Ward.

114

Self-Examination. L. M.

1 BEFORE We close our eyes to-night
O, let us each these questions ask;
Have we endeavored to do right,

Nor thought our duty but a task?

2 Have we been gentle, lowly, meek,

Wells.

And the small voice of conscience heard?
When passion tempted us to speak,
Have we repressed the angry word?

3 Have we with cheerful zeal obeyed
What our kind parents bade us do?
And not by word or action said

The thing that was not strictly true?

4 In hard temptation's troubled hour,

Then have we stopped to think and pray, That God would give the soul the pow'r To chase the sinful thought away?

5 O Thou! who seest all my heart,
Do thou forgive and love me still;
Do thou to me new strength impart,
And make me love and do thy will.

FOLLEN.

115

Ballerma.

Hummel.

The Narrow Path. C. M.

1 THERE is a path that leads to God;

All others go astray;
Narrow, but pleasant is the road,
And Christians love the way.

2 It leads straight through this world of sin,
And dangers must be past;

But those who boldly walk therein
Will come to heaven at last.

3 While the broad road where thousands go, Lies near, and opens fair;

And many turn aside, we know,

To walk with sinners there.

4 But, lest our feeble steps should slide,
Or wander from the way,

Lord, condescend to be our guide,
And we shall never stray.

Woodstock.

116

Repentance.

PORTS. COLL.

Stevens.

10 't is a fully and a crime

To put religion by ;

For now is the accepted time,-
To-morrow we may die.

2 Our hearts grow harder every day,
And more depraved the mind;
The longer we neglect to pray,
The less we feel inclined.

3 Yet sinners trifle, young and old,
Until the dying day;

Then they would give a world of gold,
To have an hour to pray.

4 O then, lest we should perish thus,
We would no longer wait;

For time will soon be past with us,
And death will fix our state.

117

Penitence. 7's M.

"Watchman, tell us,' &c.

Pleyel's Hymn.

1 GOD of mercy, God of love,
Hear our sad repentant song;
Sorrow dwells on every face,
Penitence on every tongue.

2 Deep regret for follies past,

Talents wasted, time mis-spent ;
Hearts debased by worldly cares,
Thankless for the blessings lent:

3 Foolish fears and fond desires,

Vain regrets for things as vain ;
Lips too seldom taught to praise,
Oft to murmur and complain.

4 These, and every secret fault,

Filled with grief, and shame, we own; Humbled at thy feet we lie,

Seeking pardon from thy throne.

5 God of mercy, God of grace,
Hear our sad repentant songs;

O restore thy suppliant race,
Thou to whom all praise belongs.

J. TAYLOR.

In the Cottage.

118

Praise. 7's M.

1 PRAISE to God; oh! let us raise
From our hearts a song of praise;

Wilmot.

Of that goodness let us sing
Whence our lives and blessings spring.

2 Praise to Him who made the light,
Praise to Him who gave us sight!
Praise to Him who formed the ear!
He our humble praise will hear.

3 Praise Him for our happy hours;
Praise Him for our varied powers;
For these thoughts that soar above;
For these hearts he made for love.

4 For the voice he placed within,
Bearing witness when we sin;
Praise to Him whose tender care
Keeps the watchful guardian there!

5 Praise the mercy that did send
Jesus for our guide and friend :
Praise Him, every heart and voice,
Him who makes the world rejoicc.

119

FOLLEN.

Wilmot.

Praise. 7's M.

In the Cottage.

1 GLORY to our heavenly King!
Bounteous Parent! thee we sing;
Gratitude the strain inspires,
Humble hopes, sincere desires.

2 God of glory! God of love!
Lord of all the worlds above!
Thee we bless for daily food,
Thee we bless for every good.

3 More than all we praise thee, Lord,
For the blessings of thy word;
For the tidings Jesus brought,
For the precepts Jesus taught.

4 Gracious Father! Heavenly King!
Feeble lips presume to sing;
Infant voices humbly raise
Grateful, fervent songs of praise.

Yarmouth.

120

Praise. 7's & 6's M.

1 THE seraphs bright are hovering
Around the throne above,
Their harps are ever tuning
To thrilling tones of love.
Or through the azure soaring,
Or poised on snowy wing,
With glowing hearts adoring,
Sweet choral notes they sing.

Atterbury.

2 From earth is daily rising
A rich, harmonious song;
From sunny perfumed flowers,
By breezes borne along,
From hills in sunlight glittering,
From smooth, deep emerald seas,

A cloud of praise is rising,

Like incense on the breeze.

3 And childhood's voice is chanting
A full, harmonious song,
When morning light is breaking,
Or evening sweeps along.
For should we fail proclaiming
Our great Redeemer's praise,