Dreadless, having thee for guide,

Should I bide,

For thy rod and staff uphold me.

Thou my board with messes large
Dost surcharge;

My bowls full of wine thou pourest,
And before mine enemies'

Envious eyes,

Balm upon my head thou showerest.

Neither dures thy bounteous grace
For a space,

But it knows nor bound nor measure;
So my days, to my life's end,

Shall I spend

In thy courts with heavenly pleasure.

What Think We of Christ?

WHAT think you of Christ? is the test

To try both your state and your scheme;
You cannot be right in the rest,
Unless you think rightly of him.
As Jesus appears in your view,
As he is belovéd or not,

So God is disposéd to you,
And mercy or wrath is your lot.

Some take him a creature to be,
A man or an angel at most;

Sure these have not feelings like me,

Nor know themselves wretched and lost. So guilty, so helpless am I,

I durst not confide in his blood,

Nor on his protection rely,

Unless I were sure he is God.

Some call him a Saviour, in word,

But mix their own works with his plan, And hope he his help will afford,

When they have done all that they can: If doings prove rather too light,

(A little, they own, they may fail) They purpose to make up full weight By casting his name in the scale.

Some style him the pearl of great price,
And say he's the fountain of joys,
Yet feed upon folly and vice,

And cleave to the world and its toys;

Like Judas, the Saviour they kiss,

And while they salute him, betray; Ah! what will profession like this Avail in the terrible day?

If asked what of Jesus I think?

Though still my best thoughts are but poor, I say he's my meat and my drink,

My life, and my strength, and my store,
My Shepherd, my Husband, my Friend,
My Saviour from sin and from thrall,

My hope from beginning to end,
My portion, my Lord, and my All.

Pleading for Pardon.

SHOW pity, Lord, O Lord forgive,
Let a repentant rebel live:

Are not thy mercies large and free?
May not a sinner trust in thee?

My crimes are great, but can't surpass
The power and glory of thy grace;
Great God, thy nature hath no bound,
So let thy pardoning love be found.

O wash my soul from every sin,
And make my guilty conscience clean;
Here on my heart the burden lies,
And past offences pain mine eyes.

My lips with shame my sins confess,
Against thy law, against thy grace:
Lord, should thy judgment grow severe,
I am condemned, but thou art clear.

Should sudden vengeance seize my breath,
I must pronounce thee just in death;
And if my soul were sent to hell,
Thy righteous law approves it well.

Yet save a trembling sinner, Lord,

Whose hope, still hovering round thy word, Would light on some sweet promise there, Some sure support against despair.

He hath Borne our Griefs.

SURELY Christ thy griefs hath borne,
Weeping soul, no longer mourn;
View him bleeding on the tree,
Pouring out his life for thee;
There thy every sin he bore,
Weeping soul, lament no more.

All thy crimes on him were laid;
See, upon his blameless head
Wrath its utmost vengeance pours,
Due to my offence and yours;
Wounded in our stead he is,
Bruised for our iniquities.

Weary sinner, keep thine eyes
On the atoning sacrifice;

There the incarnate Deity,

Numbered with transgressors, see;

There, his Father's absence mourns,

Nailed, and bruised, and crowned with thorns.

See thy God his head bow down,
Hear the Man of Sorrows groan!
For thy ransom there condemned,
Stripped, derided, and blasphemed;
Bleed the guiltless for th' unclean,
Made an offering for thy sin.

Cast thy guilty soul on him,
Find him mighty to redeem;

At his feet thy burden lay,
Look thy doubts and cares away;
Now by faith the Son embrace,
Plead his promise, trust his grace.

Lord, thy arm must be revealed,
Ere I can by faith be healed!
Since I scarce can look to thee,
Cast a gracious eye on me;
At thy feet myself I lay,

Shine, O shine, my fears away.

Che Morning Joy.

MARY to her Saviour's tomb

Hasted at the early dawn;

Spice she brought and sweet perfume, But the Lord she loved was gone. For awhile she weeping stood,

Struck with sorrow and surprise, Shedding tears, a plenteous flood, For her heart supplied her eyes.

Jesus, who is always near,

Though too often unperceived,

Came his drooping child to cheer,

Kindly asking, "Why she grieved?"

Though at first she knew him not,
When he called her by her name,

Then her griefs were all forgot,

For she found he was the same.