2 Shall we thy life of grief forget,
Thy fasting and thy prayer;

Thy locks with mountain vapors wet,
To save us from despair?

3 Gethsemane can we forget-
Thy struggling agony;
When night lay dark on Olivet,

And none to watch with thee?

4 Our sorrows and our sins were laid
On thee, alone on thee:
Thy precious blood our ransom paid-
Thine all the glory be!

5 Life's brightest joys we may forget-
Our kindred cease to love;
But he who paid our hopeless debt,
Our constancy shall prove.

158.

1 LORD, as to thy dear cross we flee,
And pray to be forgiven,
So let thy life our pattern be,

And form our souls for heaven.

2 Help us, through good report and ill,
Our daily cross to bear;
Like thee, to do our Father's will,
Our brother's griefs to share.
3 Let grace our selfishness expel,
Our earthliness refine;

And kindness in our bosoms dwell
As free and true as thine.

4 If joy shall at thy bidding fly, And grief's dark day come on,

We, in our turn, would meekly cry,

66

Father, thy will be done!"

5 Should friends misjudge, or foes defame, Or brethren faithless prove,

Then, like thine own, be all our aim
To conquer them by love.

6 Kept peaceful in the midst of strife,
Forgiving and forgiven,

Oh, may we lead the pilgrim's life,
And follow thee to heaven!

159.

:

1 THOU art the Way to thee alone
From sin and death we flee;
And he who would the Father seek,
Must seek him, Lord, by thee.

2 Thou art the Truth: thy word alone
True wisdom can impart;
Thou only canst instruct the mind,
And purify the heart.

3 Thou art the Life: the rending tomb
Proclaims thy conquering arm;
And those who put their trust in thee
Nor death nor hell shall harm.

4 Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life:
Grant us to know that Way;
That Truth to keep, that Life to win,
Which leads to endless day.

ROCKINGHAM. L. M.

DR. L. MASON.

in thy word;

But in thy life

char-ac-ters.

O

160.

2 Such was thy truth, and such thy zeal, Such deference to thy Father's will, Thy love and meekness so divine,

I would transcribe and make them mine.

3 Cold mountains, and the midnight air,
Witnessed the fervor of thy prayer;
The desert thy temptations knew,
Thy conflict, and thy victory too.
4 Be thou my pattern; make me bear
More of thy gracious image here;
Then God, the Judge, shall own my name
Among the followers of the Lamb.

161.

1 How sweetly flowed the gospel sound
From lips of gentleness and grace,
When listening thousands gathered round,
And joy and gladness filled the place!
2 From heaven he came, of heaven he spoke,
To heaven he led his followers' way;
Dark clouds of gloomy night he broke,
Unvailing an immortal day.

3 "Come, wanderers, to my Father's home,
Come, all ye weary ones, and rest :"
Yes, sacred Teacher, we will come,
Obey thee, love thee, and be blest!
4 Decay, then, tenements of dust;
Pillars of earthly pride, decay:
A nobler mansion waits the just,
And Jesus has prepared the way.

162.

1 How beauteous were the marks divine, That in thy meekness used to shine; That lit thy lonely pathway, trod

2

In wondrous love, O Son of God!

Oh! who like Thee-so calm, so bright,
So pure, so made to live in light?
Oh! who like thee did ever go
So patient through a world of woe?
3 Oh! who like thee so humbly bore
The scorn, the scoffs of men, before?
So meek, forgiving, godlike, high,
So glorious in humility!

4 Oh! in thy light be mine to go,
Illuming all my way of woe;
And give me ever on the road
To trace thy footsteps, Son of God!
163.

1 Nor to condemn the sons of men,
Did Christ, the Son of God, appear;
No weapons in his hands are seen,
No flaming sword, nor thunder there.

2 Such was the pity of our God,

He loved the race of man so well,
He sent his Son to bear our load
Of sins, and save our souls from hell.
3 Sinners, believe the Saviour's word;
Trust in his mighty name, and live:
A thousand joys his lips afford,
His hands a thousand blessings give.

The weary bird hath left the air, And sunk into his sheltered nest; The wandering beast has sought his lair, And laid him down to welcome rest. 3 Still near the lake, with weary tread, Lingers a form of human kind; And on his lone, unsheltered head, Flows the chill night-damp of the wind. 4 Why seeks he not a home of rest?

Why seeks he not a pillowed bed?
Beasts have their dens, the bird its nest;
He hath not where to lay his head.
5 Such was the lot he freely chose,
To bless, to save the human race;
And through his poverty there flows
A rich, full stream of heavenly grace.
165.

1 THE morning dawns upon the place
Where Jesus spent the night in prayer;
Through yielding glooms behold his face!
Nor form, nor comeliness is there.
2 Brought forth to judgment, now he stands
Arraigned, condemned, at Pilate's bar;
Here, spurned by fierce prætorian bands,
There, mocked by Herod's men of war.
3 He bears their buffeting and scorn-
Mock-homage of the lip, the knee-
The purple robe, the crown of thorn-
The scourge, the nail, th' accursed tree.

4 No guile within his mouth is found;
He neither threatens, nor complains;
Meek as a lamb for slaughter bound,
Dumb, 'mid his murderers he remains.
But hark! he prays: 't is for his foes:
And speaks: 't is comfort to his friends;
Answers and paradise bestows;

5

1

He bows his head: the conflict ends.

166.

WHEN, like a stranger on our sphere
The lowly Jesus wandered here,
Where'er he went, affliction fled,
And sickness reared her fainting head.

2 The eye that rolled in irksome night,
Beheld his face,-for God is light;
The opening car, the loosened tongue,
His precepts heard, his praises sung.
3 With bounding steps, the halt and lame,
To hail their great deliverer came;
O'er the cold grave he bowed his head,
He spake the word, and raised the dead.
4 Despairing madness, dark and wild,
In his inspiring presence smiled;
The storm of horror ceased to roll,
And reason lightened through the soul.
5 Through paths of loving-kindness led,
Where Jesus triumphed we would tread;
To all, with willing hands, dispense
The gifts of our benevolence.

2 A horror of great darkness fell
On thee, thou spotless, holy One!
And all the swarming hosts of hell
Conspired to tempt God's only Son.

3 The scourge, the thorns, the deep disgrace

These thou could'st bear, nor once repine;
But when Jehovah vailed his face,
Unutterable pangs were thine.

4 Let the dumb world its silence break;
Let pealing anthems rend the sky;
Awake, my sluggish soul, awake!
He died, that we might never die.
5 Lord! on thy cross I fix mine eye,
If c'er I lose its strong control,
Oh! let that dying, piercing cry,
Melt and reclaim my wandering soul.
168.

1 JESUS, whom angel hosts adore,

Became a man of griefs for me; In love, though rich, becoming poor, That I through him enriched might be. 2 Though Lord of all, above, below, He went to Olivet for me; There drank my cup of wrath and woe, When bleeding in Gethsemane.

3 The ever-blesséd Son of God

Went up to Calvary for me;
There paid my debt, there bore my load,
In his own body on the tree.

4 Jesus, whose dwelling is the skies, Went down into the grave for me; There overcame my enemies, There won the glorious victory.

5 'Tis finished all the vail is rent, The welcome sure, the access free ;Now then, we leave our banishment, O Father, to return to thee!

169.

1 WHEN I Survey the wondrous cross,
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
2 Forbid it, Lord! that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ, my God;
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.

3 See, from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
4 His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o'er his body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

5 Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

2 T is midnight-and from all removed,
Immanuel wrestles lone with fears;
Ev'n the disciple that he loved,
Heeds not his Master's griefs and tears.
3 'Tis midnight-and for others' guilt
The Man of sorrows weeps in blood;
Yet he that hath in anguish knelt,
Is not forsaken by his God.

4 'Tis midnight-and from ether-plains
Is borne the song that angels know;
Unheard by mortals are the strains
That sweetly soothe the Saviour's woe.

171.

1 "'T is finished!"-so the Saviour cried, And meekly bowed his head, and died: 'T is finished!-yes, the race is run, The battle fought, the victory won. 2 'Tis finished!-all that heaven foretold By prophets in the days of old; And truths are opened to our view, That kings and prophets never knew. 3 'Tis finished!-Son of God, thy power Hath triumphed in this awful hour; And yet, our eyes with sorrow see That life to us was death to thee. 4 'Tis finished!-let the joyful sound Be heard through all the nations round; 'Tis finished!-let the echo fly

Thro' heaven and hell, thro' carth and sky.

172.

1 DEEP in our hearts let us record
The deeper sorrows of our Lord;
Behold the rising billows roll,
To overwhelm his holy soul!

2 Yet, gracious God, thy power and love
Have made the curse a blessing prove:
Those dreadful sufferings of thy Son
Atoned for crimes which we had done.
3 Oh, for his sake, our guilt forgive,
And let the mourning sinner live!
The Lord will hear us in his name,
Nor shall our hope be turned to shame.
173.

1 STRETCHED on the cross the Saviour dies!
Hark! his expiring groans arise:
See-from his hands, his feet, his side;
Fast flows the sacred, crimson tide!

2 But life attends the deathful sound,
And flows from every bleeding wound:
The vital stream,-how free it flows,
To save and cleanse his rebel foes.

3 Can I survey this scene of woe,
Where mingling grief and wonder flow,
And yet my heart unmoved remain,
Insensible to love or pain?

4 Come, dearest Lord! thy grace impart
To warm this cold, this stupid heart;
Till all its powers and passions move
In melting grief, and ardent love.