5 Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing thy power to save;
When this poor lisping stamm'ring tongue Lies silent in the grave.
6 Lord, I believe thou hast prepar'd
(Unworthy though I be)
For me a blood-bought free reward,
A golden harp for me!
7 "Tis strung, and tun'd, for endless years,
And form'd by power divine;
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name but thine.
The Sower. Matth. xiii. 3.
E sons of earth, prepare the plough,
Break up your fallow ground!
The sower is gone forth to sow,
And scatter blessings round.
2 The seed that finds a stony soil
Shoots forth a hasty blade;
But ill repays the sower's toil,
Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead.
3 The thorny ground is sure to baulk
All hopes of harvest there:
We find a tall and sickly stalk,
But not the fruitful ear.
4 The beaten path and high-way side
Receive the trust in vain ;
The watchful birds the spoil divide,
And pick up all the grain.
5 But where the Lord of grace and power
Has bless'd the happy field;
How plenteous is the golden store
The deep-wrought furrows yield!
6 Father of mercies, we have need
Of thy preparing grace;
Let the same hand that gives the seed
Provide a fruitful place.
HYMN CCLXXVI.
The House of Prayer. Mark, xi. 17.
1 TO Lord, thy dwelling-place secure!
HY mansion is the Christian's heart,
Bid the unruly throng depart,
And leave the consecrated door.
2 Devoted as it is to thee,
A thievish swarm frequents the place;
They steal away my joys from me,
And rob my Saviour of his praise.
3 There too a sharp designing trade
Sin, Satan, and the World maintain;
Nor cease to press me, and persuade,
To part with ease and purchase pain.
4 I know them, and I hate their din,
Am weary of the bustling crowd;
But while their voice is heard within,
I cannot serve thee as I would.
5 Oh! for the joy thy presence gives,
What peace shall reign when thou art here!
Thy presence makes this den of thieves
A calm delightful house of prayer.
6 And if thou make thy temple shine,
Yet, self-abas'd, will I adore ;
The gold and silver are not mine,
I give thee what was thine before.
HYMN CCLXXVII.
Martha and Mary. Luke, x. 38-42.
MARTHA her love and joy express'd
By care to entertain her guest:
While Mary sat to hear her Lord,
And could not bear to lose a word.
2 The principle in both the same,
Produc'd in each a different aim;
The one to feast the Lord was led,
The other waited to be fed.
3 But Mary chose the better part,
Her Saviour's words refresh'd her heart;
While busy Martha angry grew,
And lost hier time and temper too.
4 With warmth she to her sister spoke,
But brought upon herself rebuke:
"One thing is needful, and but one,
Why do thy thoughts on many run?"
5 How oft are we like Martha vex'd,
Encumber'd, hurried, and perplex'd?
While trifles so engross our thought,
The one thing needful is forgot.
6 Lord, teach us this one thing to choose,
Which they who gain can never lose;
Sufficient in itself alone,
And needful, were the world our own. 7 Let grovelling hearts the world admire, Thy love is all that I require!
Gladly I may the rest resign,
If the one needful thing be mine!
HYMN CCLXXVIII.
Lovest thou me? John, xxi. 16.
ARK, my soul! it is the Lord;
'Tis thy Saviour, hear his word;
Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee;
Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me?
2 "I deliver'd thee when bound,
And, when bleeding, heal'd thy wound;
Sought thee wandering, set thee right,
Turn'd thy darkness into light.
3" Can a woman's tender care
Cease towards the child she bare?
Yes, she may forgetful be,
Yet will I remember thee.
4" Mine is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above;
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death.
5 "Thou shalt see my glory soon,
When the work of grace is done;
Partner of my throne shalt be,
Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me?"
6 Lord, it is my chief complaint,
That my love is weak and faint;
Yet I love thee, and adore,
Oh, for grace to love thee more!
HYMN CCLXXIX.
Prayer for young Persons.
BThe gift of saving grace;
ESTOW, dear Lord, upon our youth
And let the seed of sacred truth
Fall in a fruitful place.
2 Grace is a plant, where'er it grows,
Of pure and heavenly root;
But fairest in the youngest shews,
And yields the sweetest fruit.
3 Ye careless ones, O hear betimes
The voice of sovereign love!
Your youth is stain'd with many crimes,
But mercy reigns above.
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