There the whole choir,
With one accord,
Shall praise the Lord

For evermore.

Perseverance.

My soul, be on thy guard,
Ten thousand foes arise;
The hosts of sin are pressing hard
To draw thee from the skies.

O watch, and fight, and pray;
The battle ne'er give o'er;
Renew it boldly every day,
And help divine implore.

Ne'er think the victory won,
Nor once at ease sit down;

The work of faith will not be done
Till thou hast got thy crown.

Then persevere till death

Shall bring thee to thy God; He'll take thee, at thy parting breath, To his divine abode.

Prayer Answered by Crosses.

I ASKED the Lord that I might grow
In faith, and love, and every grace;
Might more of his salvation know,
And seek more earnestly his face.

'Twas he who taught me thus to pray,
And he, I trust, has answered prayer ;
But it has been in such a way

As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favoured hour
At once he'd answer my request,
And by his love's constraining power,
Subdue my sins and give me rest.

Instead of this, he made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart,
And let the angry powers of hell
Assault my soul in every part.

Yea, more with his own hand he seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe;
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

"Lord, why is this?" I trembling cried,
"Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?"

"Tis in this way," the Lord replied,

"I answer prayer for grace and faith.

"These inward trials I employ,

From self and pride to set thee free, And break thy schemes of earthly joy, That thou may'st seek thy all in me."

แ
"The Will be one."

My God, my Father, while I stray
Far from my home, in life's rough way,
Oh teach me from my heart to say,

"Thy will be done."

Though dark my path, and sad my lot,
Let me "be still" and murmur not;
Or breathe the prayer, divinely taught,
"Thy will be done."

What though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved, no longer nigh?
Submissive still I would reply,

"Thy will be done."

If thou shouldst call me to resign
What most I prize, it ne'er was mine:
I only yield thee what was thine;
"Thy will be done."

Should pining sickness waste away
My life in premature decay,

My Father! still I strive to say,

"Thy will be done."

If but my fainting heart be blest
With thy sweet Spirit for its guest,
My God! to thee I leave the rest,
"Thy will be done."

Renew my will from day to day;
Blend it with thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
"Thy will be done."

Then, when on earth I breathe no more
The prayer half mixed with tears before,
I'll sing, upon a happier shore,

“Thy will be done.”

The Will of God.

I WORSHIP thee, sweet will of God!
And all thy ways adore,
And every day I live I seem

To love thee more and more.

Thou wert the end, the blessed rule
Of Jesu's toils and tears;
Thou wert the passion of his heart
Those three and thirty years.

And he hath breathed into my soul
A special love of thee,

A love to lose my will in his,

And by that loss be free.

I love to see thee bring to nought
The plans of wily men;

When simple hearts outwit the wise,
O thou art loveliest then!

The headstrong world, it presses hard
Upon the church full oft;

And then how easily thou turn'st
The hard ways into soft.

I love to kiss each print where thou
Hast set thine unseen feet;
I cannot fear thee, blessed will!
Thine empire is so sweet.

When obstacles and trials seem
Like prison-walls to be,

I do the little I can do,

And leave the rest to thee.

I know not what it is to doubt;
My heart is ever gay;

I run no risk, for, come what will,
Thou always hast thy way.

I have no cares, O blessed will!
For all my cares are thine;
I live in triumph, Lord! for thou
Hast made thy triumphs mine.

And when it seems no chance nor change

From grief can set me free,

Hope finds its strength in helplessness,

And gayly waits on thee.

B