4 Without money, without price,
I come thy love to buy ;
From myself I turn my eyes,
The chief of sinners I.
Take, O take me as
And let me lose myself in thee; Friend of sinners, spotless Lamb,
Thy blood was shed for me.
CLXV. C. M. Cambridge New Tune.
S. STENNETT.
The promised Land.
1 ON Jordan's stormy banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye,
To Canaan's fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.
2 O the transporting, rapturous scene,
That rises to my sight!
Sweet fields array'd in living green,
And rivers of delight!
3 There generous fruits that never fail,
On trees immortal grow:
There rocks and hills, and brooks and vales,
With milk and honey flow.
4 All o'er, those wide extended plains
Shines one eternal day :
There God the Sun for ever reigns,
And scatters night away.
5 No chilling winds, nor poisonous breath
Can reach that healthful shore :
Sickness, and sorrow, pain and death
Are felt and fear'd no more.
6 When shall I reach that happy place,
And be for ever blest?
When shall I see my Father's face,
And in his bosom rest?
7 Fill'd with delight, my raptur'd soul
Can here no longer stay:
Tho' Jordan's waves around me roll,
Fearless I'd launch away.
CLXVI. SMITH'S SELEC.
Soul thirstings from Heaven.
TILL out of the deepest abyss
Of trouble I mournfully cry;
And pine to recover my peace,
And see my Redeemer and die:
I cannot, I cannot forbear
These passionate longings for home;
O! when shall my spirit be there;
O! when will the messenger come.
2 Thy nature I long to put on,
Thine image on earth to regain;
And then in the grave to lay down,
This burden of body and pain.
O! Jesus in pity draw near,
Permit me to sleep on thy breast,
Appear to my rescue, appear
And gather me into thy rest.
3 To take a poor fugitive in,
The arms of thy mercy display;
And give me to rest from all sin,
And bear me triumphant away;
Away from a world of distress,
Away to the mansions above;
A heaven of seeing thy face-
A heaven of feeling thy love.
CLXVII. P. M. POPE.
Departing flight of the Happy Spirit.
VITAL spark of heavenly flame;
Quit, O quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.
Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away :
What is this absorbs me quite ?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight;
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
The world recedes; it disappears;
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring;
Lend, lend your wings, I mount, I fly,
grave! where is thy victory?
O death! where is thy sting?
FOR CHILDREN.
CLXVIII. MS.
The Child's Request.
1 THOU giver of my life and joy,
Let songs to thee my tongue employ ;
Whilst immature this feeble frame,
Teach me to lisp thy sacred name.
2 May my fond genius, as I rise,
Seek the fair fount* where knowledge lies-
On wings sublime trace heav'ns abode,
And learn my duty to my God.
3 From low pursuits exalt
From ev'ry vice of ev'ry kind;
Nor let my conduct ever tend
To wound the feelings of a friend.
4 Though golden flow'rs my path should grace, And joys salute me as I pass,
Yet may my generous bosom know,
And learn to feel another's woe.
5 If providence should lend me wealth,
And joys increas'd by peace and health,
Yet my I ne'er despise the poor,
Nor send them begging from my door.
6 If poverty, with stern command,
Should grasp me in her iron hand,
In my distress, may I receive
That kind relief I'd wish to give.
7.When time its hoary frost has shed,
And silver'd o'er my favour'd head,
May my calm mind reflect intent
On length of days in virtue spent.
✔ When death his curtain shall o'erspread,
And wrap me in his awful shade,
May my blest soul to thee arise,
And triumph in her native skies.
CLXIX. MS.
The Orphan's Prayer.
THOU, the helpless orphan's hope,
To whom alone my eyes look up,
In each distressing day;
FATHER, for that's the sweetest name
That e'er these lips were taught to frame,
O teach my heart to pray!
2 Low in the dust my parents lie,
And no attentive ear is nigh
But thine, to hear my woe; No hand to wipe away my tears, No gentle voice to hush my fears Remains to me below:
3 My relatives, and friends are gone
And all my earthly hopes are flown,
But I continue here;
Be thou my patron, thou my guide,
This friendless heart from sorrow hide,
Reposing on thy care.
4 Should I be spar'd throughout the span
That marks the narrow life of man,
And reach to hoary age,
Instruct me in thy holy will,
Teach me the duties to fulfil
Of each succeeding stage.
5 But if thy wisdom should decree
An early sepulchre for me,
Father, thy will be done;
On thy rich mercy I rely,
And if I live or if I die
O save me in thy Son!
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