Alone with Jesus: Gleanings for Closet Reading

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N. Tibbals, 1872 - Christian life - 191 pages
 

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Page 15 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near. Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try; Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, The Christian's native air, His watchword at the gates of death — • He enters heaven with prayer. Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice, Returning from his ways ; While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry,
Page 14 - Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies: Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee; In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!
Page 30 - There let the way appear, Steps unto heaven; All that Thou sendest me In mercy given; Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee!
Page 91 - SO let our lips and lives express The holy gospel we profess ; So let our works and virtues shine, To prove the doctrine all divine.
Page 157 - Let thy work appear unto thy servants, And thy glory unto their children. And let the beauty of the LORD our God be upon us: And establish thou the work of our hands upon us; Yea, the work of our hands establish thou it.
Page 13 - Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day ; Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away ; Change and decay in all around I see : 0 Thou that changest not, abide with me...
Page 116 - That at that time ye were without Christ, being aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, and strangers from the covenants of promise, having no hope, and without God in the world: But now in Christ Jesus ye who sometimes were far off are made nigh by the blood of Christ.
Page 40 - Remember thee, and all thy pains, And all thy love to me; Yea, while a breath, a pulse remains, Will I remember thee.
Page 14 - I fear no foe with thee at hand to bless; ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory? I triumph still, if thou abide with me.
Page 68 - That calls me from a world of care, And bids me, at my Father's throne, Make all my wants and wishes known In seasons of distress and grief, My soul has often found relief, And oft escaped the tempter's snare, By thy return, sweet hour of prayer.

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