222 L. M. Lord, to whom shall we go? John 6:68.
Thou only Sovereign of my heart, My Refuge, my almighty Friend— And can my soul from thee depart, On whom alone my hopes depend?
2 Whither, ah! whither shall I go, A wretched wanderer from my Lord? Can this dark world of sin and woe One glimpse of happiness afford?
3 Eternal life thy words impart; On these my fainting spirit lives; Here sweeter comforts cheer my heart, Than all the round of nature gives.
4 Let earth’s alluring joys combine; While thou art near, in vain they call! One smile, one blissful smile of thine, My dearest Lord, outweighs them all.
5 Thy name my inmost powers adore; Thou art my life, my joy, my care; Depart from thee—’tis death—’tis more— ’Tis endless ruin, deep despair!
6 Low at thy feet my soul would lie; Here safety dwells, and peace divine; Still let me live beneath thine eye, For life, eternal life, is thine.
223 L. M. Christ the Way, the Truth, and the Life.
Thou art the way; and he who sighs, Amid this starless waste of woe, To find a pathway to the skies, A light from heaven’s eternal glow, By thee must come, thou gate of love, Through which the saints undoubting trod, Till faith discovers, like the dove, An ark, a resting-place in God.
2 Thou art the Truth, whose steady day Shines on through earthly blight and bloom; The pure, the everlasting Ray, The Lamp that shines e’en in the tomb; The light that out of darkness springs, And guideth those that blindly go; The Word whose precious radiance flings Its luster upon all below.
3 Thou art the Life, the blesséd Well With living waters gushing o’er, Which those that drink shall ever dwell Where sin and thirst are known no more, Thou art the mystic Pillar given, Our Lamp by night, our Light by day; Thou art the sacred Bread from heaven; Thou art the Life, the Truth, the Way.
224 L. M. 6 lines. A very present help in trouble. Psalm 46:1.
Still nigh me, O my Saviour, stand, And guard in fierce temptation’s hour; Support by thy almighty hand, Show forth in me thy saving power; Still be thine arm my sure defense, Nor earth nor hell shall pluck me thence.
2 In suffering be thy love my peace, In weakness be thy love my power; And when the storms of life shall cease, O, Saviour, in that trying hour, In death, as life, be thou my guide, And save me, who for me hast died.
225 L. M. 6 lines. Christ all and in all.
Jesus, thou source of calm repose, All fullness dwells in thee divine; Our strength, to quell the proudest foes; Our light, in deepest gloom to shine; Thou art our fortress, strength, and tower, Our trust, and portion, evermore.
2 Jesus, our Comforter, thou art Our rest in toil, our ease in pain; The balm to heal each broken heart: In storms our peace, in loss our gain; Our joy, beneath the worldling’s frown; In shame, our glory and our crown:
3 In want, our plentiful supply; In weakness, our almighty power; In bonds, our perfect liberty; Our refuge in temptation’s hour; Our comfort, ’midst all grief and thrall; Our life in death; our all in all.
226 L. M. 6 lines. Prophet, Priest, and King.
My Prophet thou, my heavenly Guide, Thy sweet instructions I will hear; The words that from thy lips proceed, O how divinely sweet they are! Thee, my great Prophet, I would love, And imitate the blest above.
2 My great High Priest, whose precious blood Did once atone upon the cross, Who now dost intercede with God, And plead the friendless sinner’s cause: In thee I trust, thee would I love, And imitate the blest above.
3 My King supreme, to thee I bow A willing subject at thy feet; All other lords I disavow, And to thy government submit; My Saviour King, this heart would love, And imitate the blest above.
227 L. M. He is precious. 1 Peter 2:7.
Jesus! the very thought is sweet; In that dear name all heart-joys meet; But sweeter than the honey far The glimpses of his presence are.
2 No word is sung more sweet than this; No name is heard more full of bliss; No thought brings sweeter comfort nigh, Than Jesus, Son of God, most high.
3 Jesus, the hope of souls forlorn! How good to them for sin that mourn; To them that seek thee, O how kind! But what art thou to them that find?
4 No tongue of mortal can express, No letters write its blessedness; Alone, who hath thee in his heart, Knows, love of Jesus, what thou art.
228 C. M. Christ a merciful High Priest
With joy we meditate the grace Of our High Priest above: His heart is full of tenderness; His bosom glows with love.