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3 All med'cines act by thy decree,
Receive commission all from thee;
But teems with health, when heav'n ordains. 4 Clay and Siloam's pool, we find,
At heav'n's command restor'd the blind;
To wash a Syrian leper clean.
Grant me to know and do thy will;
And save me from eternal pain.
My crimes, my crimes arise in view,
And pour the horrors of despair.
My tortur'd breast, my streaming eyes;
My God, my Father, aud my Friend.
Had not thy Son vouchsaf'd to bleed;
Admittance to the throne of grace. 9 When sin has shot its poison'd dart,
And conscious guilt corrodes the heart,
To draw the shaft and heal the wound. 10 What arrows pierce so deep as sin ?
What venom gives such pain within ?
Rebuke my pai.gs, and make me whole. 11 0! if I trust thy sov’reign skill,
And how submissive to thy will,
On Recovery from Sickness. I WHEN we are rais'd from deep distress,
Our God deserves our song; We take the pattern of our praise
From Hezekian'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.
Then no disease withstands;
And fly, as he commands.
He can our frame restore,
And they are found no more.
“ Thou ever good and just;
“ Thy pow'r-is all my trust!"
And dried my falling tears;
Through my remaining years.
1 MY 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 oppressid,
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 rccord. 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 forever live. 6 To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
The blest and undivided three; The une sole giver of all life,
Glory and praise for ever be.
(C. M.) 1 HEAR what the voice from heav'n declares
To those in Christ who die! 66 Releas'd fronı all their earthly cares,
They'll reign with him on high," 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,
Death hath no sting beside;
But Christ, our ransom, died !
When in the grave he lay;
To everlasting day!
To Christ, our life, we'll sing, " Where is thy victory, O grave? 6 And where O death, thy sting ?" HYMN 125.
(C. M) 1 WHEN those we love are snatch'd away
By death's resistless hand,
That friendship must demand.
With awful pow'r imprest;
Sink deep in ev'ry breast.
Behold the op'ning tomb;
To-morrow death may come,
May ev'ry heart obey !
Which calls to watch and pray. 5 O let us to that Saviour fly,
Whose arm alone can save;
And triumph o'er the grave,
Cut down in all his bloom!
Now finish'à in the tomb!
Thy years may end their flight:
May come death's gloomy night.
To-day his voice regard;
May be for ever barrd.
Thy youthful love to gain;
Shall ncver seek in vain.
Death of an Infant.
But withers in the rising day;
Thus swiftly fled its life away.
Had ever burnt with wrong desires,
Or ever quench'd its sacred fires.
But for a moment felt the rod :
Such are the children of our God!
VIII. INVITATION AND WARNING. HYMN 128.
God, your Maker, asks you why?
2 Sinners, turn, why will ye die?
God, your Saviour, asks you why?
Will ye slight his grace, and die? 3 Sinners, turn, why will ye die ?
God, the Spirit, asks you why?
(IIL L) 1 HASTEN, sinner, to be wise ;
Stay not for the morrow's sun: Wisdom, if you still despise,
Harder is it to be won. 2 Hasten, mercy to implore;
Stay not for the morrow's sun; Lest thy season should be o'er,
Ere this ev'ning's stage be run. 3 Hasten, sinner, to return;
Stay not for the morrow's sun; Lest thy lamp should cease to burn,
Ere salvation's work is done. 4 Hasten, sinner, to be blest ;
Stay not for the morrow's sun;
(IL 3.) 1 PEACE, troubled soul, whose plaintive moan
Hath taught each scene the note of wo; Cease thy complaint, suppress thy groan,
And let thy tears forget to flow : Behold, the precious balm is found,
To lull thy pain, and heal thy wound, 2 Come, freely come, by sin opprest,
On Jesus cast thy weighty load;
Safe in the mercy of thy God: