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YE ARE BOUGHT WITH A PRICE."

WHEN this passing world is done,
When has sunk yon glaring sun,
When we stand with Christ in glory,
Looking o'er life's finished story,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know—
Not till then-how much I owe.

When I hear the wicked call
On the rocks and hills to fall,
When I see them start and shrink
On the fiery deluge-brink,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know-
Not till then-how much I owe.

When I stand before the throne
Dressed in beauty not my own,
When I see Thee as Thou art,
Love Thee with unsinning heart,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know-
Not till then-how much I owe.

When the praise of Heaven I hear
Loud as thunders to the ear,
Loud as many waters' noise,
Sweet as harp's melodious voice,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know-
Not till then-how much I owe.

Even on earth, as through a glass,
Darkly, let Thy glory pass,

Make forgiveness feel so sweet,
Make thy Spirit's help so meet,
Even on earth, Lord, make me know
Something of how much I owe.

Chosen, not for good in me;
Wakened up from wrath to flee;
Hidden in the Saviour's side;
By the Spirit sanctified;

Teach me, Lord, on earth to show,
By my love, how much I owe.

Oft I walk beneath the cloud,
Dark as midnight's gloomy shroud;
But, when fear is at the height,
Jesus comes, and all is light;

Blessed Jesus! bid me show

Doubting saints how much I owe.

When in flowery paths I tread,
Oft by sin I'm captive led;

Oft I fall-but still arise

The Spirit comes-the tempter flies;
Blessed Spirit! bid me show
Weary sinners all I owe.

Oft the nights of sorrow reign,-
Weeping, sickness, sighing, pain;
But a night thine anger burns,-
Morning comes and joy returns;
God of comforts! bid me show
To thy poor, how much I owe.

"THOU SHALT STAND IN THY LOT AT THE END OF

THY DAYS."

KNELL of departed years,

Thy voice is sweet to me:
It wakes no sad foreboding fears,
Calls forth no sympathetic tears,
Time's restless course to see;
From hallowed ground

I hear the sound,

Diffusing through the air a holy calm around.

Thou art the voice of love;

To chide each doubt away;
And as thy murmur faintly dies,
Visions of past enjoyment rise

In long and bright array ;

I hail the sign

That love divine

Will o'er my future path in cloudless mercy shine.

Thou art the voice of hope;
The music of the spheres,

A song of blessings yet to come,
A herald from my future home,
My soul delighted hears:
By sin deceived,

By nature grieved,

Still am I nearer rest than when I first believed.

Thou art the voice of life:

A sound which seems to say,

O prisoner in this gloomy vale,

Thy flesh shall faint, thy heart shall fail;

Yet fairer scenes thy spirit hail

That cannot pass away :

Here grief and pain

Thy steps detain,

There, in the image of the Lord, shalt thou with Jesus

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