Part 18 (2/2)

1 Blest is the man whose bowels move, And melt with pity to the poor, Whose soul, by sympathising love, Feels what his fellow-saints endure.

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 bowels too.

3 His soul shall live secure on earth, With secret blessings on his head, When drought, and pestilence, and dearth Around him multiply their dead.

4 Or if he languish on his couch, G.o.d will p.r.o.nounce his sins forgiv'n, Will save him with a healing touch, Or take his willing soul to heaven.

Psalm 42:1. 1-5. First Part.

Desertion and hope; or, Complaint of absence from public wors.h.i.+p.

1 With earnest longings of the mind, My G.o.d, to thee I look; So pants the hunted hart to find And taste the cooling brook.

2 When shall I see thy courts of grace, And meet my G.o.d again?

So long an absence from thy face My heart endures with pain.

3 Temptations vex my weary soul, And tears are my repast; The foe insults without control, ”And where's your G.o.d at last?”

4 'Tis with a mournful pleasure now I think on ancient days; Then to thy house did numbers go, And all our work was praise.

5 But why, my soul, sunk down so far Beneath this heavy load?

Why do my thoughts indulge despair, And sin against my G.o.d?

6 Hope in the Lord, whose mighty hand Can all thy woes remove; For I shall yet before him stand, And sing restoring love.

Psalm 42:2. 6-11. Second Part.

Melancholy thoughts reproved; or, Hope in afflictions.

1 My spirit sinks within me, Lord, But I will call thy name to mind, And times of past distress record, When I have found my G.o.d was kind.

2 Huge troubles, with tumultuous noise, Swell like a sea, and round me spread; Thy water-spouts drown all my joys, And rising waves roll o'er my head.

3 Yet will the Lord command his love, When I address his throne by day, Nor in the night his grace remove; The night shall hear me sing and pray.

4 I'll cast myself before his feet, And say ”My G.o.d, my heavenly Rock, ”Why doth thy love so long forget ”The soul that groans beneath thy stroke?”

5 I'll chide my heart that sinks so low, Why should my soul indulge her grief?

Hope in the Lord, and praise him too, He is my rest, my sure relief.

6 Thy light and truth shall guide me still, Thy word shall my best thoughts employ, And lead me to thine heavenly hill, My G.o.d, my most exceeding Joy.

Psalm 44. 1 2 3 8 15-26.

The church's complaint in persecution.

1 Lord, we have heard thy works of old, Thy works of power and grace, When to our ears our fathers told The wonders of their days:

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