THOU who didst stoop below
To drain the cup of woe,

And wear the form of frail mortality;
Thy blessed labours done,

Thy crown of victory won,

O Thou who art our life,

Be with us through the strife:

Thine own meek head by rudest storms

was bow'd.

Raise Thou our eyes above,

To see a Father's love

home on high.

It was no path of flowers,
Through this dark world of ours,

Beloved of the Father, thou didst tread;
And shall we in dismay

Shrink from the narrow way,

When clouds and darkness are around it spread ?

431.

the cloud.

HOW pleased and bless'd was I
To hear the people cry,

"Come, let us seek our God to-day!" Yes, with a cheerful zeal

We haste to Zion's hill, And there our vows and honours pay.

Zion, thrice happy place, Adorn'd with wondrous grace, And walls of strength embrace thee round; In thee our tribes appear, To pray, and praise, and hear The sacred gospel's joyful sound.

There David's greater Son
Has fixed His royal throne;
He sits for grace and judgment there,
He bids the saint be glad,
He makes the sinner sad,
And humble souls rejoice with fear.

May peace attend thy gate,
And joy within thee wait
To bless the soul of every guest:
The man that seeks thy peace,
And wishes thine increase,
A thousand blessings on him rest!