Rivers to the ocean run,

Nor stay in all their course;
Fire ascending seeks the sun;
Both speed them to their source:
So my soul, derived from God,
Pants to view His glorious face,
Forward tends to His abode,
To rest in His embrace.

Fly me Riches, fly me Cares,
Whilst I that coast explore;
Flattering world, with all thy snares,
Solicit me no more!

Pilgrims fix not here their home;
Strangers tarry but a night;

When the last dear morn is come,
They'll rise to joyful light.

Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn ;
Press onward to the prize;
Soon our Saviour will return
Triumphant in the skies.
Yet a season, and you know
Happy entrance will be given,
All our sorrows left below,

And earth exchanged for heaven.

Robert Seagrave. 1748.

CLXVI.

We seek a rest beyond the skies,

In everlasting day;

Through floods and flames the passage lies,

But Jesus guards the way:

The swelling flood, and raging flame,

Hear and obey His word;

Then let us triumph in His Name;

Our Saviour is the Lord!

John Newton. 1779

CLXVII.

There is an hour, when I must part
With all I hold most dear;

And life, with its best hopes, will then
As nothingness appear.

There is an hour, when I must lie

Low on affliction's bed,

And anguish, pain, and tears become
My bitter daily bread.

There is an hour, when I must sink

Beneath the stroke of death,

And yield to Him, who gave

My struggling vital breath.

it first,

There is an hour, when I must stand

Before the judgment seat,

And all my sins, and all my foes,

In awful vision meet.

There is an hour, when I must look
On one eternity,

And nameless woe, or blissful life,
My endless portion be.

O Saviour, then, in all my need,
Be near, be near to me;

And let my soul, in stedfast faith,
Find life and Heaven in Thee!

Andrew Reed. 1842.

CLXVIII.

PSALM XC.

Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home:

Under the shadow of Thy Throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure ;
Sufficient is Thine arm alone,
And our defence is sure.

Before the hills in order stood,
Or earth received her frame,
From everlasting Thou art God,
To endless years the same.

A thousand ages in Thy sight
Are like an evening gone;

Short as the watch that ends the night
Before the rising sun.

The busy tribes of flesh and blood,
With all their lives and cares,
Are carried downwards by Thy flood,
And lost in following years.

Time, like an ever-rolling stream,

Bears all its sons away; They fly forgotten, as a dream Dies at the opening day.

Our God, our help in ages past;
Our hope for years to come;

Be Thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home!

Isaac Watts. 1719.

END OF PART L

PART II.

HYMNS ARRANGED ACCORDING TO THE

SUBJECTS OF THE LORD'S PRAYER.