Those wakeful eyes,
Which never sleep,
My life shall keep,
When dangers rise.
Hast thou not given thy word
To save my soul from death?
And I can trust thee, Lord,
To keep my mortal breath:
I'll go and come;
Nor fear to die,
Till from on high
Thou call'st me home.
| OD sendeth sun, he sendeth sho wer,
Alike they're needful for the flower;
And joys and tears alike are sent,
To give the soul fit nourishment;
As comes to me, or cloud or sun,
Father, thy will, not mine, be done.
Can loving children e'er reprove,
With murmurs, those they trust and love?
Creator, I would ever be
A trusting, loving child to thee;
As comes to me, or cloud or sun,
Father, thy will, not mine, be done.
Oh! ne'er will I at life repine,
Enough that thou hast made it mine;
When falls the shadow cold of death,
I yet will sing with parting breath:
As comes to me, or cloud or sun,
Father, thy will, not mine, be done.
NINCE all the downward tracks of time
God's watchful eye surveys,
O who so wise to choose our lot,
And regulate our ways?
Why should we doubt his constant love,
Immeasurably kind?
To his unerring gracious will,
Be every wish resign'd.
Good when he gives, supremely good,
Nor less when he denies;
Even crosses from his sovereign hand
Are blessings in disguise.
THY way, not mine, O Lord,
However dark it be;
Lead me by thine own hand,
Choose out the path for me.
Smooth let it be or rough,
It will be still the best;
Winding or straight, it matters not,
It leads me to thy rest.
I dare not choose my lot,
I would not, if I might :
Choose thou for me, my God,
So shall I walk aright.
The kingdom that I seek
Is thine, so let the way
That leads to it be thine,
Else I must surely stray.
Take thou my cup, and it
With joy or sorrow fill,
As best to thee may seem:
Choose thou my good and ill.
Choose thou for me my friends,
My sickness or my health;
Choose thou my cares for me,
My poverty or wealth.
Not mine, not mine the choice,
In things or great or small;
Be thou my guide, my strength,
My wisdom and my all.
WAKE my soul, awake my tongue;
My God demands the grateful song;
Let all my inmost pow'rs record
The wondrous mercies of the Lord.
Divinely free his mercy flows,
Forgives my sins, allays my woes;
He bids approaching death remove,
And crowns me with a Father's love.
His mercy, with unchanging rays,
For ever shines, while time decays;
And children's children shall record
The truth and goodness of the Lord.
While all his works his praise proclaim,
And men and angels bless his name,
O let my heart, my life, my tongue
Attend and join the sacred song.
WHEN all thy mercies, O my God,
My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I'm lost
In wonder, love, and praise.
O how shall words with equal warmth
The gratitude declare,
That glows within my ravish'd heart?
But thou canst read it there.
Thy providence my life sustain❜d,
And all my wants redress'd,
When in the silent womb I lay,
And hung upon the breast.
Unnumber'd comforts on my soul
Thy tender care bestowed,
Before my infant heart conceived
From whom those comforts flow'd.
When in the slippery paths of youth
With heedless steps I ran,
Thine arm, unseen, convey'd me safe,
And led me up to man.
When worn with sickness, oft hast thou
With health renew'd my face;
And, when in sins and sorrows sunk,
Revived my soul with grace.
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
That tastes those gifts with joy.
Through every period of my life
Thy goodness I'll pursue;
And, after death, in distant worlds
The glorious theme renew.
Through all eternity to thee
A joyful song I'll raise :
But O! eternity's too short
To utter all thy praise.
FOR a thousand tongues to sing
My great Redeemer's praise;
The glories of my God and King,
The triumphs of his grace.
My gracious Master, and my God,
Assist me to proclaim,
To spread through all the earth abroad
The honours of thy name.
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 power of cancell❜d sin,
He sets the prisoner free;
His blood can make the foulest clean;
His blood avails for me.
He speaks, and, listening 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;
Ye blind, behold your Saviour come;
And leap, ye lame, for joy.
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