5 Fair is the lot that's cast for me;
I have an Advocate with Thee;
They whom the world earesses most
Have no such privilege to boast.
6 Poor though I be, despised, forgot,
Yet God, my God, forgets me not;
And he is safe, and must succeed,
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.
William Cowper. 1779.

517

518

1 DEAR Refuge of my weary soul,

On Thee, when sorrows rise,
On Thee, when waves of trouble roll,
My fainting hope relies.

2 To Thee I tell each rising grief,
For Thou alone canst heal;

Thy Word can bring a sweet relief
For every pain I feel.

C. M.

3 Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face?
And shall I seek in vain?

And can the ear of sovereign grace
Be deaf when I complain?

4 No, still the ear of sovereign grace
Áttends the mourner's prayer:

O may I ever find access,

To breathe my sorrows there!
Anne Steele. 1760.

PSALM 86.

10 HEAR me, Lord, for I am poor,
And seek salvation at Thy door;
Bow down Thy gentle ear to me,
Who am opprest with misery.

2 Let mercy come from God on high,
The object of my daily cry;

I daily knock, I daily wait,
For mercy's alms, at mercy's gate.

L.M.

365

3 God of all comfort, give a dole
Of comfort to Thy servant's soul:
For this my soul doth bend her knee,
And stretch her craving hands to Thee.

4 Thou, Lord, art good, and Thou dost stand
With sealed pardons in Thy hand;
O how the dews of mercy fall,

And answer at Thy people's call!

5 Lord, guide me in Thy secret way;
With such a Guide I shall not stray:
Bring me into a heavenly frame,
Unite my heart to fear Thy Name.

6 0 King of Nations, Lord of all,
Before Thee shall all nations fall;
And every language shall confess
Thy glorious everlastingness!

519

John Mason. 1683. a.

11, 10. 1 COME, ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish ; Come to the mercy-seat, fervently kneel; Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish ;

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

2 Joy of the desolate, light of the straying,

Hope, when all others die, fadeless and pure! Here speaks the Comforter, tenderly saying,

Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot cure.

3 Here see the Bread of Life; see waters flowing Forth from the throne of God, pure from above; Come to the feast of love; come, ever knowing Earth has no sorrow but Heaven can remove. From Thomas Moore. 1824.

520

C. H. M.
1 WHEN I can trust my all with God,
In trial's fearful hour,

Bow, all resigned, beneath His rod,
And bless His sparing power,
A joy springs up amid distress,
A fountain in the wilderness.

2 0, to be brought to Jesus' feet,
Though trials fix me there,
Is still a privilege; and sweet
The energies of prayer,

Though sighs and tears its language be,
If Christ be nigh, and smile on me.
3 Then blesséd be the Hand that gave,
Still blesséd when it takes:

521

Blesséd be He who smites to save,
Who heals the Heart He breaks.
Perfect and true are all His ways,
Whom heaven adores and death obeys.
Josiah Conder. 1836.

1 IN weariness and pain,
By sins and fears opprest,
I turn me to my Rest again,
My soul's eternal Rest:

2

The Lamb that died for me,
And still my load doth bear;

To Jesus' streaming wounds I flee,
And find my quiet there.

Jesus, was ever grief,

Was ever love like Thine?

Thy sorrow, Lord, is my relief,

Thy life hath ransomed mine.

S. M.

4

522

1

Ο may
I rise with Thee,
And soar to things above,
And spend a blest, eternity
In praise of dying Love.

C. Wesley. 1749. a.

S. M.

THOU very present Aid

In suffering and distress;

The soul which still on Thee is stayed

Is kept in perfect peace.

3

4

5

6

7

Midst raging storms exults to find

An everlasting rest.

Sorrow and fear are gone,
Whene'er Thy face appears;
It stills the sighing orphan's moan,
And dries the widow's tears.

It hallows every cross;

It sweetly comforts me;

Makes me forget my every loss,
And find my all in Thee.

Peace to the troubled heart,
Health to the sin-sick mind;

The wounded spirit's Balm Thou art,

The Healer of mankind.

Jesus, to whom I fly,

Doth all my wishes fill;

In vain created streams are dry,
I have the Fountain still.

And

Stript of my earthly friends,
I find them all in One;
peace, and joy that never ends,
And heaven, in Christ alone.

C. Wesley. 1749. a.

523

1 JESUS, the weary wanderer's Rest,
Give me Thy easy yoke to bear;
With steadfast patience arm my breast,
With spotless love, and lowly fear.
2 Thankful I take the cup from Thee,
Prepared and mingled by Thy skill:
Though bitter to the taste it be,

Powerful the wounded soul to heal.

3 Be Thou, O Rock of Ages, nigh!

L.M.

So shall each murmuring thought be gone;
And grief, and fear, and care shall fly,
As clouds before the mid-day sun.
4 Speak to my warring passions, "Peace!"
Say to my trembling heart, "Be still!"
Thy power my strength and fortress is,
For all things serve Thy sovereign will.
5 Oh death, where is thy sting? Where now
Thy boasted victory, O grave?

Who shall contend with God? or who
Can hurt whom God delights to save?
C. Wesley. 1739.

524

S. M. 1 YOUR harps, ye trembling saints, Down from the willows take;

2

3

Loud, to the praise of Love divine,
Bid every string awake.

Though in a foreign land,
We are not far from home;

And nearer to our house above
We every moment come.

His grace will to the end

Stronger and brighter shine;

Nor present things, nor things to come,
Shall quench the spark divine.