115. P. M. A. BALLOU. 1 FULL often to our God we pray, Till not a stain of sin we bear: We still must breathe the contrite prayer, 2 But dare we for ourselves thus plead- 3 Hath not the Father said from heaven,- In heart, shall be himself forgiven 116. 11s M. COLESWORTHY. 1 Go to thy brother, now feeble and low- 1 2 O do not reproach him because he has erred Nor frown on his weakness, nor speak a harsh 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 vive Some 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 2 His heart contrives for their relief 3 His soul shall live secure on earth, When drought, and pestilence, and dearth, 4 Or if he languish on his couch, 1 MUST I my faith in Jesus constant show, 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. 119. VIII. CONTRITE ASPIRATIONS. C. M. WATTS. 1 My soul lies cleaving to the dust, 2 Are not thy mercies sovereign still? Wilt thou not grant me warmer zeal 3 Does not my heart thy precepts love? 4 Then shall I love thy gospel more, When I have felt thy quickening power 120. C. M. WATTS. 10 THAT the Lord would guide my ways, To keep his statutes still! O that the Lord would grant me grace 2 Send thy good Spirit, Lord, to write Nor let my tongue indulge deceit, 3 From vanity turn off mine eyes, 4 My soul hath gone too far astray, O bring me back to virtue's way, 1 ASTONISHED and distressed, My heart with loads of guilt oppressed, 2 What crowds of evil thoughts, 3 Almighty King of saints, These tyrant lusts subdue ; 4 O then my cheerful voice Shall loud hosannas raise; My soul shall glow with gratitude, |