51. Driving to port. 1 THOUGH hard the winds are blowing, And loud the billows roar; Full swiftly we are going, To our dear native shore. 2 The billows breaking o'er us, To all we loved so well. 3 So sorrow often presses, 4 The sharper and severer The storms of life we meet, 5 Come then, afflictions dreary, Sharp sickness pierce my breast; You only bear the weary More quickly home to rest. 52. The Gospel Pool. 2 Here streams of virtue flow, To wash the filthy white as snow, 3 The dumb break forth in praise, The blind their sight receive; The cripple run in wisdom's ways, The dead revive and live. 4 Not bound to case or time, 5 Yet numbers near them lie, With life in view they pine and die, 6 'Tis strange they will not bathe, 7 Their conscience sin has seal'd, 8 Dear Savior, interpose, Their stubborn will constrain ; 53. "Lovest thou me ?" 7s. 1 Hark, my soul,-it is the Lord! 'Tis thy Savior, hear his word. Jesus speaks, he speaks to thee: Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me?" 66 66 2 "I deliver'd thee when bound, And when bleeding, heal'd thy wound, 3 "Can a mother's tender care 4 "Mine is an unchanging love, 5 "Thou shalt see my glory soon, 6 Lord, it is my chief complaint |