A Book of Hymns and Tunes for the Congregation and the Home

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Press of John Wilson, 1876 - Hymns, English - 125 pages
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Page 60 - BY cool Siloam's shady rill, How sweet the lily grows ! How sweet the breath beneath the hill Of Sharon's dewy rose ! 2 Lo ! such the child whose early feet The paths of peace have trod ; Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, Is upward drawn to God...
Page 54 - TEACH me, my God and King, In all things Thee to see, And what I do in anything, To do it as for Thee...
Page 17 - From all that dwell below the skies, Let the Creator's praise arise ; Let the Redeemer's name be sung, Through every land, by every tongue. 2. Eternal are thy mercies, Lord ; Eternal truth attends thy word : Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more.
Page 75 - Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be, As more of Heaven in each we see ; Some softening gleam of love and prayer Shall dawn on every cross and care. The trivial round, the common task, Will furnish all we ought to ask, Room to deny ourselves, a road To bring us daily nearer God.
Page 23 - A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone, Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun.
Page 70 - Are there no foes for me to face ? Must I not stem the flood ? Is this vile world a friend to grace, To help me on to God ? 4 Sure I must fight, if I would reign ; Increase my courage, Lord ! I'll bear the toil, endure the pain, Supported by thy word.
Page 66 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 47 - AS pants the hart for cooling streams, When heated in the chase ; So longs my soul, O GOD, for thee, And thy refreshing grace. 2 For thee, my GOD, the living GOD, My thirsty soul doth pine ; O ! when shall I behold thy face, Thou Majesty divine ? 3...
Page 81 - Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the pleasant land.
Page 59 - This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall ; Lord of himself, though not of lands, And having nothing, yet hath all.

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