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Our flesh and sense must be denied,
Passion and envy, lust and pride;
While justice, temperance, truth and love,
Our inward piety approve.
What though we drink of sorrow's cup,
Religion bears our spirits up;
Hope waits the coming of the Lord,
And faith stands leaning on his word.
165. L. M.
The Character and Happiness of Christians.
BLESS'D are the poor of patient mind,
To all their Maker's will resign'd;
Their calm submission GOD will own,
And raise them to a heavenly throne.
Bless'd are the men who mourn for sin,
And a new course of life begin;
For them divine compassion flows,
A healing balm for all their woes.
Bless'd are the meek, who stand afar
From rage and passion, noise and war;
Life's purest joys are their reward,
And God will be their constant guard.
Bless'd are the men who seek his face,
Hunger and thirst for righteousness;
They shall be well supplied, and fed
With living streams and living bread.
Bless'd are the men whose bosoms move
And, melt with sympathy and love;
The merciful shall ever find
That GOD is merciful and kind.
Bless'd are the pure, whose hearts are clean
From the defiling power of sin;
With endless pleasure they shall see
A GOD of spotless purity.
Bless'd are the men of peaceful life,
Who quench the kindling flame of strife;
They shall be called the heirs of bliss,
The sons of GOD, the GOD of peace.
Bless'd are the sufferers who partake
Of pain and shame for Jesus' sake;
Their hearts may triumph in the Lord;
Glory and joy are their reward.
166. c. M.
The Christian Race.
AWAKE, my soul, stretch every nerve,
And press with vigour on;
A heavenly race demands thy zeal,
And an immortal crown.
'Tis GOD's all-animating voice,
Which calls thee from on high;
'Tis his own hand presents the prize
To thy aspiring eye;-
That prize, with peerless glories bright,
Which shall new lustre boast,
When victors' wreaths, and monarchs' gems,
Shall blend in common dust..
May we, with sacred ardour fir'd,
The glorious prize pursue;
And meet with joy the high command
To bid this scene adieu.
167. L. M
The Christian Warfare.
STAND up, my soul, shake off thy fears,
And gird the gospel-armour on;
March to the gates of endless joy,
Where thy great Captain Saviour's gone.
Sin and the world resist thy course;
But these, my soul, are vanquish'd foes;
For Jesus nail'd them to the cross,
And sang the triumph when he rose..
Then let my soul march boldly on,
Press forward to the heavenly gate;
There peace and joy eternal reign,
And glittering robes for conquerors wait..
There shall I wear a victor's crown,
And triumph in the Almighty's grace,
When all the just in chorus join'd
Unite to celebrate his praise.
168. L. M.
The one Thing needful.
WHY should we waste in trifling cares The lives divine compassion spares, While, in the various range of thought, 'The one thing needful is forgot?
Shall GOD invite us from above,
Shall Jesus urge his dying love,
Shall waken'd conscience give us pain,
And all these pleas unite in vain?
Not so our eyes will always view
The objects which we now pursue;
Not so eternity appear,
When death's decisive hour is near.
Almighty God! thy aid impart
To fix conviction on the heart;
Thy power can clear the darkest eyes,
And make the haughtiest scorner wise.
169. L. M.
Prayer for Wisdom and Virtue.
SUPREME and universal Light! Fountain of reason! Judge of right! Parent of good! whose blessings flow On all above and all below;
Without whose kind, directing ray,
In everlasting night we stray,
From passion still to passion tost,
And in a maze of error lost;-
Assist me, LORD! to act, to be
What thy all-holy laws decree;
Worthy that intellectual flame,
Which from thy breathing spirit came.
May my expanded soul disclaim
The narrow view, the selfish aim;
And with a christian zeal embrace
Whate'er is friendly to my race.
5. O Father! faith and virtue grant; No more I wish, no more I want: To know, to serve thee, and to love, Is peace below, is bliss above.
170. P. M.
Love to God and Man.
FATHER of our feeble race,
Wise, beneficent, and kind!
Spread o'er nature's ample face,
Flows thy goodness unconfin'd:
Musing in the silent grove,
Or the busy walks of men, Still we trace thy wondrous love, Claiming large returns again.