Morning and evening hymns for a week

Author of “Just as I am.”

FIFTIETH THOUSAND.

London: CHAS. J. THYNNE, WYCLIFFE HOUSE, GREAT QUEEN STREET, KINGSWAY, W.C.

WRIGHT & HOGGARD, PRINTERS, BEVERLEY.

HYMNS FOR A WEEK.

Sunday Morning.

“Unto you that fear my name shall the Sun of Righteousness arise with healing in his wings.” --MAL. iv. 2.

Thou glorious Sun of Righteousness, On this day risen to set no more, Shine on me now to heal and bless, With brighter beams than e’er before.

Shine on thy work of grace within, On each celestial blossom there: Destroy each bitter root of sin, And make thy garden fresh and fair.

Shine on thy pure eternal word, Its mysteries to my soul reveal; And whether read, remembered, heard, O let it quicken, strengthen, heal.

Shine on the temples of thy grace; In spotless robes thy priests be clad; Unveil the brightness of thy face; And make thy chosen people glad.

Shine on those unseen things displayed To faith’s illuminated eye; And let their splendour cast a shade On every earthly vanity.

Shine on the hearts of those most dear, Disperse each cloud ’twixt them and thee: Their glorious heavenward prospects clear; “Light in thy light,” oh, let them see!

Shine on those friends for whom we mourn, Who know not yet thy healing ray: Quicken their souls, and bid them turn To thee, “the life, the truth, the way.”

Shine on those tribes no country owns, On Judah once thy dwelling-place; “Thy servants think upon her stones,” And long to see her day of grace.

Shine on the missionary’s home, Give him his heart’s desire to see: Collect thy scattered ones who roam; One fold, one Shepherd, let there be!

Shine, till thy glorious beams shall chase The blinding film from every eye! Till every earthly dwelling-place Shall hail the day-spring from on high!

Shine on, shine on, Eternal Sun! Pour richer floods of life and light, Till that bright Sabbath be begun-- That glorious day which knows no night.

Sunday Evening.

“I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s day.” --REV. i. 10.

The Sabbath-day has reach’d its close! Yet, Saviour, ere I seek repose, Grant me the peace thy love bestows-- Smile on my evening hour!

Oh, heavenly Comforter, sweet guest! Hallow and calm my troubled breast, Weary I come to thee for rest-- Smile on my evening hour!

If ever I have found it sweet To worship at my Saviour’s feet, Now to my soul that bliss repeat-- Smile on my evening hour!

Let not the Gospel seed remain Unfruitful, or be lost again; Let heavenly dews descend like rain-- Smile on my evening hour!

Oh, ever present, ever nigh, Jesus, on thee I fix mine eye: Thou hear’st the contrite spirit’s sigh-- Smile on my evening hour!

My only intercessor thou, Mingle thy fragrant incense now With every prayer and every vow-- Smile on my evening hour!

And oh, when life’s short course shall end, And death’s dark shades around impend, My God, my everlasting Friend-- Smile on my evening hour!

Monday Morning.

“Blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out.” --CANT. iv. 16.

Now let our heavenly plants and flowers Diffuse a fragrance more Divine; Refreshed by the sweet Sabbath showers, With richer beauty they should shine.

We have been wafted for a while Far, far away from this low scene; Been cheered by our Redeemer’s smile, Been suffered on his breast to lean.

What has he taught us? what should be The fruit of intercourse so blest? O should not all around us see His image on our souls imprest?

Within his ivory palace fair We entered a much-favoured train: Myrrh, aloes, cassia, filled the air, Our garments should the scent retain.

And we should pass along the earth, Like birds that live upon the wing; Rise to the country of our birth, And on our way its anthems sing.

Monday Evening.

“Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace.” --HEB. iv. 16.

There is a spot of consecrated ground, Where brightest hopes and holiest joys are found: ’Tis named (and Christians love the well-known sound) The throne of grace.

’Tis here a calm retreat is always found: Perpetual sunshine gilds the sacred ground; Pure airs and heavenly odours breathe around The throne of grace.

While on this vantage-ground the Christian stands, His quickened eye a boundless view commands; Discovers fair abodes not made with hands-- Abodes of peace.

Terrestrial objects, disenchanted there, Lose all their power to dazzle or ensnare; One only object then seems worth our care-- To win the race.