1 LIKE Noah's weary dove,
That soared the earth around,
But not a resting-place above
The cheerless waters found;
2 Oh cease, my wandering soul,

On restless wing to roam;
All the wide world, to either pole,
Has not for thee a home.

3 Behold the ark of God,

Behold the open door! Hasten to gain that dear abode, And rove, my soul, no more. 4 There safe thou shalt abide, There, sweet shall be thy rest, And every longing satisfied, With full salvation blest.

471.

W. A. Muhlenberg, 1823.

1 OH where shall rest be found,

Rest for the weary soul?

'T were vain the ocean's depths to sound, Or pierce to either pole.

2 The world can never give

The bliss for which we sigh; 'Tis not the whole of life to live, Nor all of death to die.

3 Beyond this vale of tears

There is a life above, Unmeasured by the flight of years ; And all that life is love.

4 There is a death whose pang Outlasts the fleeting breath:

Oh what eternal horrors hang
Around the second death!

5 Lord God of truth and grace,

Teach us that death to shun;
Lest we be banished from thy face,
And evermore undone.

6 Here would we end our quest;
Alone are found in thee,
The life of perfect love, the rest
Of immortality.

1 My former hopes are fled,
My terror now begins;
I feel, alas! that I am dead
In trespasses and sins.
2 Ah! whither shall I fly?

I hear the thunder roar;
The law proclaims destruction nigh,
And vengeance at the door.

3 When I review my ways,

I dread impending doom; But sure a friendly whisper says, "Flee from the wrath to come."

4 I see, or think I see,

A glimmering from afar;

A beam of day that shines for me,
To save me from despair.

5 Forerunner of the sun,

It marks the pilgrim's way;
I'll gaze upon it while I run,
And watch the rising day.
William Cowper, 1779-

2 The Shepherd sought his sheep, The Father sought his child;

They followed me o'er vale and hill,

O'er deserts waste and wild;
They found me nigh to death,
Famished, and faint, and lone;
They bound me with the bands of love,
They saved the wandering one.

3 I was a wandering sheep,

I would not be controlled;

But now I love the Shepherd's voice,
I love, I love the fold!

I was a wayward child;

I once preferred to roam;

But now I love my Father's voice,
I love, I love his home!

3 And can I yet delay

My little all to give?

To tear my soul from earth away
For Jesus to receive?

4 Nay, but I yield, I yield;

I can hold out no more,

I sink, by dying love compelled,
And own thee conqueror.
Charles Wesley, 1740.

475.

1 THOU Lord of all above,
And all below the sky,
Before thy feet I prostrate fall,
And for thy mercy cry.

2 Forgive my follies past,

The crimes which I have done;
Oh bid a contrite sinner live,
Through thy incarnate Son.

3 The burden which I feel,

Thou only canst remove;
Do thou display thy pardoning grace,
And thine unbounded love.

4 One gracious look of thine

Will ease my troubled breast;
Oh, let me know my sins forgiven,
And I shall then be blest!

Benjamin Beddome, 1818.

1 AND have I measured half my days, And half my journey run,

Nor tasted the Redeemer's grace,
Nor yet my work begun?

2 The morning of my life is past,
The noon is almost o'er;
The night of death approaches fast
When I can work no more.

3 O'er earth a banished man I rove,
But cannot feel him nigh;
Where is the pardoning God of Love,
Who stooped for me to die?

4 Still every means in vain I try;
I seek him far and near;
Where'er I come, constrained to cry,
"My Saviour is not here."

5 Empty of him, who all things fills,
Till he his light impart,
Till he his glorious self reveals,
The veil is on my heart.

6 O thou, who seest and know'st my grief,
Thyself unseen, unknown,
Pity my helpless unbelief,
And take away the stone.

7 Regard me with a gracious eye,
The long-sought blessing give;
And bid me, at the point to die,
Behold thy face and live.

8 A darker soul did never yet
Thy promised aid implore;

Oh that I now my Lord might meet,
And never lose him more.

477.

Charles Wesley, 1749

1 WHEN rising from the bed of death,
O'erwhelmed with guilt and fear,

I see my Maker face to face,
Oh how shall I appear!

2 If yet, while pardon may be found,
And mercy may be sought,
My heart with inward horror shrinks,
And trembles at the thought;

3 When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclosed In majesty severe,

And sit in judgment on my soul,
Oh how shall I appear!

4 But thou hast told the troubled soul,
Who does her sins lament,

The timely tribute of her tears
Shall endless woe prevent.

5 Then see my sorrows, gracious Lord!
Let mercy set me free,
While in the confidence of prayer

My heart takes hold of thee.

6 For never shall my soul despair
Her pardon to procure,
Who knows thy only Son has died
To make that pardon sure.

Joseph Addison, 1719, a.