3 All cheerless in the dismal hour
Of multiplied distress,

Thou hast within thyself no power
To make thy sorrows less.

4 O God, thy providence alone
Can work a wonder here,
Can change to gladness every moan
And banish every fear.

5 Thine arm all-powerful to save
Can all my doubts destroy;
And from the horrors of the grave,
Raise me to life and joy.

6 From this, as from a copious spring

Pure consolation flows;

Makes the faint beart 'midst sufferings sing,

Aud 'midst despair repose.

7 Yet from it's creature, gracious heaven,
Most merciful and just,

Asks but for life and safety given,
Our faith and humble trust.

COTTON.

HYMN LVII.

Sin the Cause of Fear.

COTTON.

TELL me, my soul, O tell me why

The faltering tongue, the broken sigh?

Why is my cheek bedew'd with tears,
And whence arise my coward fears?

2 When conscious guilt arrests the mind,
Avenging furies stalk behind;
And sickly fancy intervenes,
To dress the visionary scenes.

3 Jesus! to thee I flee for aid,
Propitious sun, dispel the shade;
All the pale family of fear

1

Would vanish were my Saviour here!

HYMN LVIII.

Affliction sanctified.

COTTON.

AMIDST these various scenes of ills,

Each stroke some kind design fulfils;

And shall I murmur at my God,

When sovereign love directs the rod ?

2 Peace, rebel thoughts!-I'll not complain,
My Father's smiles suspend my pain;
Smiles that a thousand joys impart,
And pour the balm that heals the smart.
3 Though heaven afflicts I'll not repine,

Each heart-felt comfort still is mine;
Comforts that shall o'er death prevail,
And journey with me through the vale.
4 Dear Jesus, smooth that rugged way,
And lead me to the realms of day,
To milder skies, and lighter plains,
Where everlasting sunshine reigns.

1

HYMN LIX.

Suspension of Ordinances. Ps. xlii.

W

COTTON,

ITH fierce desire the hunted hart
Explores the cooling stream:

Mine is a passion stronger far,

And mine a nobler flame.

2 Yes-with superior fervours, Lord!
I thirst to see thy face;

My languid soul would fain approach
The fountains of thy grace.

3 Oh, the great plenty of thy house,
The rich refreshments there!
To live an exile from thy courts
O'erwhelms me with despair.

4 In worship when I join'd the saints
How sweetly pass'd my days!
Prayer my divine employment then,
And all my pleasure praise!

5 But now I'm lost to every joy,
Because detain'd from Thee;
Those golden periods ne'er return,
Or ne'er return to me.

6 Yet, O my soul, why thus deprest,
And whence this anxious fear?
Let former favours fix thy trust,
And check the rising tear.

1

HYMN LX.

Affliction sanctified. Ps. xlii.

AFFLICTION is a stormy deep,

Where wave resounds to wave;
Though o'er my head the billows roll,
I know the Lord can save.

COTTON.

2 The hand that now withholds my joys
Can reinstate my peace;

And he who bade the tempest roar,
Can bid that tempest cease.

3 In the dark watches of the night,
I'll count his mercies o'er;

I'll praise him for ten thousand past,
And humbly sue for more.

4 When darkness and when sorrows rose
And press'd on every side,
The Lord has still sustain'd my steps,
And still has been my guide.

5 Here will I rest, and build my hopes,
Nor murmur at his rod;

He's more than all the world to me,
My health, my life, my God!

I

THIS

HYMN LXI.

The Sabbath.

HIS is the day the Lord of life
Ascended to the skies;

My thoughts pursue the lofty theme
And to the heavens arise.

COTTON.

2 Let no vain cares divert my From this celestial road;

mind

Nor all the honours of the earth

Detain my soul from God.

3 Think of the splendours of that place,
The joys that are on high;
Nor meanly rest contented here
With worlds beneath the sky.

4 Heaven is the birth-place of the saints,
To heaven their souls ascend;
Th' Almighty owns his favourite race,
Their Father and their Friend.

3 Oh! may these lovely titles prove,
My comfort and defence,

I

When the sick couch shall be my lot,
And death shall call me hence.

HYMN LXII.

Faith in Suffering. Ps. xiii.

COTTON.

WHILE sorrow wrings my bleeding heart,
And black despondence reigns;

Satan exults at my complaints,

And triumphs o'er my pains. 2 Let thy returning Spirit, Lord! Dispel the shades of night; Smile on this poor deserted soul, For oh! thy smiles are light.

3 While scoffers at thy sacred word
Deride the pangs I feel,

Deem my religion insincere,
Or call it useless zeal;