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SATURDAY EVENING. - Olney Hymns, Book 2, Hymn xi
Set by the Rev. Dr. Hawker.
Great, condescending husbandman !
Behold the lurking seed;
To crush the deathful weed! T .,
THE THISTLE DOWN.
Genji. 17, 18.
bring forih to thee.
Obedient to the Lord ;
The signets of his word.
Or sailing with the breeze,
Still speaking his decrees.
Wave slow before his eyes ;
The message of the skies.
Preach vengeance as ye fiy !
To peaceful Calvary !
Op Eden's exiles lais :
Proclaim the ransom paid !
On silent pigions borne !
The parents of a thorne
AN HYMN FOR THE APPROACHING FAST.
JUDG. V. 20, 21.
Let them for Britain fight!
And put our foss to fighe.
Lot Nature rise in arms :
And frown on Gallia's swarms.
Stretch out thy pow'rful arm,
And wield the sword of war; Britannia shield from threat'ning harn
And spread her commerce far,
Aud piety increase ;
An affectionate Tribute to the Memory When the last hotr of life drates niglis
of Mrs. Bailey, lately the amiable And Merey summons mc on high, • Wife of James Bailey, Esq. of I'll think of thee and learn to die, Bristol.
- Aug. 28th, 1803, by the Rev. I mart'd the melancholy day,
G. B---, from Psalm lii. 1. And ev'ry tear appear'd to say,
My mother! Why boastest thou thyself in mischief, 0; And when upon thy dying bed
mighty mán? the goodness of the I saw thee gently drop thine head,
Lord endurah continually. I kiss'd thy lovely cheeks, tho' dead,
My mother. AN!BITION thro' the human breast, Sorrow o'erspoelms my weary brain ;
Infuses oft its madd’ming fire ; Thou cansi not listen to my straia;
And men, with ease and safety blesty .
To pow'r unlimited aspire. Thy pulse will never beat again,
Some, uncontroald dominion gain, 1. vain the morning shines for me ;
And prostrate slaves exulting view s .
O'er vanquish'd hosts despotic reign, A gloom encircles all I see;
And boast the mischiers which they do. I piac and languish still for thee,
My mother. Man, following thus his impious will,
His soul to wickedness insures ; My heart, a stranger once to pain,
Bot God's unbourded goodness still Now can do pothing bur complain
The same eternally endures. And sigh for thee, and sigh in vain,
The countless worlds which roll on high, The Sun emits his golden fire,
. Unite his goodness to declare ; Aud rubes the fields in gay aitire;
And all his wondrous works supriy But 'tis thy presence I require,
Fresh proofs of his paternal care.
The mist events which hourly more, O, could thine eye behold iny fear!
Unfold his bountiful designs ; O, might the winds my wailings bear!
But chictly in redeeming love Perhaps thy spirit still might bear,
His everlasting goodness shines !
My mother. Here saints enjoy a rich repast Aud can I thus in vaiv deplore !
of blessings in profusion stor'd: Istay ondearing form no more?
And here their joyful spirits taste Ari thou not on some bappier shore,
The fost'ring goodness of the Lord.
My mother? Shall Christians then mittrust his aid? Yrs, thou art there, un fetter'd, free,
His providential care forget? Glowing with immortality;
Shall they an earthly tyrant dread, Think of thy child, think of me,
Or tremble at a mortal's threat ?
My mother ! No: God's right hand can conquer those Soon as morn lifts his purple eye
Whose mad ambition knows no bounds; Respirndent in the eastern sky,
And England, midst a thousand foes, I'll speak thy name, and look on high,
Is safe, if God her shoręs surrounds.
My inother. Here let the Christian fix his trust, At noon, reclin'd beneath the shade
Ner frar the Gallic boaster's might; Farcy shall wander where thou'lt laid,
Tho'ofi his toes have lick'd the dust, And strew her fou'r's around thy head,
And vict'ry crown'd the lawless fight.
My mother. Tho' foreign lands his conquests feel, Whoeve, in sable garments dressid,
Where mischief mark'd his mad career; Inv.trs me to my wonted rest,
TheChristians' pray’rs for Logland's weal I'll thick how richl, thou art blessid,
Shall frustrate all his efforts here.
Mynother.. Lord, hear our pray’rs ! on thee alone, por Ad when I tread the blooming green,
We fix our liopes in danger's hour; With aching heart and pensive mien,
Help us to make thy glories knowi, I'll think thou'st with me, iho' unseen,
And cresh the mighty boaster's pow'r! My mother.'
sri The Rev. John Clark was the offspring of pious parents, who were members of a Baptist church at Frome, in Somersetshire, under the care of a Mr. Sharp. He was born December 29, 1711, and was put to school to a woman, who taught him to read ; and as soon as he was able, he was set to work. At about fourteen years of age, he was apprenticed to a cooper at Frome, who soon after removed to Axbridge, where he kept a public-house. Here his situation became so uncomfortable, that he was discharged from his master in the fourth year; and returned to his father's house. In consequence of the conversation he witnessed between his parents and their friends, together with what they said to himn about eternal things, he was sometimes led to think of the state of his soul; yet stiil he proceeded in the ways of sin, though often reproved by his conscience, and frequently promising amendment.. .
It pleased God, however, about his nineteenth year, to exert the power of his effectual grace, and to decide the protracted conflict. This will best be expressed in his own words, extracted from a paper which he drew up for the satisfaction of his friends, about two years before his death.
." I was convinced,” saith he," of my sinful ruined state, and was filled with distress, bordering on despair; so that I expected nothing but eternal misery in Hell. 'I thought the clouds appeared charged with the wrath of God; and feared they would burst on iny head and sink me into endless ruin. In this awful state I continued about eighteei days ; but one day; being alone, lamenting my miserable helpless condition, these words occurred to my mind,“ My grace is sufficient for thec.” The impression was so forcible, that I verily thought some one behind me had spoken thein, and turned round to see who it was ; but no one was there. I was greatly surprized;