3 I love to think on mercies past, And future good implore, And all my cares and sorrows cast On him whom I adore.
4 I love, by faith, to take a view Of brighter scenes in heaven; The prospect doth my strength renew, While here by tempests driven.
5 Thus, when life’s toilsome day is o’er, May its departing ray Be calm as this impressive hour, And lead to endless day.
563 C. M. My Saviour died for me.
Thou art my hiding-place, O Lord, In thee I fix my trust, Encouraged by thy holy word, A feeble child of dust.
2 I have no argument beside, I urge no other plea, And ’tis enough—the Saviour died, The Saviour died for me.
3 When storms of fierce temptation beat, And furious foes assail, My refuge is the mercy-seat, My hope within the vail.
4 From strife of tongues and bitter words, My spirit flies to thee; Joy to my heart the thought affords— My Saviour died for me.
5 And when thy awful voice commands This body to decay, And life, in its last lingering sands, Is ebbing fast away—
6 Then, though it be in accents weak, My voice shall call on thee, And ask for strength in death to speak— “My Saviour died for me.”
564 C. M. Let us draw near. Heb. 10:22.
Approach, my soul, the mercy-seat, Where Jesus answers prayer; There humbly fall before his feet, For none can perish there.
2 Thy promise is my only plea, With this I venture nigh; Thou callest burdened souls to thee, And such, O Lord, am I.
3 Bowed down beneath a load of sin, By Satan sorely pressed, By war without, and fear within, I come to thee for rest.
4 Be thou my shield and hiding-place; That, sheltered near thy side, I may my fierce accuser face, And tell him, “Thou hast died.”
5 O, wondrous love, to bleed and die, To bear the cross and shame, That guilty sinners, such as I, Might plead thy gracious name!
565 C. M. Prayer.
Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire, Unuttered or expressed; The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast.
2 Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear; The upward glancing of an eye When none but God is near.
3 Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try; Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high.
4 Prayer is the contrite sinner’s voice, Returning from his ways, While angels in their songs rejoice, And say—“Behold he prays.”
5 Prayer is the Christian’s vital breath, The Christian’s native air, His watchword at the gate of death; He enters heaven with prayer.
566 C. M. Filled with all the fullness of God.
O Lord, I would delight in thee, And on thy care depend; To thee in every trouble flee, My best, my only Friend.
2 When all created streams are dried, Thy fullness is the same; May I with this be satisfied, And glory in thy name!
3 No good in creatures can be found, But what is found in thee: I must have all things and abound While God is God to me.
4 O that I had a stronger faith, To look within the vail— To credit what my Saviour saith, Whose word can never fail.
5 He who has made my heaven secure, Will here all good provide: While Christ is rich, can I be poor? What can I want beside?
6 O Lord, I cast my care on thee; I triumph and adore: Henceforth my great concern shall be To love and please thee more.
567 S. M. Ask and it shall be given you. Luke 11:9.
Jesus, my strength, my hope, On thee I cast my care, With humble confidence look up, And know thou hearest my prayer.
2 Give me on thee to wait Till I can all things do; On thee, almighty to create, Almighty to renew.
3 I want a sober mind, A self-renouncing will, That tramples down, and casts behind, The baits of pleasing ill;
4 A soul inured to pain, To hardships, grief, and loss; Bold to take up, firm to sustain The consecrated cross;
5 I want a godly fear, A quick-discerning eye, That looks to thee when sin is near, And sees the tempter fly;
6 A spirit still prepared, And armed with jealous care, For ever standing on its guard, And watching unto prayer.
568 S. M. D. Opening prayer meeting.
It is the hour of prayer: Draw near and bend the knee, And fill the calm and holy air With voice of melody! O’erwearied with the heat And burden of the day, Now let us rest our wandering feet, And gather here to pray.
2 O, blesséd is the hour That lifts our hearts on high! Like sunlight when the tempests lower, Prayer to the soul is nigh; Though dark may be our lot, Our eyes be dim with care, These saddening thoughts shall trouble not This holy hour of prayer.
569 C. H. M. Come, let us pray.