The wilderness affords no food;

But God for my support prepares, Provides me every needful good,

And frees my soul from wants and cares.

With him sweet converse I maintain ;
Great as He is, I dare be free;

I tell Him all my grief and pain;
And He reveals His love to me.

Some cordial from His Word He brings,
Whene'er my feeble spirit faints;
At once my soul revives and sings,
And yields no more to sad complaints.

I pity all that worldlings talk

Of pleasures, that will quickly end; Be this my choice, O Lord, to walk

With Thee, my Guide, my Guard, my Friend!

John Newton. 1779.

CCCLXXXV.

Sometimes a light surprises

The Christian while he sings;
It is the Lord, who rises
With healing in His wings:
When comforts are declining,
He grants the soul again
A season of clear shining
To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation

We sweetly then pursue
The theme of God's salvation,
And find it ever new:

Set free from present sorrow,
We cheerfully can say,

E'en let the unknown to-morrow
Bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it nothing,
But He will bear us through;
Who gives the lilies clothing

Will clothe His people too;
Beneath the spreading heavens
No creature but is fed;

And He, who feeds the ravens,
Will give His children bread.

Though vine nor fig-tree neither
Their wonted fruit shall bear ;
Though all the field should wither,
Nor flocks nor herds be there;
Yet, God the same abiding,

His praise shall tune my voice;
For, while in Him confiding,
I cannot but rejoice.

William Cowper. 1779.

CCCLXXXVI.

Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest;
Far did I rove, and found no certain home;
At last I sought them in His sheltering breast,
Who opes His arms, and bids the weary come :
With Him I found a home, a rest Divine;
And I since then am His, and He is mine.

Yes! He is mine! and nought of earthly things, Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or power,

The fame of heroes, or the pomp of kings,

Could tempt me to forego His love an hour.

Go, worthless world, I cry, with all that's thine! Go! I my Saviour's am, and He is mine.

The good I have is from His stores supplied;
The ill is only what He deems the best;

He for my Friend, I'm rich with nought beside;
And poor without Him, though of all possest:
Changes may come; I take, or I resign;
Content, while I am His, while He is mine.

Whate'er may change, in Him no change is seen; A glorious Sun, that wanes not nor declines ; Above the clouds and storms He walks serene,

And sweetly on his people's darkness shines: All may depart; I fret not, nor repine, While I my Saviour's am, while He is mine.

He stays me falling, lifts me up when down,

Reclaims me wandering, guards from every foe; Plants on my worthless brow the victor's crown; Which, in return, before His feet I throw, Grieved that I cannot better grace His shrine, Who deigns to own me His, as He is mine.

While here, alas! I know but half His love,
But half discern Him, and but half adore;
But when I meet Him in the realms above,
I hope to love Him better, praise Him more,
And feel, and tell, amid the choir Divine,
How fully I am His, and He is mine.

Henry Francis Lyte. 1833.

VII.

DISCIPLINE.

'Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth.-(HEB.xii. 6.)

CCCLXXXVII.

When Christ, with all His graces crown'd,
Sheds His kind beams abroad,

'Tis a young Heaven on earthly ground,
And glory in the bud.

A blooming paradise of joy

In this wild desert springs,
And every sense I straight employ
On sweet celestial things.

But ah! how soon my joys decay!
How soon my sins arise

And snatch the heavenly scene away

From these lamenting eyes!

When shall the time, dear Jesus, when

The shining day appear,

That I shall leave those clouds of sin
And guilt and darkness here?

Up to the fields above the skies
My hasty feet would go;
There everlasting flowers arise,
And joys unwithering grow!

Isaac Watts. 1709.

CCCLXXXVIII.

O for a closer walk with God,

A calm and heavenly frame! A light to shine upon the road That leads me to the Lamb!

Where is the blessedness I knew
When first I saw the Lord?
Where is the soul-refreshing view
Of Jesus and His word?

What peaceful hours I once enjoyed!
How sweet their memory still!
But they have left an aching void
The world can never fill.

Return, O holy Dove! return,
Sweet messenger of rest!

I hate the sins that made Thee mourn,
And drove Thee from my breast.

The dearest idol I have known,

Whate'er that idol be,

Help me to tear it from Thy throne,
And worship only Thee!

So shall my walk be close with God,
Calm and serene my frame ;'
So purer light shall mark the road

That leads me to the Lamb!

William Cowper. 1779.

CCCLXXXIX.

The spring-tide hour

Brings leaf and flower

With songs of life and love;