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2 Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,

The ills which I this day have done;
That with the world, myself, and thee,

I, erc I sleep, at peace may be.
3 Teach me to live, that I may dread,

The grave as little as my bed :
Teach me to die, that so I may,
With joy behold the judgment day.
4 Let my blest Guardian, while I sleep,

His watchful station near me keep;
My heart with loye celestial fill,

And guard me from th' approach of ill. 5 Lord, let my heart for ever share

The bliss of thy paternal care: 'Tis heav'n on earth, 'tis heav'n above,

To see thy face, and sing thy love.
6 Should death itself my sleep invade,

Why should I be of death afraid?
Protected by thy saving arm,

Tho' he may strike, he cannot harm. 7 For death is life, and labour rest,

If with thy gracious presence blest:
Then welcome sleep, or death to me,
I'm still secure, for still with thee.
Praise God, &c.

107. The same. (C. M.)

N OW from the altar of our hearts,
TV Let flames of love arise ;
Assist us, Lord, to offer up

Our evening sacrifice.

2 Minutes and mercies multiply'd,

Have made up all this day;
Minutes came quick, but mercies were,

More swift and free than they.
3 New time, new favour, and new joys,

Do a new song require:
Till we shall praise thee as we would,

Accept our hearts desire.
4 Lord of our days, whose hand hath set

New time upon our score;
Thee may we praise for all our time,
When time shall be no more.

108. The same. (L. M.) 1 SLEEP, downy sleep, come close mine eyes,

Tir'd with beholding vanities ; Welcome, sweet sleep, that drives away

The toils and follies of the day. 2 On thy soft bosom will I lie,

Forget the world, and learn to die;
O Israel's watchful Shepherd, spread

Thine angel-tents around my bed.
3 Clouds and thick darkness veil thy throne,
Its awful glories all unknown ;
0, dart from thence one cheering ray,
And turn my midnight into day.
4 Thus when the morn, in crimson drest,

Breaks from the ehambers of the east;
My grateful songs of praise shall rise,
Like fragrant incense to the skies.

109. The same. (S. M.)

SOFT season of repose,

Thy sable curtains spread ;
Come downy sleep, and stretch thy wil

Around my weary head.
2 But 0 ! the lawless range,

With which my thoughts have stray
Thro' mazy paths of sense and sin,

From morn to ev'ning shade.
3 Ah! born to nobler ends,

My soul no more pursue,
These fleeting vanities of life,

But bid the world adieu.
4 Thy pity, gracious God,

Thy pardon I implore;
0! heal the follies of my mind,

And aid me with thy pow'r.
5 Be thou my friendly guard,

While slumb'ring on my bed ;
And with thy sacred teaching's fill,

The visions of my head.
6 When morning's gladsome rays,

Salute my waking eyes ;
All vig'rous may my soul to Thee

In grateful songs arise.
7 Devoted to thy fear,

Thy service, and thy praise ;
My God, I would be wholly thine,

The remnant of my days.

110.

The same. (C. M.)

same.

10 GOD, the hour of sleep's at hand;

My spirit calls for rest;
Oh! that my pillow may be found

The dear Redeemer's breast.

2 This night, my longing soul with Christ

Would take up her abode; I would be happily divest,

Of ev'ry thing but God.

3 The nightly watches would I spend,

In fellowship above;
And hold communion with my Lord,

And feast upon his love.

4 While in the hours of deep repose,

My spirit seeks to fly, Where Jesus keeps his heav'nly feast,

And banquets in the sky.

5 When dead unto the world I am,

I'd be alive to God;
And rest my soul in His embrace,

Who bought me with his blood.

6 Oh! may I then, of Christ, this night,

Be happily possess'd ;
Have angel troops surround my bed,

And Jesus for my guest.

111. The same. (C. M.) 1 THOU Son of God, whose flaming eye

1 Our inmost thoughts perceive ; Accept the ev'ning sacrifice,

Which now to thee we give.
2 We bow before thy gracious throne,

And think ourselves sincere:
But show us, Lord, is ev'ry one,

Thy real worshipper ?
3 Is here a soul that knows thee not,

Nor feels his want of Thee?
A stranger to the blood which bought

His pardon on the tree?
4 Convince him now of unbelief,
· His desp’rate state explain;
And fill his heart with sacred grief,

And penitential pain. 5 Speak with that voice which wakes the dea

And bid the sleeper “ rise;"
And bid his guilty conscience dread,

The death that never dies.

112. A Summer's Morn. (P. M.)
1 SWEET the beams of rosy morning,

Silent chasing gloom away;
Lovely tints the sky adorning,
Harbingers of opening day!
See the king of day appearing, --
Slow his progress, and serene;
Soon I feel the influence cheering,
Of this grand and lovely scene!

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