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115.

P. M.

A. BALLOU.

1 Full often to our God we pray,

O, forgive ! O, forgive;
Take all our load of guilt away,

O, forgive ! O, forgive !'
And this must be our daily care
Till not a stain of sin we bear :
We still must breathe the contrite prayer,

O, forgive ! O, forgive!
2 But dare we for ourselves thus plead-

O, forgive ! O, forgive !'
And yet our brother's inj'rous deed

Not forgive, not forgive ?
May we his suppliant look despise,
And spurn his penitential cries,
While we repeat, with lifted eyes

O, forgive ! O, forgive !'
3 Hath not the Father said from heaven,

• Who forgives, who forgives,
In heart, shall be himself forgiven

AH his sins, all his sins ?'
And he who not forgives shall call
In vain upon the Lord of all
His own poor soul to disenthrall,

To forgive, to forgive.

116.

11š M. COLESWORTAY. 1 Go to thy brother, now feeble and low

With words of compassion, go quickly, go, go ; Go tell him there's mercy and kindness in store, If he will stand up and sin nevermore.

2 0 do not reproach him because he has erred Nor frown on his weakness, nor speak a harshi

word : But go to thy brother, faint, feeble and low,

And yet thou wilt save him-go quickly; go, go. 3 See-see !-his eyes brighten, his spirits re

viveSome feeling of manhood in him is alive; Speak softly-speak gently-thou'lt save him

I know ; God's love is yet in you-go quickly, go, go. 4 He sees you-he hears you-a blessing he

craves

On the head of the angel who cometh and

saves.

List! mercy he asks, with hands to the skies, As from his deep anguish he struggles to rise.

117.

L. M.

Watts.

1 Blest is the man whose tender care

Relieves the poor in their distress ;
Whose pity wipes the widow's tear,

Whose hand supports the fatherless. 2 His heart contrives for their relief

More good than his own hands can do ;
He in the time of general grief

Shall find the Lord has pity too.
3 His soul shall live secure on earth,

With secret blessings on his head,
When drought, and pestilence, and dearth,
Around himn multiply their dead.

4 Or if he languish on his couch,

God will pronounce his sins forgiven :
Will save him with a healing touch,
Or take his willing soul to heaven.

118.

10s & 6s M. 1 Must I my faith in Jesus constant show, By love like his to all, both friend and foe?

To all, both friend and foe. 2 When men of hate conspire to treat me ill, Must I return them good, and bless them still ?

O yes, and bless them still, 3 Although my name and character they tear, Must I eschew revenge, and still forbear?

O yes, and still forbear. 4 And wilt thou ne'er permit me, heavenly Dove, Aught else to manifest through life but love?

Nought else through life but love. 5 Amen, my heart responds, then be it so, Thy will be mine, and thine my weal or woe ;

Fear not in weal or woe.

VIII. CONTRITE ASPIRATIONS.

119.

C. M.

WATTS. 1 My soul lies cleaving to the dust,

Lord, give me life divine;
From vain desires and every lust

Turn off these eyes of mine.
2 Are not thy mercies sovereign still?

And thou a faithful God?
Wilt thou not grant me warmer zeal

To run the heavenly road?
3 Does not my heart thy precepts love ?

And long to see thy face?
And yet how slow my spirits move,

Without enlivening srace.
4 Then shall I love thy gospel more,

And ne'er forget thy word,
When I have felt thy quickening power

To draw me near the Lord.

WATTS.

120.

C. M.
1 O that the Lord would guide my ways,

To keep his statutes still !
O that the Lord would grant me grace

To know and do his will !

2 Send thy good Spirit, Lord, to write

Thy law upon my heart,
Nor let my tongue indulge deceit,

Nor act the liar's part.
3 From vanity turn off mine eyes,

Let no corrupt design,
Nor covetous desires arise

Within this heart of mine.
4 My soul hath gone too far astray,

My feet too often slide ;
O bring me back to virtue's way,

And be thy truth my guide.

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1 ASTONISHED and distressed,

I turn mine eyes within ;
My heart with loads of guilt oppressed,

The seat of restless sin.

2 What crowds of evil thoughts,

What vile affections there!
Distrust, presumption, artful guile,

Pride, envy, slavish fear, 3 Almighty King of saints,

These tyrant lusts subdue ;
Expel the darkness of my mind,

And all my powers renew. 40 then my cheerful voice

Shall lond hosannas raise;
My soul shall glow with gratitude,

My lips proclaim thy praise.

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