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Naked, come to Thee for dress ;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace ;
Foul, I to the fountain fly-
Wash me, Saviour, or I die.

While I draw this feeting breath,
When my eye-strings break in death ;
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment throne-
Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thec!

A feditation in Sickness.

When languor and disease invade

This trembling house of clay; 'Tis sweet to look beyond our cage,

And long to fly away.
Sweet to look inward and attend

The whispers of His love;
Sweet to look upward to the place

Where Jesus pleads above.
Sweet to look back and see my name

In life's fair book set down;
Sweet to look forward and behold

Eternal joys my own.
Sweet to reflect how grace divine

My sins on Jesus laid;
Sweet to remember that His blood

My debt of sufferings paid.
Sweet on His righteousness to stand,

Which saves from second death; Sweet to experience day by day,

His Spirit's quick’ning breath. Sweet on His faithfulness to rest,

Whose love can never end; Sweet on His covenant of grace,

For all things to depend.



Sweet in the confidence of faith,

To trust His firm decrees ; Sweet to lie passive in His hand,

And know no will but His.

Sweet to rejoice in lively hope,

That when my change shall come; Angels will hover round my bed,

And waft my spirit home.
There shall my disimprison'd soul

Behold Him and adore;
Be with His likeness satisfied,

And grieve and sin no more :
Shall see Him wear that very flesh,

On which my guilt was lain ;
His love intense, Ilis merit fresh,

As though but newly slain.
Soon too my slumbering dust shall hear

The trumpet's quickening sound ;
And by my Saviour's power rebuilt,

At His right hand be found.
These eyes shall see Him in that day,

The God that died for me;
And all my rising bones shall say,

Lord, who is like to Thee?
If such the views which grace unfolds

Weak as it is below;
What raptures must the Church above

In Jesus' presence know!
If such the sweetness of the stream,

What must the fountain be,
Where saints and angels draw their bliss,

Immediately from Thee !
O may the unction of these truths

For ever with me stay;
Till from her sinful cage dismiss'u,

My spirit flies away.

The Dying Believer to his Soul.

Deathless principle, arise ;
Soar, thou native of the skies.
Pearl of price, by Jesus bought,
To His glorious likeness wrought,
Go, to shine before His throne,
Deck Ilis mediatorial crown;
Go, His triumphs to adorn ;
Made for God, to God return.
Lo, He beckons from on high !
Fearless to His presence fly:
Thine the merit of His blood;
Thine the righteousness of God.
Angels, joyful to attend,
Hovering, round thy pillow bend;
Wait to catch the signal given,
And escort thee quick to heaven.
Is thy earthly house distrest?
Willing to retain her guest ?
'Tis not thou, but she, must die :
Fly, celestial tenant, fly.
Burst thy shackles, drop thy clay,
Sweetly breathe thyself away :
Singing, to thy crown remove ;
Swift of wing, and fired with love.

Shudder not to pass the stream :
Venture all thy care on Him;
Him, whose dying love and power
Still'd its tossing, hush'd its roar.
Safe is the expanded wave;
Gentle as a summer's eve :
Not one object of His care
Ever suffer'd shipwreck there.
See the haven full in view !
Love divine shall bear thee through.
Trust to that propitious gale:
Weigh thy anchor, spread thy sail.



Saints, in glory perfect made,
Wait thy passage through the shade:
Ardent for thy coming o'er,
See, they throng the blissful shore.
Mount, their transports to improve :
Join the longing choir above:
Swiftly to their wish be given:
Kindle higher joy in heaven.

-Such the prospects that arise
To the dying Christian's eyes !
Such the glorious vista, Faith
Opens through the shades of death!


Except that he lived at Canterbury, and was the son of the vicar of Shoreham, Kent, we can give no information regarding the author of the following hymn-one of the noblest in the language, and with its own tune, “Miles Lane," one of the best known to English congregations.

Crown Him Lord of AI.

All hail the power of Jesus' name !

Let angels prostrate fall:
Bring forth the royal diadem,

And crown Him Lord of all.

Crown Him, ye martyrs of our God,

Who from His altar call;
Extol the stem of Jesse's rod,

And crown Him Lord of all.

Ye chosen seed of Israel's race,

A remnant weak and small ;
Hail Him who saves you by His grace,

And crown Him Lord of all.

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