petitions of prayer, or the imperfect expressions of Christian experience that fall from the lips of the new-born soul. Such things are interesting in their place, because they show the undisguised sincerity of the person who utters them; but certainly they are not on this account to be collected and published as suitable materials for a manual of devotion! Such are the views entertained by the compilers of this work. On the materials here presented, they have bestowed abundant labor. Their object has been, uniformly to connect chaste simplicity with the fervor of devotion. Most of the tunes are simple and familiar. Many of them have been composed expressly for this work. Not one of them, it is believed, has been injured by unhallowed associations. The words have been selected and arranged with care, through the kind assistance of several of the clergy; and not a few of the poetic specimens which are here presented, have been furnished by different hands, as original compositions. These and other favors will be more fully acknowledged in the sequel. That the work may prove extensively useful in elevating the standard of sacred music, and in enlivening the devotions of the pious, is the sincere and earnest prayer of the COMPILERS. January, 1833. 2. Contrition. i O Thou, whose tender mercy hears 1 4. Seeking after God. Job xxiii. 3. Oh, that I knew the secret place, Where I might find my God; I'd spread my wants before his face, And pour my woes abroad. 2 See, low before thy throne of grace, 2 I'd tell him how my sins arise, A wretched wand'rer mourn; Hast thou not bid me seek thy face? Hast thou not said-"Return?" What sorrows I sustain; How grace decays, how comfort dies, And leaves my heart in pain. To wrestle with my God: 3 And shall my guilty fears prevail 3 He knows what arguments I'd take I'd plead for his own mercy's sake, And for my Saviour's blood. My God will pity my complaints, And heal my broken bones; He takes the meaning of his saints, The language of their groans. Arise, my soul, from deep distress, And banish every fear; He calls thee to his throne of grace, To spread thy sorrows there. 5. A Refuge from the Storm. Deut. xxxiii. 27. Prostrate, dear Jesus, at thy feet 1 Dear refuge of my weary soul, A guilty rebel lies; And upward to the mercy-seat Presumes to lift his eyes. On thee, when sorrows rise, On thee, when waves of trouble roll, My fainting hope relies. 2 Oh, let not justice frown me hence; 2 To thee I tell each rising grief, Stay, stay the vengeful storm; Forbid it, that Omnipotence Should crush a feeble worm. For thou alone canst heal; Thy word can bring a sweet relief For every pain I feel. 3 But O! when gloomy doubts prevail, 4 Yet gracious God, where shall I |
