Time is winging us away
To our eternal home;
Life is but a winter's day,
A journey to the tomb.
But the Christian shall enjoy
Health and beauty from above,
Far above the world's alloy,
Secure in Jesus' love.

S.M.

90

TO-N

John Burton, 1840.

SHIRLAND, 35. ST. BRIDE, 38.

NO-MORROW, Lord, is Thine,
Lodged in Thy sovereign hand;

And if its sun arise and shine,
It shines by Thy command.

The present moment flies,
And bears our life away;

O make Thy servants truly wise,
That they may live to-day.

Since on this winged hour
Eternity is hung,

Waken by Thine almighty power
The aged and the young.

One thing demands our care;
O be it still pursued,
Lest, slighted once, the season fair
Should never be renewed.

To Jesus may we fly,

Swift as the morning light,
Lest life's young golden beams should die
In sudden, endless night.

Rev. Philip Doddridge, D.D. (died 1751.)

64, 64.

NAIN, 7. PILGRIM'S SONG, 8.

91 O-DAY, the Saviour calls

C.M.

You wanderers home;

O ye benighted souls,

Why longer roam ?

To-day, the Saviour calls:
O listen now;

Within these sacred walls
To Jesus bow.

To-day, the Saviour calls;
For refuge fly;

The storm of vengeance falls,
Ruin is nigh.

The Spirit calls to-day;
Yield to His power;

O grieve Him not away,
'Tis mercy's hour.

Thomas Hastings, Mus. Doc., 1858.

ST. STEPHEN, 117. WOODSFORD, 121.

92 THE Saviour's gracious voice is heard,

Regard His voice to-day;

Shall earthly trifles be preferred ?
O sinner, come away!

Has He not promised to receive

The souls that humbly pray?

Canst thou His faithful word believe?
Then why wilt thou delay ?

Hast thou not sinned too many years?
And wouldst thou longer stay?
Stay-to increase thy guilty fears?
Then why wilt thou delay ?

Are months and years to come thy own?
When death may smite to-day,
And cut the wretched cumberer down?
Then why wilt thou delay ?

My Saviour, 'tis Thy voice I hear,
I would the call obey,

Draw me, bless'd Jesus, draw me near,
I would no more delay.

Rev. J. Harbottle, 1862.

87.87.

LEICESTER, 130. MARINERS', 131.

93 LIFE is real, life is earnest,

And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

Lives of good men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime;
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time:
Footprints that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
Nor our onward course abate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.

C.M.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1840.

LONDON, 109. ROBINSON'S CHANT, 210.

94 BLEST be the wisdom and the power, The justice and the grace,

That joined in council to restore
And save our ruined race.

Blest be the Lord that sent His Son
To take our flesh and blood;
He, for our lives, gave up His own,
To make our peace with God.

He honoured all His Father's laws,
Which we have disobeyed;

He bore our sins upon the cross,
And our full ransom paid.

Behold Him rising from the grave,
Behold Him raised on high;
He pleads His merits there, to save
Transgressors doomed to die.

There, on a glorious throne, He reigns,
And, by His power divine,

Redeems us from the slavish chains
Of Satan and of sin.

Thence shall the Lord to judgment come,
And, with a sovereign voice,
Shall call, and break up every tomb,
While ransomed saints rejoice.

O!

may I then with joy appear
Before the Judge's face;

And with the blest assembly there,
Sing His redeeming grace!

Rev. Isaac Watts, D.D., 1715 (died 1748.)

C.M. ST. STEPHEN, 117. WOODSFORD, 121.

95 YE hearts, with youthful vigour warm, smiling crowds draw near;

And turn from every mortal charm
A Saviour's voice to hear.

He, Lord of all the worlds on high,
Stoops to converse with you;
And lays His shining glories by,
Your friendship to pursue.
The soul that longs to see My face
Is sure My love to gain;

And those who early seek My grace
Shall never seek in vain.

What object, Lord, my soul should move,
If once compared with Thee?
What beauty should command my love,
Like what in Christ I see?

Away, ye false, delusive toys,
Vain tempters of the mind!
"Tis here I fix my lasting choice,
And here true bliss I find.

77,77.

Rev. Philip Doddridge, D.D. (died 1751.)

GERMAN HYMN, 72. HART's, 73.

96 IS religion that can give

'TIS Sweetest pleasures while we live;

"Tis religion must supply
Solid comfort when we die.