I know, I feel how mean, and how unworthy, For in thy sight, who every bosom viewest, Our hearts forget them. We see thy hand, it leads us, it supports us, We hear thy voice, it counsels and it courts us And then we turn away, but still thy kindness Pardons our blindness. And still thy rain descends, thy sun is glowing; Fruits ripen round, flowers are beneath us blow ing; And, as if man were some deserving creature, Joys cover nature. O how long suffering, Lord, but thou delightest, Who can resist thy gentle call appealing, That voice paternal, whispering, watching ever, My bosom? Never. Father and Saviour, plant within that bosom These seeds of holiness, and bid them blossom In fragrance and in beauty bright and vernal, And spring eternal. Then place them in those everlasting gardens, Where angels and seraphs are the wardens; Where every flow'r that creeps through death's dark portal, Becomes immortal. BOWRING. Self-Examination. "Blessed is he whose conscience hath not condemned him, and who is not fallen from his hope in the Lord." ECCL. xiv. 2. 'ERE thou giv'st thine eyes to sleep, If with memory's eye review'd, For the glory is the Lord's. Good neglected, evil done, Seek for strength, whence strength must flow, On the morrow such to shun. BERNARD BARTON. Contrition for Sin. "O remember not against us former iniquities; let thy tender mercies speedily prevent us; for we are brought very low."-Ps. lxxix. WHEN nightly as I rest me on my bed, I trace in memory how the day has sped. And to all-judging excellence reveal, Praise. From all that dwell below the skies Let the Redeemer's name be sung; Eternal truth is in thy word, Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more. Your lofty themes ye mortals bring, And shout for joy the Saviour's name ; In every land begin the song, To every land the strains belong ; Prayer. Father of light and life! thou Good Supreme ! From every low pursuit; and feed my soul With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss. THOMSON. |