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C.M. 365 What is your life! It is even a ta

-14. 1 OUR

UR life is ever on the wing,

And death is ever nigh;
The moment when our lives begin

We all begin to die
2 Yet, mighty God! our fleeting days

Thy lasting favours share;
And still the bounties of Thy grace

Enrich the rolling year.
3 Tis sovereign Mercy finds us food,

And we are clothed by Love; While Grace stands pointing out the

That leads our souls above.
4 Thy goodness runs an endless round;

Al glory to the Lord!
Thy mercy never knows a bound,

And be Thy name adored!
5 Thus we begin the lasting song:

And, when we close our eyes,
Let the next age Thy praise prolong,

Till time with nature dies.

C.M. 366 It is soon cut of, and we fly away.

- ,
1 THE we adore, Eternal Name,

And humbly
How feeble is our mortal frame,

What dying creatures we!
2 Our wasting lives grow shorter still,

As days and months increase; And every beating pulse we tell

Leaves but the number less. 3 The year rolls round, and steals away

The breath that first it gave; Whate'er we do, where'er we stray,

We're travelling to the grave. 4 Dangers stand thick through all the

To push us to the

And fierce diseases wait around,

To hurry mortals home.

5 Great God! on what a slender thread

Hang everlasting things!
The eternal states of all the dead

Upon life's feeble strings. 6 Infinite joy or endless woe

Attends on every breath;
And yet how unconcerned we go

Upon the brink of death!
7 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense

To walk this dangerous road; That if our souls are hurried hence, They may be found with God.


367 Lord, make me to know mine end.

. 1

My days, how brief their date! That I may timely comprehend

How frail my best estate. 2 My life is but a span,

Mine age is nought with Thee; For, in his highest honour, man

Is dust and vanity. 3 At Thy rebake, the bloom

01 man's vain beauty flies; And grief shall, like a moth, consume

All that delights our eyes.
Have pity on my fears;
Hearken to my request;
Turn not in silence from my tears,

But give the mourner rest.
5 A stranger, Lord, with Thee,

I walk in pilgrimage,
Where all my fathers once, like me,

Sojourned from age to age. 6 O spare me yet I pray!

Awhile my strength restore,
Ere I am summoned hence away,
And seen on earth no more.

368 It is He that path made

us, and we .-Ps. 1 A DORE , soul, that awful Name,

To which the angels bow
By which the worlds from nothing came
The heaven of heavens, and thou.

2 The God who sits enthroned above,

Thy breath of life has given; His voice in thunder, and in love,

Calls thee from earth to heaven.
3 This speck of earth is not thy home,

Nor mortal joys thine end;
Beyond the starry spangled dome,

Thy boundless views extend. 4 Why fondly plucķ the withering flowers

That only deck thy tomb, Whileamaranthine wreathsand bowers

For thee immortal bloom?
5 Resign thy joys and hopes to God;

Cast flesh and sin away;
Pursue the path thy Saviour trod,

And rise to endless day.


369 That I may knowo kow frail I am.

-Ps, 39, 4. 1

Teach me the measure of my days,
Teach me to know how frail I am,
And spend the remnant to Thy praise.
2 My days are shorter than a span,

A little point my life appears;
How frail at best is dying man!

How vain are all his hopes and fears! 3 Vain his ambition, noise, and show!

Vain are the cares which rack his mind!
He heaps up treasures mixed with

woe, And dies and leaves them all behind. 4 Oh, be a nobler portion mine!

My God, I bow before Thy throne;
Earth's fleeting treasures I resign,
And fix my hopes on Thee alone.

C.M. 370 So teach us to number our days.

Ps. 90, 12.
AND is this life prolonged to me?

O let me then prepare to be,
A fitter heir of heaven.

2 In vain these moments shall not pass,

These golden hours be gone: Lord, I accept Thine offered grace,

I bow before Thy throne.
3 Now cleanse my soul from every sin,

By my Redeemer's blood:
Now let my flesh and soul begin

The honours of my God. 4 My thankful lips shall loud proclaim

The wonders of Thy praise,
And spread the savour of Thy name
Where'er I spend my days.


(See also BAPTISM.)


371 Behold, I stand at the door, and BER

knock. 3, . 1 EHOLD a Stranger at the door,

He gently knocks-has knocked

before; Has waited long; is waiting still: You use no other friend so ill. 2 But will he prove a friend indeed ? He will—the very friend you need; The man of Nazareth, tis He,

With garments dyed at Calvary. 3 O lovely attitude! He stands

With melting heart and open hands; O matchless kindness! and He shows This matchless kindness to His foes! 4 Rise, touched with gratitude divine, Turn out His enemy and thine; Turn out that hateful monster, Sin, And let the heavenly Stranger in. 5 Admit Him, for the human breast Ne'er entertained so kind a guest: No mortal tongue their joys can tell, With whom He condescends to dwell.


372 if any man

6 Yet know-nor of the terms complain

Where Jesus comes, He comes to reign, To reign with universal sway:

E'en thoughts must die that disobey. 7 Sovereign of souls! thou Princeof Peace!

O may Thy gentle reign increase! Throw wide the door, each willing mind; And be His empire-all mankind.


. open the door, I will come in to him.-Rev. 3, 20. 1 IFT up your heads, ye mighty gates;

The King of kings is drawing near,
The Saviour of the world is here;
Life and salvation doth He bring,

Rejoice aloud, and gladly sing.
2 The Lord is just, a helper tried,

Mercy is ever at His side,
His kingly crown is holiness,
His sceptre, pity in distress,
The end of all our woe He brings,

And all the earth is glad and sings.
3 Fling wide the portals of your heart,

Make it a temple set apart
From earthly use, for heaven's employ,
Adorned with prayer, and love, and joy,
So shall your Sovereign enter in,

And new and nobler life begin. 4 Redeemer, come! I open wide

My heart to Thee; here, Lord, abide!
Let me Thy inner presence feel,
Thy grace and love in me reveal;
Thy Holy Spirit guide me on,
Until the glorious crown be won !

L.M 373 Boast not thyself of to-morrox.

. 1 HASTEN, 0 sinner, to be wise, [sun;

And stay not
The longer wisdom you despise,

The harder is she to be won. 2 O hasten mercy to implore,

And stay not for the morrow's sun;
For fear thy season should be o'er
Before this evening's stage be run.

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