Through each perplexing path of life
Our wand'ring footsteps guide;
Give us each day our daily bread,
And raiment fit provide.
O spread thy cov'ring wings around,
Till all our wand'rings cease,
And at our Father's lov'd abode
Our souls arrive in peace.
Such blessings from thy gracious hand
Our humble pray'rs implore;
And thou shalt be our chosen God,
And portion evermore.
WHERE high the heav'nly temple stands,
The house of God not made with hands,
A great High Priest our nature wears,
The guardian of mankind appears.
He who for men their surety stood,
And pour'd on earth his precious blood,
Pursues in heav'n his mighty plan,
The Saviour and the friend of man.
Though now ascended up on high,
He bends on earth a brother's eye;
Partaker of the human name,
He knows the frailty of our frame.
Our fellow-suffärer yet retains
A fellow-feeling of our pains;
And still remembers in the skies
His tears, his agonies and cries.
In ev'ry pang that rends the heart,
The Man of sorrows had a part;
He sympathizes with our grief,
And to the suff'rer sends relief.
With boldness, therefore, at the throne,
Let us make all our sorrows known;
And ask the aids of heav'nly pow'r
To help us in the evil hour.
BEHOLD! the mountain of the Lord
In latter days shall rise
On mountain-tops above the hills,
And draw the wond'ring eyes.
To this the joyful nations round,
All tribes and tongues shall flow;
Up to the hill of God, they'll say,
And to his house we'll go.
The beam that shines from Zion's hill
Shall lighten ev'ry land;
The King who reigns in Salem's tow'rs
Shall all the world command.
Among the nations he shall judge;
His judgments truth shall guide;
His sceptre shall protect the just,
And quell the sinner's pride.
No strife shall rage, nor hostile feuds
Disturb those peaceful years;
To ploughshares men shall beat their swords,
To pruning-hooks their spears.
No longer hosts encount'ring hosts
Shall crowds of slain deplore: They hang the trumpet in the hall,
And study war no more.
Come then, O house of Jacob! come
To worship at his shrine;
And, walking in the light of God,
With holy beauties shine.
THE hour of my departure's come;
I hear the voice that calls me home,
At last, O Lord! let trouble cease,
And let thy servant die in peace.
The race appointed I have won;
The combat's o'er, the prize is won;
And now my witness is on high,
And now my record's in the sky.
Not in mine innocence I trust;
I bow before thee in the dust;
And through my Saviour's blood alone
I look for mercy at thy throne.
I leave the world without a tear,
Save for the friends I held so dear;
To heal their sorrows, Lord, descend,
And to the friendless prove a friend.
I come, I come, at thy command,
I give my spirit to thy hand;
Stretch forth thine everlasting arms,
And shield me in the last alarms.
The hour of my departure's come;
I hear the voice that calls me home;
Now, O my God! let trouble cease;
Now let thy servant die in peace.
OK THE DEATH OF CHRISTINU FRIENDS.
TAKE comfort, Christians, when your friends
In Jesus fall asleep;
Their better being never ends;
Why then dejected weep?
Why inconsolable, as those
To whom no hope is giv'n,
Death is the messenger of peace,
And calls the soul to heav'n.
As Jesus died, and rose again
Victorious from the dead;
So his disciples rise, and reign
With their triumphant Head.
The time draws nigh, when from the clouds
Christ shall with shouts descend,
And the last trumpet's awful voice
The heav'ns and earth shall rend.
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