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There are no acts of pardon past
Prayer for seriousness.
1 O GOD! mine inmost soul convert, And deeply on my thoughtful heart Eternal things impress;
Give me to feel their solemn weight,
Before me place, in dread array,
Be this my one great business here,
Then, Saviour, then my soul receive,
"Boast not thyself of to-morrow.”
TO-MORROW, Lord, is thine,
Since on this winged hour
Waken by thine almighty power
One thing demands our care;
O be it still pursued!
Lest, slighted once, the season fair
Should never be renew'd.
To Jesus may we fly,
Swift as the morning light,
Lest life's young golden beams should die
In sudden, endless night.
Religion the only source of happiness.
'TIS religion that can give
Sweetest pleasures while we live;
"Tis religion must supply
Solid comfort when we die.
After death its joys will be
Lasting as eternity;
Be the living God my friend,
Necessity of renewing grace.
HOW helpless guilty nature lies,
The heart unchang'd can never rise
Can aught beneath a power divine
The stubborn will subdue?
"Tis thine the passions to recall,
To chase the shades of death away,
A beam of heaven, a vital ray,
O change these sinful hearts of ours,
And give them life divine!
Then shall our passions and our powers,
"How shall I put thee among the children ?"
ALAS! by nature how deprav'd!
How prone to every ill!
Our lives to Satan how enslav'd!
And can such sinners be restor❜d,
itself the means afford
To make a foe a child?
Yes, grace has found the wondrous means,
To cleanse us from our countless sins,
Jesus for sinners undertakes,
"In that day there shall be a fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness."
HOW sad our state by nature is!
But there's a voice of sovereign grace
O may we hear the almighty call,
We would believe thy promise, Lord;
To the blest fountain of thy blood,
Teach us, O Lord, to fly;
There may we wash our sinful souls
Poor, guilty, weak, and helpless worms,
Be thou our strength and righteousness,
"I am the Lord that healeth thee."
SWEET is the friendly voice that speaks
And sin and sorrow cease.
'Tis Christ that heals the troubled soul, With guilty fears opprest;
"Tis he who makes the wounded whole,
O let thy presence, Lord, impart
Praise to the Redeemer.
1 O FOR a thousand tongues to sing
My gracious Master and my God,
And spread through all the earth abroad,
The honours of thy name.
Jesus! the name that charms our fears,
That bids our sorrows cease;
"Tis music in the sinner's ears,
He speaks; and listening to his voice,
The mournful, broken hearts rejoice;