L. M. 6 lines.

The Sea.

555 ETERNAL Father! strong to save,

Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who bid'st the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!

2 O Christ! whose voice the waters heard,
And hushed their raging at Thy word,
Who walkedst on the foaming deep,
And calm amidst its rage didst sleep;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!

3 Most Holy Spirit! who didst brood
Upon the chaos dark and rude,
And bid its angry tumult cease,
And give, for wild confusion, peace;
O hear us when we cry to Thee
For those in peril on the sea!

4 O Trinity of love and power!

Our brethren shield in danger's hour;
From rock and tempest, fire and foe,
Protect them wheresoe'er they go.

Thus evermore shall rise to Thee

Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

W. Whiting, 1862.

Human Life.

PSALM XC. L. M.

556 THROUGH every age, eternal God,
Thou art our rest, our safe abode ;

High was Thy throne, ere heaven was made,
Or earth Thy humble footstool laid.

2 Long hadst Thou reigned, ere time began,
Or dust was fashioned into man ;

3

And long Thy kingdom shall endure,
When earth and time shall be no more.

But man, weak man,
is born to die,
Made up of guilt and vanity;

Thy dreadful sentence, Lord, was just, —
"Return, ye sinners, to your dust."

4 Death, like an overflowing stream,
Sweeps us away; our life's a dream ;
An empty tale; a morning flower,
Cut down and withered in an hour.

5 Teach us, O Lord, how frail is man ;
And kindly lengthen out our span;
Till a wise care of piety

Fit us to die, and dwell with Thee.

Isaac Watts, 1719.

S. M.

557 HOW swift the torrent rolls

That bears us to the sea;

The tide that bears our thoughtless souls
To vast eternity!

2 Our fathers, where are they,

With all they called their own?

Their joys and griefs have passed away,
Their wealth and honor gone.

3 There, where the fathers lie
Must all their children dwell;
Nor other heritage possess
But such a gloomy cell.

4 God of our fathers, hear

Thou everlasting friend;

While we as on life's utmost verge,

Our souls to Thee commend.

5 Of all the pious dead,

May we the footsteps trace,

Till, with them in the land of light,

We dwell before Thy face.

Philip Doddridge, 1755.

75.

558 WHILE with ceaseless course the sun

Hasted through the former year,

Many souls their race have run,
Never more to meet us here:

Fixed in an eternal state,

They have done with all below;

We a little longer wait,

But how little, none can know.

2 As the wingéd arrow flies Speedily the mark to find;

As the lightning from the skies

Darts, and leaves no trace behind;

Swiftly thus our fleeting days

Bear us down life's rapid stream:
Upward, Lord, our spirits raise !
All below is but a dream.

3 Thanks for mercies past receive;
Pardon of our sins renew;
Teach us, henceforth, how to live
With eternity in view :

Bless Thy word to young and old ;
Fill us with a Saviour's love;
And, when life's short tale is told,
May we dwell with Thee above!

John Newton, 1779.

S. M.

559 TO-MORROW, Lord, is Thine!

Lodged in Thy sovereign hand;

And if its sun arise and shine,

It shines by Thy command.

2 The present moment flies,
And bears our life away;
O make Thy servants truly wise,
That they may live to-day.

3 Since on this winged hour
Eternity is hung,

Waken by Thine Almighty power,

The aged and the young.

4 One thing demands our care:
O be it still pursued ;

Lest, slighted once, the season fair

Should never be renewed.

5 To Jesus may we fly,

Swift as the morning light,

Lest life's young golden beams should die

In sudden, endless night.

Philip Doddridge, 1755.

560 TE

PSALM XXXIX. C. M.

EACH me the measure of my days,
Thou Maker of my frame;

I would survey life's narrow space,
And learn how frail I am.

2 A

span is all that we can boast, An inch or two of time; Man is but vanity and dust,

In all his flower and prime.

3 What should I wish, or wait for, then,
From creatures, earth, and dust?
They make our expectations vain,
And disappoint our trust.

4 Now I forbid my carnal hope,
My fond desires recall;

I give my mortal interest up,
And make my God my All.

Isaac Watts, 1709.

561

THE

C. M.

'HEE we adore, Eternal Name,
And humbly own to Thee

How feeble is our mortal frame,
What dying worms are we !