou art love divine.

2 In Thee I place my trust;
On Thee I calmly rest:

I know Thee good, I know Thee just, And count Thy choice the best.

3 Whate'er events betide,

Thy will they all perform,
Safe in Thy breast my head I hide,
Nor fear the coming storm.

4 Let good or ill befall,
It must be good for me-
Secure of having Thee in all,
Of having all in Thee.

GORTON S. M.

437

S. M.

ELIZABETH SCOTT.

1 SEE how the rising sun
Pursues his shining way,
And wide proclaims his Maker's praise
With every bright'ning ray.

2 Thus would my rising soul
Its heav'nly parent sing;
And to its great Original
A humble tribute bring.

30 may I grateful use

The blessings I receive!

And ne'er in thought, or word, or deed, His Holy Spirit grieve.

438

S. M.

A. S. HAYDEN.

BEETHOVEN.