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HYMN 112. C.M.
Thanksgiving for health after Pestilence. (cont.)
4 |
Praise to the Lord, who staid the sword,
And said, "it is enough;"
Praise to the Lord, who makes his saints
Triumphant e'en in death.
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Our God, in thine appointed hour
Those heav'nly gates display,
Where pain, and sickness, fear and death
For ever flee away.
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6 |
There, while the nations of the bless'd,
With raptures bow around,
Our anthems to deliv'ring grace,
In sweeter strains shall sound.
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HYMN 113. C.M.
Complaint and hope in Sickness.
1 |
LORD, I am pain'd; but I resign
My body to thy will:
'Tis grace, 'tis wisdom all divine,
Appoints the pains I feel.
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2 |
Dark are thy ways of providence,
While they, who love thee, groan:
Thy reasons lie conceal'd from sense,
Mysterious and unknown.
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3 |
Yet nature may have leave to speak,
And plead before her God,
Lest the o'erburden'd heart should break
Beneath thy heavy rod.
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4 |
These mournful groans and flowing tears,
Give my poor spirit ease:
While ev'ry groan my Father hears,
And ev'ry tear he sees.
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5 |
Is not some smiling hour at hand,
With health upon its wings?
Give it, O God, thy swift command,
With all the joys it brings.
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PAGE 431
HYMN 114. C.M.
Praise for recovery from Sickness.
1 |
MY God, thy service well demands
The remnant of my days;
Why was this fleeting breath renew'd,
But to renew thy praise?
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2 |
Thine arms of everlasting love
Did this weak frame sustain;
When life was hov'ring o'er the grave,
And nature sunk with pain.
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3 |
Calmly I bow'd my fainting head
On thy dear faithful breast;
Pleas'd to obey my Father's call
To his eternal rest.
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4 |
Into thy hands, my Saviour-God,
Did I my soul resign:
In firm dependence on that truth,
Which made salvation mine.
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5 |
Back from the borders of the grave,
At thy command, I come:
Nor will I urge a speedier flight,
To my celestial home.
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6 |
Where thou determin'st mine abode,
There would I choose to be;
For in thy presence death is life,
And earth is heav'n with thee.
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HYMN 115. S.M.
Charity.
1 |
THY bounties, gracious Lord,
With gratitude we own:
We bless thy providential grace,
Which show'rs its blessings down.
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2 |
With joy the people bring
Their off'rings round thy throne;
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