Christian lyrics: chiefly selected from modern authors [by L. Massey].

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Hamilton, 1861 - 212 pages
 

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Page 125 - Thou sendest me, In mercy given; Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to Thee! Nearer to Thee!
Page 145 - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take : The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
Page 91 - Here in the body pent, Absent from him I roam, Yet nightly pitch my moving tent A day's march nearer home.
Page 30 - Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day ; Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away ; Change and decay in all around I see : 0 Thou that changest not, abide with me ! Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word, But, as Thou dwell'st with Thy disciples, LORD, Familiar, condescending, patient, free, Come, not to sojourn, but abide with me...
Page 76 - It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth, To touch their harps of gold : "Peace on the earth, goodwill to men, From heaven's all-gracious King!
Page 77 - And ye, beneath life's crushing load, Whose forms are bending low, Who toil along the climbing way, With painful steps and slow, — Look now, for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing : O rest beside the weary road And hear the angels sing!
Page 64 - THY way, not mine, O Lord, However dark it be ! Lead me by Thine own hand, Choose out the path for me. Smooth let it be, or rough, It will be still the best ; Winding or straight, it leads Right onward to Thy rest.
Page 32 - And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest And scream among thy fellows ; reeds shall bend Soon o'er thy sheltered nest. Thou'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form ; yet on my heart Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. He who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my Steps aright.
Page 186 - Nothing in my hand I bring; Simply to thy cross I cling ; Naked, come to thee for dress ; Helpless, look to thee for grace ; Foul, I to the fountain fly ; Wash me, Saviour, or I die.
Page 30 - I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless ; Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. Where is death's sting? where, grave, thy victory ? I triumph still, if thou abide with me.

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