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2 His destin'd land he sometimes sees,
And thinks his toils will soon be o'er, Expects some favorable breeze
Will waft him quickly to the shore. 3 But hark !—the midnight iempest roars !
He seems forsaken, and alone : But Jesus, whom he then implores,
Unseen preserves and leads him on. 4 Though fear his heart should overwhelm,
He'll reach the port to which he's bound; For Jesus holds and guides the helm,
And soon the haven will be found.
H. M. Toplady.
Jesus, the Pilot.
I launch into the deep;
Where sin lulls all asleep:
My compass is thy word ;
Yet thou wilt safely keep,
The port of endless rest:
And storms and winds subside;
And keep me near thy side :
head. 6 Come, heav'nly Wind, and blow
A prosp'rous gale of grace,
To heav'n, my destin'd place :
HYMN 401. 8s.
Though earthly enjoyments decay,
A Sun in the gloomiest day:
And be it my simple desire
Though suffering, not to repine. 2 What can be the pleasures to me,
Which earth in its fulness can boast ?
A flash of enjoyment at most:
For me, with his throne in the skies,
What he in his wisdom denies ?
The blast of adversity blow,
Beyond this rough ocean of wo:
I'll smile on the billows that foam,
And Jesus to welcome me home.
Newton. Colchester. St. Ann's. Stade.
The storm hushed.
Is gone, with all its fears !
The Lord, my Sun, appears.
Despair beset me round;
3 Before corruption, guilt, and fear,
My former comforts fell;
The dreadful depths of hell.
And brought salvation nigh.
And set the captive free,
My heart, my all to thee.
Stade. Braintree. Abridge.
By eruel tempest toss'd,
Expecting to be lost;
Breath'd out our sad distress;
We begg'd return of peace.
The waves no more did roll;
Spoke comfort to each soul.
Sweet hallelujahs sing,
5. Let us proclaim to all the world,
With heart and voice, again,
For us, the sons of men.
C. P. M. Lrown.
True convert, 2 Cor. v. 17. 1 WHEN with my mind devoutly press’d, Dear Saviour, my revolving breast
Would past offences trace ; Trembling I make the black review, Yet pleas'd behold, admiring too,
The pow'r of changing grace. 2 This tongue with blasphemies defild, These feet to erring paths beguild,
In heav'nly league agree: Who would believe such lips could praise, Or think from dark and winding ways,
I e'er should turn to thee? 3 These eyes that once abus'd the light, Now lift to thee their wat'ry sight,
And weep a silent flood; These hands are rais'd in ceaseless pray'r, Oh, wash away the stains they wear,
In pure redeeming blood.
Around the sinful board;