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For a Charity School Collection.
ALMIGHTY God! though round thy throne
Adoring seraphs bend the knee,
Our humble wants to thee are known,
Our infant songs may rise to thee.
Great Father of the human race,
Thy hand to each assigns his lot;
The good alike partake thy grace,
Or in the palace or the cot.
On those, oh let thy blessings fall,
Who us with eyes of pity view'd!
Who, like the bounteous Lord of all,
Delight to do his creatures good.
Grant, that instruction may secure
Each youthful breast from sin and woe ;
Oh let them feel what pleasures pure
From virtue and religion flow.
And grant that those, whose fostering aid
With knowledge cheers the poor distrest,
May find each generous care repaid,
And be in their own children blest.
And oh may those whose hands have given,
And those who on their help depend,
Unite around thy throne in heaven,
In hymns of praise that never end!
For a Charity-School Collection. GLORY to our heavenly King ! Bounteous Parent, thee we sing !
Gratitude the strain inspires,
Humble hopes, sincere desires.
Thee we sing with loud acclaim,
Praising thine all-glorious name!
God of glory, God of love!
Lord of all the worlds above !
Thee we bless for daily food,
Thee we bless for every good.
More than all we praise thee, Lord,
For the blesings of thy word ;
For the tidings Jesus brought,
For the precepts Jesus taught.
Gracious Father! heavenly King !
Feeble lips presume to sing ;
Infant voices humbly raise
Grateful, fervent songs of praise.
GREAT Former of unnumber'd worlds,
And whom unnumber'd worlds adore !
Whose goodness all thy creatures share,
While nature trembles at thy power!
Thine is the hand that moves the spheres,
That wakes the winds, and lifts the sea ;
And man, who moves the lord of earth,
Acts but the part assign'd by thee.
3 While suppliant crowds implore thine aid, To thee we raise the humble cry; Thine altar is the contrite heart, Thine incense, a repentant sigh.
May Britain, in her sober hour,
Confess thy hand, and bless the rod;
By penitence make thee her Friend,
And find in thee a guardian God.
470. For the Ordination or the Settlement of a Minister.
Father of all! whose love hath given
The human friend, to guide to heaven!
Aid us to feel religion's power,
And grant thy blessing on this hour.
Pastor and flock before thee stand;
Before thee form the christian band :
To ties so sacred, strength be given ;
And be they ratified in heaven!
To light his mind, to warm his heart,
To form his life, thy grace impart !
To duty be his soul applied-
Jesus his pattern, God his guide !
Blest privilege, and honour high-
To point to thee the anxious eye ;
Dispense the truth of heaven's bright page ;
The troubles of the heart assuage;
Chase error's clouds; hush death's alarms ;
Recall the lost, to mercy's arms ;
Pour hope's soft balm in sorrow's breast;
The dying soothe with heaven's sweet rest.
Be this his honour and his care!
Accept our homage! hear our prayer !
The hand must wither : but the love-
Be that renew'd in heaven above.
On the Death of Ministers.
'Though earthly shepherds dwell in dust,
The aged and the young ;
The watchful eye in darkness clos'd,
And mute the instructive tongue :
The eternal Shepherd still survives,
New comfort to impart;
His eye still guides us, and his voice
Still animates our heart.
• Lo, I am with you,' saith the Lord,
My church shall safe abide ; For I will ne'er forsake my own, Whose souls in me confide.'
Through every scene of life and death,
This promise is our trust;
And this shall be our children's song,
When we are laid in dust.
Farewell to a Friend departed.
Thou art gone to the grave-but we will not deplore thee;
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb; The Saviour hath pass'd throagh its portals before thee, And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom.
2 Thou art gone to the grave-we no longer behold thee,
Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side; But the wide arms of mercy are spread to enfold thee; And sinners may hope, since the sinless hath died.
[thee, Thou art gone to the grave-but 'twere wrong to deplore
When God was thy Father, thy Guardian, thy Guide; He gave thee, and took thee, and soon will restore thee,
Where death hath no sting, since the Saviour hath died.
Recollection of Departed Friends.
As o'er the closing urn we bend
Of each belov'd and honour'd friend,
What tears of anguish roll!
In vain, in death's unconscious face,
The living smile we seek to trace,
That spoke from soul to soul.
But shall not memory still supply
The kindly glance, the beaming eye,
That oft our converse blest;
That brighten'd many a prospect drear,
Reviv'd our virtue, soothid our care,
And lull'd each pain to rest ?
3 And when these frail remains are gone, Our hearts the impression still shall own,
Our mortal path to cheer :
O God! to point the way to heaven,
These angel-guides by thee were given :
How blest to meet them there!
474. The Autumnal Evening, an Emblem of the Peaceful Death of a Christian.
Behold the western evening light,
It melts in deepest gloom :
So calmly Christians sink away,
Descending to the tomb.
2 The winds breathe low; the withering leaf
Scarce whispers from the tree : So gently flows the parting breath When good men cease to be.