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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.
HYMN 400.

H. M. Toplady.
Allerton. Wbitchurch. Jubilee.

Jesus, the Pilot.
I JESUS, at thy command,

I launch into the deep;
And leave my native land,

Where sin lulls all asleep:
For thee I fain would all resign,
And sail to heav'n with thee and thine ;
2 Thou art my Pilot wise ;

My compass is thy word ;
My soul each storm defies,
While I have such a Lord!
I trust thy faithfulness and pow'r,
To save me in the trying hour.
3 Though rocks and quicksands deep,
Through all my passage lie;

Yet thou wilt safely keep,
And guide me with thine eye:
My anchor, hope, shall firm abide,
And I each boist'rous storm outride.
4 By faith I see the land,

The port of endless rest:
My soul, thy sails expand,
And fly to Jesus' breast.
Oh, may I reach the heav'nly shore,
Where winds and waves distress no more !
5 Whene'er becalm'd I lie,

And storms and winds subside;
Lord, to my succor fly,

And keep me near thy side :
For more the treach'rous calm I dread,
Than tempests bursting o'er my

head. 6 Come, heav'nly Wind, and blow

A prosp'rous gale of grace,
To waft me from below,

To heav'n, my destin'd place :
Then in full sail, my port I'll find,
And leave the world, and sin behind.

HYMN 401. 8s.

Lambeth. Uxbridge.
1 AH! why this disconsolate frame?

Though earthly enjoyments decay,
My Jesus is ever the same,

A Sun in the gloomiest day:
Though molten awhile in the fire,
'Tis only the gold to refine;

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 ?
Delusive, its vanities flee,

A flash of enjoyment at most:
And if the Redeemer could part

For me, with his throne in the skies,
Ah! why is so dear to my heart,

What he in his wisdom denies ?
3 Then let the rude tempest assail,

The blast of adversity blow,
The haven, though distant, 1 hail,

Beyond this rough ocean of wo:
When safé on its beautiful strand,

I'll smile on the billows that foam,
Kind angels to hail me to land,

And Jesus to welcome me home.
HYMN. 402.

C. M.

Newton. Colchester. St. Ann's. Stade.

The storm hushed.
1 'TIS past-the dreadful stormy night

Is gone, with all its fears !
And now I see returning light,

The Lord, my Sun, appears.
2 Oh, wond'rous change! but just before,

Despair beset me round;
I heard the lion's horrid roar,
And trembled at the sound.

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3 Before corruption, guilt, and fear,

My former comforts fell;
And I discover'd, standing near,

The dreadful depths of hell.
4 But Jesus pitied my distress;
He heard


Reveal'd his blood and righteousness,

And brought salvation nigh.
5 Dear Lord, since thou hast broke my bands

And set the captive free,
I would devote my tongue, my hands,

My heart, my all to thee.
HYMN 403. C. M. Madan's Col.

Stade. Braintree. Abridge.
1 OUR little bark on boist'rous seas,

By eruel tempest toss'd,
Without one cheerful beam of hope,

Expecting to be lost;
2 We to the Lord, in humble prayer,

Breath'd out our sad distress;
Though feeble, yet with contrite hearts,

We begg'd return of peace.
3 The stormy winds did cease to blow,

The waves no more did roll;
And soon again a placid sea

Spoke comfort to each soul.
4 Oh! may our grateful, trembling hearts

Sweet hallelujahs sing,
To him who hath our lives preserv'd,
Our Saviour, and our King,

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5. Let us proclaim to all the world,

With heart and voice, again,
And tell the wonders he hath done

For us, the sons of men.
HYMN 404.

C. P. M. Lrown.
Ganges. Penitent. Chapel.

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.
4 These ears, that once could entertain
The midnight oath, the festive strain,

Around the sinful board;
Now deaf to all th’ enchanting noise,
Avoid the throng, detest their joys,
And long to hear thy word.

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