In this evil world I dwell,
Nor fear its enmity;
Here I find an house of pray'r,
To which I inwardly retire;
Walking unconcern'd in care,
And unconsum'd in fire.

3 0 that all the world might know
Of living, Lord, to thee,
Find their heav'n begun below,
And here thy goodness see;
Walk in all the works prepar'd
By thee to exercise their grace,
Till they gain their full reward,
And see thee face to face.

HYMN 186.

Heaven seen by Faith.

1 AS, when the weary trav'ler gains
The height of some commanding hill,
His heart revives, if o'er the plains

He sees his home, though distant still;
2 So, when the Christian pilgrim views
By faith his mansion in the skies,
The sight his fainting strength renews,
And wings his speed to reach the prize.
3 The hope of heav'n his spirit cheers;
No more he grieves for sorrows past;
Nor any future conflict fears,

So he may safe arrive at last.

4 O Lord, on thee our hopes we stay,
To lead us on to thine abode;
Assur'd thy love will far o'erpay
The hardest labours of the road.

HYMN 187.

(L. M.)

(IV. 4.)

"I would not live alway." Job vii. 16.

1 I WOULD not live alway: I ask not to stay Where storm after storm rises dark o'er the way; The few lurid mornings that dawn on us here, Are enough for life's woes, full enough for its cheer 2 I would not live alway, thus fetter'd by sin, Temptation without, and corruption within: E'en the rapture of pardon is mingled with fears, And the cup of thanksgiving with penitent tears. 3 I would not live alway; no-welcome the tomb, Since Jesus hath lain there, I dread not its gloom

There, sweet be my rest, till he bid me arise
To hail him in triumph descending the skies.

4 Who, who would live alway, away from his God;
Away from yon heaven, that blissful abode,
Where the rivers of pleasure flow o'er the bright plains,
And the noontide of glory eternally reigns:
5 Where the saints of all ages in harmony meet,
Their Saviour and brethren, transported to greet;
While the anthems of rapture unceasingly roll,
And the smile of the Lord is the feast of the soul!

HYMN 188.

Job. xiv. 1, 2. 5, 6.

1 FEW are thy days, and full of wo, O man, of woman born!

Thy doom is written: "Dust thou art,
"To dust thou shalt return."

2 Behold the emblem of thy state
In flow'rs that bloom and die,
Or in the shadow's fleeting form
That mocks the gazer's eye.

3 Determin'd are the days that fly
Successiv o'er thy head;

The number'd hour is on the wing,
That lays thee with the dead.

4 Great God! afflict not, in thy wrath,
The short allotted span,

That bounds the few and weary days
Of pilgrimage to man.

HYMN 189.

(C. M.)

(C. M.)

1 HARK! from the tombs a mournful sound; Mine ears attend the cry;

"Ye living men, come view the ground "Where you must shortly lie.

2 "Princes, this clay must be your bed, "In spite of all your tow'rs;

"The tall, the wise, the rev'rend head "Must lie as low as ours."

3 Great God! is this our certain doom?
And are we still secure?

Still walking downward to the tomb,
And yet prepare no more?

Job xiv. 11-14.

1 THE mighty flood that rolls
Its torrents to the main,
Can ne'er recall its waters lost
From that abyss again:

2 So days, and years, and time,
Descending down to night,
Can thenceforth never more return
Back to the sphere of light:

3 And man, when in the grave,
Can never quit its gloom,
Until th' eternal morn shall wake
The slumber of the tomb.

4 O may I find, in death,

A hiding-place with God,

Secure from wo and sin; till call'd
To share his bless'd abode !

5 Cheer'd by this hope, I wait,

Through toil, and care, and grief,
Till my appointed course is run,
And death shall bring relief.

HYMN 191.

1 VITAL spark of heav'nly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh! the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

2 Hark! they whisper! angels say,
Sister spirit, come away!
What is this absorbs me quite;
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
3 The world recedes, it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O grave, where is thy victory!
Ŏ death, where is thy sting!

(8. M)

1 WHEN, rising from the bed of death,
O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear,
I see my Maker, face to face;
Oh! how shall I appear!

2 If yet, while pardon may be found,
And mercy may be sought,

My heart with inward horror shrinks,
And trembles at the thought;

3 When thou, O Lord, shalt stand disclos'd
In majesty severe,

And sit in judgment on my soul,
Oh! how shall I appear!

4 But thou hast told the troubled mind,
Who does her sins lament,

That faith in Christ's atoning blood
Shall endless wo prevent.

5 Then never shall my soul despair
Her pardon to procure,

Who knows thine only Son has died
To make that pardon sure.

HYMN 193.

1 AND will the Judge descend?
And must the dead arise?
And not a single soul escape
His all-discerning eyes?

2 And from his righteous lips

Shall this dread sentence sound;
And through the num'rous guilty throng
Spread black despair around?

3" Depart from me, accurs'd,
"To everlasting flame,
"For rebel angels first prepar'd,
"Where mercy never came.'

4 How will my heart endure

The terrors of that day:

When earth and heav'n before his face
Astonish'd shrink away?

5 But, ere the trumpet shakes

The mansions of the dead,

Hark, from the gospel's cheering sound,
What joyful tidings spread!

(C. M.)

(8. M.)

6 Ye sinners, seek his grace,

Whose wrath ye cannot bear;
Fly to the shelter of his cross,
And find salvation there.

7 So shall that curse remove,
By which the Saviour bled;
And the last awful day shall pour
His blessings on your head.

HYMN 194.

1 GREAT God, what do I see and hear!
The end of things created!
The Judge of man I see appear,
On clouds of glory seated:

The trumpet sounds; the graves restore
The dead which they contain❜d before;
Prepare, my soul, to meet him.

2 The dead in Christ shall first arise
At the last trumpet's sounding,
Caught up to meet him in the skies,
With joy their Lord surrounding:
No gloomy fears their souls dismay,
His presence sheds eternal day

On those prepar'd to meet him. 3 But sinners, fill'd with guilty fears, Behold his wrath prevailing;

For they shall rise, and find their tears
And sighs are unavailing:

The day of grace is past and gone;
Trembling they stand before the throne,
All unprepar'd to meet him.

4 Great God, what do I see and hear!
The end of things created!
The Judge of man I see appear,
On clouds of glory seated:
Beneath his cross I view the day

When heav'n and earth shall pass away,
And thus prepare to meet him.

HYMN 195.

St. Luke xiii. 24-27.

1 SEEK, my soul, the narrow gate,
Enter ere it be too late;

Many ask to enter there,
When too late to offer pray'r.

2 God from mercy's seat shall rise,
And for ever bar the skies:

(IL. 7.)

(IIL 1.)