"My times are in Thy hand."-Pe. xxxi, 15.
My times of sorrow and of joy,
Great God, are in thy hand;
My choicest comforts came from thee,
And go at thy command.

If thou shouldst take them all away,
Yet let me not repine:
Before they were possess'd by me
They were entirely thine.

Let me not drop a murm'ring word,
Though earthly joys be gone,
But seek enduring happiness

In thee, and thee alone.

What is the world, and all things here?

Tis but a bitter sweet:

When I attempt a rose to pluck,
A wounding thorn I meet.

Here perfect bliss can ne'er be found :
The honey's mix'd with gall:

'Midst changing scenes and dying friends, Be thou my all in all.

CLXI.

'My times are in Thy hand."-Ps. xxxi. I5.
SOV'REIGN Ruler of the skies!
Ever gracious, ever wise!

All my times are in thy hand—
All events at thy command.

He that form'd me in the womb,
He shall guide me to the tomb:
All my times shall ever be
Order'd by His wise decree.

Times of sickness, times of health;
Times of poverty and wealth;
Times of trial and of grief;
Times of triumph and relief;

Times, the tempter's pow'r to prove ; Times, to taste a SAVIOUR's love: All must come, and last, and end, As shall please my heav'nly Friend.

Plagues and deaths around me fly; Till he bids, I cannot die:

When the time he wills is come, Nought can keep me from my home.

CLXII.

Acts xvii. 26.

GREAT Sov'reign Ruler of the skies,
We at Thy sacred footstool bow,
While solemn scenes attract our eyes.
Who shall demand-What doest thou?

Great God, our habitation's bound
Thy own eternal wisdom drew;

There were our hairs all number'd found,
And ev'ry ill life's passage through.

The time and means are known to Thee,
When Thou shalt take Thy children home;
Their days are fix'd in Thy decree,
And what shall bring them to the tomb.

Be still, my thoughts, nor vainly rove, But own your Maker's sov'reign sway; Whose will, the God of truth and love, All beings, worlds, and things, obey.

Glory to God, our Cov'nant God, Whene'er he makes the summons known, The sinner, wash'd in Jesu's blood, With joy shall meet him at his throne.

CLXIII.

Numbers, xxiii, 10.

How blest the righteous are
When they resign their breath!
No wonder Balaam wish'd to share
In such a happy death.

"Oh! let me die," said he,

"The death the righteous do; When life is ended, let me be Found with the faithful few."

The force of truth, how great!
When enemies confess,

None but the righteous, whom they hate,
A solid hope possess.

But Balaam's wish was vain,
His heart was insincere,
He thirsted for unrighteous gain,
And sought a portion here.

He seem'd the Lord to know,
And to offend him loath;

But Mammon prov'd his overthrow,
For none can serve them both.

CLXIV.

Jer. xvii. 5, 8.

As parched in the barren sands,
Beneath a burning sky,

The worthless bramble with ring stands,
And only grows to die.

Such is the sinner's awful case,
Who makes the world his trust,
And dares his confidence to place
In vanity and dust.

A secret curse destroys his root,
And dries his moisture up;
He lives awhile, but bears no fruit,
Then dies without a hope.

But happy he whose hopes depend
Upon the Lord alone;

The soul that trusts in such a friend,

Can ne'er be overthrown.

Though gourds should wither, cisterns break,
And creature-comforts die;

No change his solid hope can shake,
Or stop his sure supply.