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Monday, February 18, 2013

White Blossoms with Oh, what would I do without Jesus and My soul, be on thy guard

Oh, what would I do without Jesus,
When burden’d with guilt and with sin?
Who else could forgive my transgressions
Or cleanse the defilement within?

Oh, what would I do without Jesus,
When sorrow oppresses my heart?
Who else could relieve my distresses,
Or solace and comfort impart?

Oh, what would I do without Jesus,
When sin and temptation assail?
Who else can secure my deliv’rance,
And over the tempter prevail?

Oh, what would I do without Jesus,
When nearing the shadowy vale?
No other can cheer me and help me,
When all that is earthly shall fail.

No other but Jesus, my Savior so dear,
Can be such a helper to me, to me;
He only, this Jesus, our gracious Redeemer,
My Lord and my Saviour shall be.
                               Elisha A. Hoffman

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 lay thine armor down:
Thy arduous work will not be done
  Till thou obtain thy crown.

Fight on, my soul, till death
  Shall bring thee to thy God:
He’ll take thee, at thy parting breath,
  Up to His blest abode.
        Rev. George Heath

Saturday, February 9, 2013

Assorted Blue Flowers with Nearer, my God, to thee and Face to face with Christ my Savior

Nearer, my God, to thee,
Nearer to thee;
E’en tho’ it be a cross
That raiseth me,
Still all my song shall be

Tho’ like a wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone;
Yet in my dreams I’d be

There let the way appear
Steps unto heav’n;
All that thou sendest me,
In mercy giv’n;
Angels to beckon me

Then with my waking tho’ts
Bright with Thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethel I’ll raise;
So by my woes to be

Or if on joyful wing,
Cleaving the sky,
Sun, moon and stars forgot,
Upward I fly,
Still all my song shall be

Nearer, my God, to thee!
Nearer, my God, to thee!
Nearer to thee!
                         Sarah F. Adams

Face to face with Christ my Savior,
Face to face-what will it be?
When with rapture I behold him,
Jesus Christ, who died for me.

Only faintly now, I see him,
With the darkling veil between,
But a blessed day is coming,
When his glory shall be seen.

What rejoicing in his presence,
When are banished grief and pain;
When the crooked ways are straightened,
And the dark things shall be plain.

Face to face! Oh, blissful moment!
Face to face-to see and know;
Face to face with my Redeemer,
Jesus Christ, who loves me so.

Face to face I shall I behold him,
Far beyond the starry sky;
Face to face in all his glory,
I shall see him by and by!

Mrs. Frank A. Breck

Friday, February 8, 2013

Morning Glories, Pottery with Are you helping somewhere in this world of woe and God, of my life, to Thee I call

Are you helping somewhere in this world of woe,
That its heavy burdens may the lighter grow?
Is your life a blessing wheresoe’er you go?
Love and help are needed ev’rywhere.

Are you helping somewhere in this world of care?
Do you with your brother pain and sorrow share?
You will find your burdens lighter far to bear,
While you’re helping others anywhere.

Are you helping somewhere in this world of sin?
Do you seek the erring feet to gather in?
You may precious treasures for the Master win
By your faithful service ev’rywhere.

Love and help are needed ev’rywhere,
In the homes of sorrow, in the homes of care;
Are some hearts the happier for your living here below?
Do you scatter sunshine wheresoe’er you go?
                                       F. S. Shepard
God of my life, to Thee I call;
Afflicted at Thy feet I fall:
When the great waterfloods prevail,
Leave not my trembling heart to fail.

Friend of the friendless and the faint,
Where should I lodge my deep complaint?
Where but with Thee, whose open door
Invites the helpless and the poor?

Did ever mourner plead with Thee,
And Thou refuse that mourner’s plea?
Does not the word still fixed remain,
That none shall seek Thy face in vain?

That were a grief I could not bear,
Didst Thou not hear and answer prayer;
But a prayer-hearing, answering God
Supports me under every load.

Poor though I am, despised, forgot,
Yet God, my God, forgets me not;
And he is safe, and must succeed,
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.

William Cowper

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Multitude of Flowers with When the trump of the great archangel and How pleasant, how divinely fair

When the trump of the great archangel
Its mighty tones shall sound,
And, the end of the world proclaiming,
Shall pierce the depths profound,
When the Son of man shall come in his glory
With all the saints on high,
What a shouting in the skies from the multitudes that rise,
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye.

When he comes in the clouds descending,
And they who lov’d him here,
From their graves shall awake and praise him
With joy and not with fear,
When the body and the soul are united,
And cloth’d no more to die,
What a shouting there will be when each other’s face we see,
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye.

O the seed that was sown in weakness
Shall then be rais’d in pow’r,
And the songs of the bloodbought millions
Shall hail that blissful hour.
When we gather safely home in the morning,
And night’s dark shadows fly,
What a shouting on the shore when we meet to part no more,
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye.

Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye,
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye,
The trumpet shall sound, the dead shall be rais’d,
Chang’d in the twinkling of an eye.
                                                Fanny J. Crosby

How pleasant, how divinely fair,
O Lord of Hosts! Thy dwellings are!
With long desire my spirit faints,
To meet th’ assemblies of Thy saints.

My flesh would rest in Thine abode,
My panting heart cries out for God;
My God! my King! why should I be
So far from all my joys, and Thee?

Blest are the saints who sit on high,
Around Thy throne above the sky;
Thy brightest glories shine above,
And all their work is praise and love.

Blest are the souls, who find a place
Within the temple of Thy grace;
There they behold Thy gentler rays,
And seek Thy face, and learn Thy praise.

Cheerful they walk with growing strength,
Till all shall meet in heaven at length;
Till all before Thy face appear,
And join in nobler worship there.

Rev. Isaac Watts

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Blue, Red, Green with More holiness give me and Wait, O my soul, thy Maker’s will

More holiness give me,
More strivings within;
More patience in suff’ring,
More sorrow for sin;
More faith in my Savior,
More sense of his care;
More joy in his service,
More purpose in pray’r.

More gratitude give me,
More trust in the Lord;
More pride in his glory,
More hope in his Word;
More tears for his sorrows,
More pain at his grief:
More meekness in trial,
More praise for relief.

More purity give me,
More strength to o’ercome;
More freedom from earth stains,
More longings for home;
More fit for the kingdom,
More used would I be;
More blessed and holy,
More, Savior, like thee.
                                  P. P.  Bliss
Wait, O my soul, thy Maker’s will;
Tumultuous passions, all be still;
Nor let a murmuring thought arise;
His ways are just, His counsels wise.

He in the thickest darkness dwells,
Performs His work, the cause conceals;
And though His footsteps are unknown,
Judgment and truth support His throne.

In heaven and earth, in air and seas,
He executes His wise decrees;
And by His saints it stands confessed,
That what He does is ever best.

Then, O my soul, submissive wait,
With reverence bow before His seat:
And midst the terrors of His rod,
Trust in a wise and gracious God.

Rev. Benjamin Beddome

Monday, February 4, 2013

Glass Basket, Peonies with How dear to my heart is the story of old and God’s glory is a wondrous thing

How dear to my heart is the story of old,
The story that ever is new,
The message that saints of all ages have told,
The message so tender and true.

It came to my heart when, all fettered by sin,
I sat in the prison of doubt:
Like angel of old, the glad story came in
And led me triumphantly out.

It comes to my soul when the tempter is nigh
With snares for my way weary feet;
It tells of the Rock that is higher than I,
And leads to its blissful retreat.

When sorrow is mine, and on pillows of stone
My aching head seeks for repose,
This story brings comfort and peace from the throne,
My desert blooms forth like the rose.

When down in the “valley and shadow of Death,”
I enter the gloom of the grave,
I’ll tell the old story with life’s latest breath,
Of Christ and his power to save.

The story that never grows old,
Though over and over ‘tis told:
The story so dear, bringing heav’n so near,
Sweet story that never grows old.
                          John H. Yates God’s glory is a wondrous thing,
  Most strange in all its ways,
And, of all things on earth, least like
  What men agree to praise.

Thrice blest is he to whom is given
  The instinct that can tell
That God is on the field, when he
  Is most invisible!

Blest too is he who can divine
  Where real right doth lie,
And dares to take the side that seems
  Wrong to man’s blindfold eye!

Then learn to scorn the praise of men,
  And learn to lose with God!
For Jesus won the world through shame,
  And beckons thee His road.

For right is right, since God is God;
  And right the day must win;
To doubt would be disloyalty,
  To falter would be sin!

Rev. Frederick W. Faber