3

4

5

Chains may my body bind,

These limbs all fettered be;
But thraldom cannot reach the mind,-
It will-it must be free!

Lord! ever grant me grace,
My liberty to prize,

Nor let me yield compliance base,
To creeds my soul denies!

Oh, may I seek thy will,

To Christ's pure word be true,
And, God of freedom! let me still
Thy truth alone pursue!

165. P.M. BARBAULD.

Devout joy.

1 JOY to those that love the Lord!'

2

3

Saith the sure eternal word.

Not of earth the joy it brings,
Tempered in celestial springs:

'Tis the joy of pardoned sin,
When we feel 'tis well within;
'Tis the joy that fills the breast
When the passions sink to rest.

'Tis a joy that, seated deep,

Leaves not when we sigh and weep;
Spreads itself in virtuous deeds,
Sighs for woe, in pity bleeds.

4

Stern and awful are its tones

When the patriot martyr groans,

And the death-pulse beating high,
Rapture blends with agony.

5 Tenderer is the form it wears,

Touched with love, dissolved in tears,
When subdued at Jesus' feet,

Sinners clasp the mercy-seat.

6 'Tis joy e'en here! a budding flower, Struggling with the storm and shower, Till its season to expand

Planted in its native land.

166. L.M. C. WESLEY.

The primitive church.

1 HAPPY the souls who first believed,—

To Jesus and each other cleaved,—

Joined by the spirit from above,

In mystic fellowship of love.

2 On God they cast their every care,
Sheltered beneath the wings of prayer:
They joyfully combined to raise
Their ceaseless sacrifice of praise.

3 Sweet is the memory of those days,
The record of that holy race,

Where shall we wander now to find
The faithful they have left behind?

4 Ye different sects, who all declare
Lo! here is Christ, or Christ is there!
Your claim, alas! ye cannot prove,
Ye want the genuine mark of love.

5

Join every soul that looks to thee
In bonds of perfect charity;

Greatest of gifts, thy love impart,
And make us of one mind and heart.

167. P. M. MISS POPPLE.

Christian unity.

1 RESTORE, O Father! to our times restore The peace which filled thine infant church

Ere lust of power had sown the seeds of strife, And quenched the new-born charities of life. 2 Oh, never more may differing judgments part, From kindly sympathy a brother's heart, But linked in one, believing thousands kneel, And share with each the sacred joy they feel. 3 From soul to soul, quick as the sun-beam's ray, Let concord spread one universal day; And faith by love, lead all mankind to theeParent of peace, and fount of harmony.

1

168. P.M. C. WESLEY.

"That they also may be one in us.”

FATHER! at thy footstool see

Those who now are one in thee!
Each to each unite, and bless ;
Keep us in thy perfect peace.

2 Meek and lowly let us be,
Full of goodness, full of thee;
Nobly may we bear the strife,-
Keep the holiness of life;-

3 Still forget the things behind,-
Follow Christ in heart and mind;
To the mark unwearied press,-
Seize the crown of righteousness.
Father! fill us with thy love;
Never from our souls remove;
Dwell with us, and we shall be
Thine through all eternity.

4

169. P.M. MILMAN.

Jesus "touched with a feeling of our infirmities.”

1 WHEN our heads are bowed with woe, When our bitter tears o'erflow;

When we mourn the lost, the dear,
Gracious God of Jesus! hear.

2 He hath wandered lone, forlorn,
He each mortal grief hath borne,
He hath shed the bitter tear;
Heir of Jesus! hush thy fear.

3 He hath bowed the dying head;
He the blood of life hath shed;
He hath filled a mortal bier;
Heir of Jesus! hush thy fear.
4 When the heart is sad within
With the thought of all its sin

5

When the spirit shrinks with fear;
Gracious God of Jesus! hear.
He the spirit's strife hath known,
He the spirit's victory won,
He hath now no grief to bear,
Heir of Jesus! hush thy fear.

IS

170. L. M. MRS. GILMAN.

GOD our refuge.

1 Is there a lone and dreary hour

When worldly pleasures lose their power; My Father! let me turn to thee,

And set each thought of darkness free.
2 Is there a time of racking grief,
Unblessed by prospect of relief;-
My Father! break the cheerless gloom,
And bid my heart its calm resume.
3 Is there an hour of peace and joy,
When hope is all my soul's employ;
My Father! still my hopes will roam,
Unless they rest with thee, their home.
4 The noon-tide blaze, the midnight scene,
The dawn or twilight's sweet serene,
The sick, nay e'en the dying hour,
Shall own my Father's love and power.

1

171. P. M. BULFINCH.

Succour in GOD.

WHEN by pain and care oppressed,
Anguish fills the trembling breast