Oh teach me, in the trying hour

When anguish swells the dewy tearTo still my sorrows, own Thy power, Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear.

If in this bosom aught but Thee,

Encroaching, sought a boundless sway, Omniscience could the danger see,

And mercy look the cause away.

Then why, my soul, dost thou complain— Why drooping seek the dark recess? Shake off the melancholy chain;

For God created all to bless.

But ah! my breast is human still; The rising sigh, the falling tear, My languid vitals' feeble rill,

The sickness of my soul declare.

But yet, with fortitude resign'd,

I'll thank the inflictor of the blowForbid the sigh, compose my mind,

Nor let the gush of misery flow.

The gloomy mantle of the night,
Which on my sinking spirit steals,

Will vanish at the morning light,
Which God, my east, my sun, reveals.

THOMAS CHATTERTON.

RESIGNATION.

LORD, it belongs not to my care
Whether I die or live:

To love and serve Thee is my share,
And this Thy grace must give.
If life be long, I will be glad,

That I may long obey;

If short, yet why should I be sad
To soar to endless day?

Christ leads me through no darker rooms
Than He went through before;
He that into God's kingdom comes
Must enter by His door.

Come, Lord, when grace has made me meet

Thy blessed face to see;

For if Thy work on earth be sweet,
What will Thy glory be?

Then shall I end my sad complaints,
And weary, sinful days;

And join with the triumphant saints,
That sing Jehovah's praise.
My knowledge of that life is small,
The eye of faith is dim;
But 'tis enough that Christ knows all,
And I shall be with Him.

RICHARD BAXTER

THY WILL BE DONE.
My God and Father, while I stray
Far from my home, on life's rough way,
Oh teach me from my heart to say,
Thy will be done!

Though dark my path and sad my lot,
Let me be still and murmur not,
Or breathe the prayer divinely taught,
Thy will be done!

What though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved, no longer nigh,
Submissive still would I reply,

Thy will be done!

Though Thou hast call'd me to resign
What most I prized, it ne'er was mine;
I have but yielded what was Thine;
Thy will be done!

Should grief or sickness waste away
My life in premature decay,
My Father! still I strive to say,

Thy will be done!

Let but my fainting heart be blest
With Thy sweet Spirit for its guest,
My God, to Thee I leave the rest;
Thy will be done!

Renew my will from day to day;
Blend it with Thine; and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
Thy will be done!

Then, when on earth I breathe no more
The prayer, oft mix'd with tears before,
I'll sing upon a happier shore,
Thy will be done!

CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT.

THE WILL OF GOD.

I WORSHIP thee, sweet Will of God! And all Thy ways adore,

And every day I live I seem

To love Thee more and more.

Thou wert the end, the blessed rule
Of Jesu's toils and tears;
Thou wert the passion of His heart
Those three-and-thirty years.

And He hath breathed into my soul
A special love of Thee,

A love to lose my will in His,
And by that loss be free.

I love to see Thee bring to naught
The plans of wily men;
When simple hearts outwit the wise,
Oh, Thou art loveliest then!

The headstrong world, it presses hard
Upon the Church full oft,
And then how easily Thou turn'st
The hard ways into soft!

I love to kiss each print where Thou
Hast set Thine unseen feet:

I cannot fear Thee, blessed Will!
Thine empire is so sweet.

When obstacles and trials seem

Like prison-walls to be,

I do the little I can do,

And leave the rest to Thee.

I have no cares, O blessed Will !
For all my cares are Thine;

I live in triumph, Lord! for Thou
Hast made Thy triumphs mine.

And when it seems no chance or change
From grief can set me free,
Hope finds its strength in helplessness,
And gayly waits on Thee.

Man's weakness waiting upon God
Its end can never miss,
For men on earth no work can do
More angel-like than this.

Ride on, ride on, triumphantly,
Thou glorious Will! ride on ;
Faith's pilgrim sons behind Thee take
The road that Thou hast gone.

He always wins who sides with God,
To him no chance is lost;

God's Will is sweetest to him when

It triumphs at his cost.

Ill that He blesses is our good, And unblest good is ill;

And all is right that seems most wrong, If it be His sweet Will!

FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.

THY WILL BE DONE. FATHER, I know that all my life Is portion'd out for me,

And the changes that are sure to come I do not fear to see;

But I ask Thee for a present mind,

Intent on pleasing Thee.

I ask Thee for a thoughtful love,

Through constant watching wise,
To meet the glad with joyful smiles,
And wipe the weeping eyes;
And a heart at leisure from itself,
To soothe and sympathize.

I would not have the restless will
That hurries to and fro;
Seeking for some great thing to do,
Or secret thing to know:

I would be treated as a child,
And guided where I go.

Wherever in the world I am,
In whatsoe'er estate,

I have a fellowship with hearts
To keep and cultivate,
And a work of lowly love to do,
For the Lord on whom I wait.

So I ask Thee for the daily strength
To none that ask denied,

And a mind to blend with outward life,
While keeping at Thy side;
Content to fill a little space,
If Thou be glorified.

And if some things I do not ask
In my cup of blessing be,

I would have my spirit fill'd the more
With grateful love to Thee;
More careful, not to serve Thee much,
But to please Thee perfectly.

There are briers besetting every path, That call for patient care;

There is a cross in every lot,

And an earnest need for prayer;

But a lowly heart, that leans on Thee, Is happy anywhere.

In a service which Thy will appoints
There are no bonds for me;

For my inmost heart is taught the Truth
That makes Thy children free;
And a life of self-renouncing love
Is a life of liberty.

ANNA LETITIA WARING.

THY WILL BE DONE.

WE see not, know not; all our way Is night, with Thee alone is day : From out the torrent's troubled drift, Above the storm our prayers we lift,

Thy will be done!

The flesh may fail, the heart may faint,
But who are we to make complaint,
Or dare to plead, in times like these,
The weakness of our love of ease?
Thy will be done!

We take with solemn thankfulness
Our burden up, nor ask it less,
And count it joy that even we
May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee,

Whose will be done!

Though dim as yet in tint and line,
We trace Thy picture's wise design,
And thank Thee that our age supplies
Its dark relief of sacrifice.
Thy will be done!

And if, in our unworthiness,
Thy sacrificial wine we press;

If from Thy ordeal's heated bars

Our feet are seam'd with crimson scars, Thy will be done!

If, for the age to come, this hour
Of trial hath vicarious power,
And, blest by Thee, our present pain
Be Liberty's eternal gain,

Thy will be done!

Strike, Thou the Master, we Thy keys, The anthem of the destinies !

The minor of Thy loftier strain,
Our hearts shall breathe the old refrain,
Thy will be done!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

JUST AS I AM.

JUST as I am, without one plea
But that Thy Blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidd'st me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come!

Just as I am, and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot,

To Thee, whose Blood can cleanse each spot,

O Lamb of God, I come!

Just as I am, though toss'd about
With many a conflict, many a doubt,
Fightings and fears within, without,

O Lamb of God, I come!

Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind,
Sight, riches, healing of the mind,
Yea, all I need, in Thee to find,

O Lamb of God, I come!

Just as I am, Thou wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve!
Because Thy promise I believe,

O Lamb of God, I come!

Just as I am (Thy Love unknown
Has broken every barrier down),
Now, to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,
O Lamb of God, I come!

Just as I am, of that free love

The breadth, length, depth, and height to

prove,

Here for a season, then above,

O Lamb of God, I come!

CHARLOTTE ELLIOTT.

HYMN FOR FAMILY WORSHIP.

O LORD, another day is flown;
And we, a lonely band,

Are met once more before Thy throne
To bless Thy fostering hand.
And wilt Thou lend a listening ear
To praises low as ours?

Thou wilt! for Thou dost love to hear

The song which meekness pours.

And, Jesus, Thou Thy smiles wilt deign

As we before Thee pray;

For Thou didst bless the infant train,

And we are less than they.

Oh let Thy grace perform its part,
And let contention cease;
And shed abroad in every heart
Thine everlasting peace!

Thus chasten'd, cleansed, entirely Thine,
A flock by Jesus led,

The Sun of holiness shall shine
In glory on our head.

And Thou wilt turn our wandering feet, And Thou wilt bless our way,

WHEN GATHERING CLOUDS

AROUND I VIEW.

WHEN gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark and friends are few,
On Him I lean, who not in vain
Experienced every human pain.
He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.

If aught should tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way;
To fly the good I would pursue,
Or do the sin I would not do;
Still He, who felt temptation's power,
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.

If wounded love my bosom swell,
Deceived by those I prized too well,
He shall his pitying aid bestow,

At once betray'd, denied, or fled,
By those who shared His daily bread.

If vexing thoughts within me rise,
And, sore dismay'd, my spirit dies;
Still He, who once vouchsafed to bear
The sickening anguish of despair,
Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry,
The throbbing heart, the streaming eye.

When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend,
Which covers what was once a friend,
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me for a little while;

Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed,
For Thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead!
And oh, when I have safely past
Through every conflict but the last,
Still, still unchanging, watch beside
My painful bed, for Thou hast died!
And wipe the latest tear away!
Then point to realms of cloudless day,

SIR ROBERT GRANT.

With Him I found a home, a rest divine; And I since then am His, and He is mine.

Yes! He is mine! and naught of earthly things,

Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or

power,

The fame of heroes, or the pomp of kings, Could tempt me to forego His love an hour.

Go, worthless world, I cry, with all that's thine!

Go! I my Saviour's am, and He is mine.

The good I have is from His stores supplied;

The ill is only what He deems the best; He for my Friend, I'm rich with naught beside;

And poor without Him, though of all

possest:

Changes may come; I take, or I resign; Content, while I am His, while He is mine.

Whate'er may change, in Him no change

is seen;

A glorious Sun, that wanes not nor declines;

Above the clouds and storms He walks

serene,

And sweetly on His people's darkness shines:

All may depart; I fret not, nor repine, While I my Saviour's am, while He is mine.

He stays me falling, lifts me up when down,

Reclaims me wandering, guards from every foe;

Plants on my worthless brow the victor's

crown;

Which, in return, before His feet I

throw,

Grieved that I cannot better grace His

shrine,

Who deigns to own me His, as He is mine.

While here, alas! I know but half His love,

But half discern Him, and but half

adore;

But when I meet Him in the realms above,

I hope to love Him better, praise Him more,

And feel, and tell, amid the choir divine, How fully I am His, and He is mine.

HENRY FRANCIS LYTE.

JESU, MY STRENGTH, MY HOPE.
JESU, my strength, my hope,
On Thee I cast my care,
With humble confidence look up,
And know Thou hear'st my prayer.

Give me on thee to wait
Till I can all things do,
On Thee, Almighty to create,
Almighty to renew!

I want a sober mind,

A self-renouncing will,

That tramples down and casts behind
The baits of pleasing ill:
A soul inured to pain,

To hardship, grief, and loss;
Bold to take up, firm to sustain,
The consecrated cross.

I want a godly fear,

A quick discerning eye,

That looks to Thee when sin is near,
And sees the tempter fly;

A spirit still prepared,
And arm'd with jealous care,
For ever standing on its guard,
And watching unto prayer.

I want a heart to pray,
To pray and never cease,
Never to murmur at Thy stay,
Or wish my sufferings less;
This blessing, above all,
Always to pray, I want,

Out of the deep on Thee to call,
And never, never faint.

I want a true regard,

A single, steady aim,

Unmoved by threat'ning or reward,
To Thee and Thy great name;
A jealous, just concern

For Thine immortal praise;
A pure desire that all may learn
And glorify Thy grace.