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Hardened with toil and exercise,
Then leave complaints: fools only strive
ISAAC WATTS THE HAZARD OF LOVING THE CREATURES
Where'er my flattering passions rove,
I find a lurking snare;
Beneath th' eternal fair.
And things that share our blood,
And leave the less for God.
And reason she controls;
Hang closest to our souls.
What tempting things they be!
And draw it off from Thee!
Our hasty wills rush blindly on
Where rising passion rolls,
To bind our slavish souls.
Dear Sovereign, break these fetters off,
And set our spirits free;
For we have all in Thee.
THE DAY OF JUDGMENT
When the fierce north-wind with his airy forces
Rushing amain down;
How the poor sailors stand amazed and tremble,
Quick to devour them.
Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder (If things eternal may be like these earthly), Such the dire terror when the great Archangel
Shakes the creation;
Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven,
Flames all around them!
Hark, the shrill outeries of the guilty wretches!
Gnawing within them.
Thoughts like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings,
Rolling afore Him.
Hopeless immortals! how they scream and shiver, While devils push them to the pit wide-yawning Hideous and gloomy, to receive them headlong
Down to the centre!
Stop here, my fancy: (all away, ye horrid
Throned, yet adoring!
I sit there when He comes triumphant, Dooming the nations! then arise to glory, While our hosannas all along the passage
Shout the Redeemer.
O GOD, OUR HELP IN AGES PAST
O God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years for to come,
And our eternal home:
Under the shadow of Thy throne,
Thy saints have dwelt secure;
And our defense is sure.
Before the hills in order od,
Or earth received her frame,
To endless years the same.
A thousand ages in Thy sight
Are like an evening gone;
Before the rising sun.
Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away;
Dies at the opening day.
O God, our help in ages past;
Our hope for years to come; Be thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home!
A CRADLE HYMN
Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber,
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Gently falling on thy head.
House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care or payment:
All thy wants are well supplied.
How much better thou’rt attended
Than the Son of God could be, When from Heaven He descended
And became a child like thee!
Soft and easy is thy cradle:
Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable
And His softest bed was hay.
Blessed babe! what glorious features
Spotless fair, divinely bright!
How could angels bear the sight?
Was there nothing but a manger
Cursèd sinners could afford
Did they thus affront their Lord ?
Soft, my child: I did not chide thee,
Though my song might sound too hard; 'Tis thy mother sits beside thee,
And her arms shall be thy guard.
Yet to read the shameful story
How the Jews abused their King, How they served the Lord of Glory,
Makes me angry while I sing.
See the kinder shepherds round Him,
Telling' wonders from the sky! Where they sought Him, there they found Him,
With His virgin mother by.
See the lovely babe a-dressing;
Lovely infant, how He smiled! When He wept, the mother's blessing
Soothed and hushed the holy child.
Lo, He slumbers in His manger,
Where the hornèd oxen fed;
Here's no ox a-near thy bed.
'Twas to save thee, child, from dying,
Save my dear from burning flame, Bitter groans and endless crying,
That thy blest Redeemer came.
May'st thou live to know and fear him,
Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him,
See His face, and sing His praise !