9 What scale of numbers, grasp of thought,
What power of words could speak
The miracles of mercy wrought
By instruments so weak?
10 Weak, but almighty at His will,
Who speaks, and it is done;
With whom, to purpose and fulfil,
The will and power are one.
11 In the Lamb's Book of Life, alone
Those annals lie, in sight
Of Him who sits upon the throne:
Whose deeds can bear that light?
12 Can ours, who, where our fathers trod,
Along this narrow way,
Would work like them, the works of GOD,
Like them, would watch and pray?
13 Bound in the same sure covenant,
Let us, their children, be;
And, LORD, that we may keep it, grant
The mind which was in Thee.
The Poor praying for Bread in Time of Scarcity.
1 To GOD most awful and most high,
Who form'd the earth, the sea, the sky;
To Him on whom all worlds depend,
Our humbled hearts in sighs we send.
2 Will He who hears the ravens cry,
Reject our prayers, and bid us die?
Will He refuse His keep to yield,
Who clothes the lilies of the field?
3 Pale famine lifts at His command,
Her withering arm, and blasts the land;
The harvests perish at her breath,
Her train are want, disease, and death.
4 But when He smiles the desert blooms,
New life is born among
the tombs;
O'er the glad plains abundance teems,
And plenty rolls in bounteous streams.
5 Father of grace whom we adore,
Bless Thy large family- the poor;
The poor on Thee alone depend,
Continue Thou the poor man's friend.
6 Content to live by toil and pain,
May we eternal riches gain;
Meanwhile, by thy free goodness fed,
Give us this day our daily bread.
God cares for Birds and Flowers.- Luke, xii. 24 — 27.
1 FLOWERS grow in sweet societies,
O'er meadow, hill, and dale;
Mingle their colours to our eyes,
Their perfumes in the gale.
2 Sprung from the dust, they rise above
The meanness of their birth;
They look to heaven, and yet they love
To beautify the earth.
3 Not birds more duly build and sing,
Nor stars in turn appear,
Than these their splendid legions bring,
To crown and close the year.
4 They toil not, neither do they spin,
And yet their Maker's will,
Exempt from sorrow, as from sin,
They live but to fulfill.
5 Ah! thus might He that made us, see
Our Sabbath schools increase;
And while we dwell in unity,
In Him may we have peace;
6 Like flowers from Him receive, disperse
The fragrance of His grace;
And when, like flowers, transplanted hence,
May fairer fill our place.
For a wet Harvest Season.
1 WE lift our eyes, our hands, to Thee, Our knees, our souls, to Thee we bend; Father of all earth's family,
The appointed weeks of harvest send.
2 The ground, Thy table, is full-spread
With food to nourish man and beast;
Hast Thou prepared the children's bread,
And wilt Thou now forbid the feast?
3 Summer and winter, day and night,
Seed-time and harvest Thou hast will'd;
And dew and rain, and warmth and light,
Have each their gracious work fulfill'd.
4 Shall whelming floods the hopes destroy
Of those who in Thy promise trust?
Shall storms prevent the reaper's joy,
And lay His confidence in dust?
5 O bid the winds and waters cease,
The lowering firmament unshroud;
Think on Thy covenant of peace,
Look on Thy bow, -'tis in the cloud!
6 We fall adoring at Thy feet,
Our prayer is heard, the veil is riven; With pure heart-offerings let us eat
The bread that cometh down from heaven.
HYMN CCLXXIX.
Thanksgiving for Harvest.
1 THE GOD of harvest praise,
In loud thanksgivings, raise
Hand, and heart, and voice;
The valleys laugh and sing,
Forests and mountains ring,
The plains their tribute bring,
The streams rejoice.
2 Of food for man and beast,
JEHOVAH spreads a feast,
Above, beneath:
Ye herds and flocks, draw near,
Fowls, ye are welcome here;
His goodness crowns the year
For all that breathe.
3 Garden and orchard ground,
Autumnal fruits have crown'd,
The vintage glows:
Here plenty pours her horn;
There the full tide of corn,
Sway'd by the breath of morn,
The land o'erflows.
4 The wind, the rain, the sun,
Their genial work have done;
Wouldst thou be fed?
Man, to thy labour bow,
Thrust in the sickle now,
Reap where thou once didst plough,
GOD sends thee bread.
5 Thy few seeds scatter'd wide,
His hand hath multiplied;
Here thou may'st find
CHRIST'S miracle renew'd;
With self-producing food,
He feeds a multitude,-
He feeds mankind.
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