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"Save, Lord! or we perish." Matt. viii. 25. HEN through the torn sail the wild tempest is streaming, [gleaming, When o'er the dark wave the red lightning is Nor hope lends a ray the poor seaman to cherish, We fly to our Maker: "Save, Lord! or we perish." 2 O Jesus, once rock'd on the breast of the billow,. Arous'd by the shriek of despair from thy pillow, Now seated in glory, the mariner cherish, Who cries in his anguish, "Save, Lord! or we perish.' 3 And O! when the whirlwind of passion is raging, When sin in our hearts its wild warfare is waging, Then send down thy Spirit thy ransom'd to cherish, Rebuke the destroyer; "Save, Lord! or we perish." HYMN 120.

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(C. M.)
Which may be used at Sea or on Land.
ORD! for the just thou dost provide,
Thou art their sure defence!

Eternal wisdom is their guide,

Their help, Omnipotence.

2 Though they through foreign lands should roam, And breathe the tainted air

In burning climates, far from home,
Yet thou, their God, art there.
3 Thy goodness sweetens ev'ry soil,
Makes every country please:
Thou on the snowy hills dost smile,
And smooth'st the rugged seas!

4 When waves on waves, to heaven uprear'd,
Defy'd the pilot's art;

When terror in each face appear'd,
And sorrow in each heart;

5 To thee I rais'd my humble prayer,
To snatch me from the grave!

I found thine ear not slow to hear,
Nor short thine arm to save!

6 Thou gav'st the word--the winds did cease,
The storms obey'd thy will,

The raging sea was hush'd in peace,
And ev'ry wave was still!

7 For this my life, in every state,

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A life of praise shall be;

And death, when death shall be my fate,
Shall join my soul to thee.

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THEN dangers, woes, or death are nigh, Past mercies teach me where to fly: Thine arm, Almighty God, can aid,

When sickness grieves, and pains invade. 2 To all the various helps of art Kindly thy healing power impart; Bethesda's bath refus'd to save, Unless an angel bless'd the wave. 3 All med'cines act by thy decree, Receive commission all from thee; And not a plant which spreads the plains, But teems with health, when Heaven ordains.

4 Clay and Siloam's pool, we find,

At heaven's command restor❜d the blind;
And Jordan's waters hence were seen
To wash a Syrian leper clean.

5 But grant me nobler favours still,
Grant me to know and do thy will;
Purge my foul soul from every stain,
And save me from eternal pain.
6 Can such a wretch for pardon sue?
My crimes, my crimes arise in view,'
Arrest my trembling tongue in prayer,
And pour the horrors of despair.
7 But thou, regard my contrite sighs,
My tortur'd breast, my streaming eyes;
To me thy boundless love extend,
My God, my Father, and my Friend.
8 These lovely names I ne'er could plead,
Had not thy Son vouchsaf'd to bleed;
His blood procures our fallen race
Admittance to the throne of grace.
9 When sin has shot its poison d dart,
And conscious guilt corrodes the heart,

His blood is all-sufficient found

To draw the shaft and heal the wound.
10 What arrows pierce so deep as sin?
What venom gives such pain within?
Thou great Physician of the soul,
Rebuke my pangs, and make me whole.
11 O! if I trust thy sov'reign skill,
And bow submissive to thy will,
Sickness and death shall both agree
To bring me, Lord, at last to thee.

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HYMN 122.

On Recovery from Sickness.

(C. M.)

HEN we are rais'd from deep distress,
Our God deserves our song;

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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.

4 If half the strings of life should break,
He can our frame restore,
And cast our sins behind his back,
And they are found no more.

5 To him I cried, "Thy servant save,
"Thou ever good and just;

"Thy power can rescue from the grave,
"Thy power is all my trust!"

6 He heard, and sav'd my soul from death,
And dried my falling tears;
Now to his praise I'll spend my breath,
Through my remaining years.

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Y 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 for ever 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.

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EAR what the voice from heav'n declares To those in Christ who die! "Releas'd from all their earthly cares, They'll reign with him on high."

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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.

3 If sin be pardon'd, we're secure,
Death hath no sting beside;

The law gave sin its strength and power;
But Christ, our ransom, died!

4 The graves of all his saints he bless'd,
When in the grave he lay;

And, rising thence, their hopes he rais'd
To everlasting day!

5 Then, joyfully, while life we have,
To Christ, our life, we'll sing,
"Where is thy victory, O grave?
"And where, O death, thy sting?"

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HYMN 125.

(C. M.)

HEN those we love are snatch'd away

W By death's resistless hand,

Our hearts the mournful tribute pay
That friendship must demand.

2 While pity prompts the rising sigh,
With awful power imprest;

May this dread truth, "I too must die,"
Sink deep in ev'ry breast.

3 Let this vain world allure no more;
Behold the op'ning tomb;

It bids us use the present hour,-
To-morrow death may come.

4 The voice of this instructive scene
May ev'ry heart obey!

Nor be the faithful warning vain
Which calls to watch and pray.

5 O let us to that Saviour fly,

Whose arm alone can save;
Then shall our hopes ascend on high,

And triumph o'er the grave.

HYMN 126.

Death of a Young Person.

(C. M.)

"OW short the race our friend has run, Cut down in all his bloom!

The course but yesterday begun

Now finish'd in the tomb!

2 Thou joyous youth! hence learn how soon
Thy years may end their flight:
Long, long before life's brilliant noon
May come death's gloomy night.
3 To serve thy God no longer wait,
To-day his voice regard;

To-morrow, mercy's open gate
May be for ever barr'd.

4 And thus the Lord reveals his grace,
Thy youthful love to gain-

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