The book of sacred song . 198 THE BOOK OF SACRED SONG. Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word ;But as Thou dwelPst with Thy disciples, Lord,Familiar, condescending, patient, free,Come, not to sojourn, but abide with me! Come not in terrors, as the King of kings;But kind, and good, with healing in Thy wings :Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea :Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me! Thou on my head in early youth didst smile,And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,Thou hast not left me, oft as I left to the close, O Lord, abide with me! I need Thy presence every
The book of sacred song . 198 THE BOOK OF SACRED SONG. Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word ;But as Thou dwelPst with Thy disciples, Lord,Familiar, condescending, patient, free,Come, not to sojourn, but abide with me! Come not in terrors, as the King of kings;But kind, and good, with healing in Thy wings :Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea :Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me! Thou on my head in early youth didst smile,And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,Thou hast not left me, oft as I left to the close, O Lord, abide with me! I need Thy presence every passing hour:What but Thy grace can foil the Tempters power TWho like Thyself my guide and stay can be ?Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me! I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness:Where is deaths sting ? where, grave, thy victory ?I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. Hold then Thy cross before my closing eyes;Snine through the gloom, and point me to theskies :. modern: deceased writers. 199 Heavens morning breaks, and earths vain sha-dows flee:In life and death, O Lord, abide with me! Lyte. AN HOUSE NOT MADE WITH HANDS,ETERNAL IN THE HEAVENS. j RIEND after friend departs;Who hath not lost a friend ?There is no union here of heartsThat finds not here an end :Were this frail world our final rest,Living or dying, none were blest. Beyond the flight of time,— Beyond the reign of death,— There surely is some blessed clime Where life is not a breath;Nor lifes affections transient fire,Whose sparks fly upwards and expire. There is a world above,Where parting is unknown;A long eternity of love, Formd for the good alone; 200 THE BOOK OF SACRED SONG. And faith beholds the dying, here,Translated to that glorious sphere ! Thus star by star declines, Till all are past away,As morning high and higher shines, To pure and perfect day:Nor sink those stars in empty night,But hide themselves in heavens own light. Montgomery. AND I SAW
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