Why should I shrink at pain and wo?
Or feel, at death, dismay ?
I've Canaan's goodly land in view,
And realms of endless day.
Apostles, martyrs, prophets there,
Around my Saviour stand;
And soon my friends in Christ below,
Will join the glorious band.
Jerusalem! my happy home!
My soul still pants for thee; Then shall my labours have an end, When I thy joys shall see.
Christ the believer's only hope.
JESUS, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the billows near me roll;
While the tempest still is high;
Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,
Till the storm of life is past ;
Safe into the haven guide,
Oh! receive my soul at last.
Other refuge have I none,
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
Leave, Oh! leave me not alone,
Still support and comfort me :
All my trust on Thee is stay'd,
All mine help from Thee I bring,
Cover my defenceless head
With the shadow of Thy wing.
Thou, O Christ, art all I want,
Boundless love in Thee I find ;
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,
Heal the sick, and lead the blind.
Thou of life the Fountain art,
Freely let me take of Thee;
Spring Thou up within my heart,
Rise to all eternity.
HYMN 123.
Invitation to praise the Lord.
O FOR a thousand tongues to sing
My dear Redeemer's praise,
The glories of my God and King,
The triumphs of His grace.
Jesus, the name that charms our fears,
That bids our sorrows cease;
'Tis music in the sinner's ears,
'Tis life, and health, and peace.
He breaks the pow'r of cancell'd sin,
He sets the pris'ners free ;
His blood can make the foulest clean, His blood avail'd for me.
He speaks, and list'ning to His voice, New life the dead receive;
The mournful, broken hearts rejoice, The humble poor believe.
Hear Him, ye deaf; His praise, ye dumb, Your loosen'd tongues employ ;
And leap, ye lame, for joy.
FROM Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strand,
Where Afric's sunny fountains,
Roll down their golden sand ;
From many an ancient river,
From many a palmy plain,
They call us to deliver,
Their land from error's chain.
What, though the spicy breezes
Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle ;
Though every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile;
In vain, with lavish kindness,
The gifts of God are strewn,
The heathen, in their blindness,
Bow down to wood and stone.
Shall we, whose souls are lighted
By wisdom from on high;
Shall we, to man benighted,
The lamp of life deny ?-
Salvation! O Salvation !
The joyful sound proclaim,
Till each remotest nation
Has learnt Messiah's name.
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