HENRY KIRKE WHITE.

HYMN DCCCLIX.

Human Frailty.

H. K. WHITE.

HAT is this passing scene?

1 WHA

A peevish April-day?

A little sun-a little rain

And then night sweeps along the plain,
And all things fade away:

Man (soon discuss'd)

Yields up his trust,

And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust!

2 Oh, what is beauty's power?

It flourishes and dies;

With the cold earth it's silence break,
To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek
Beneath it's surface lies?

Mute, mute is all

O'er beauty's fall;

Her praise resounds no more, when mantled in

her pall.

3 The most belov'd on earth

Not long survives to-day;

So music past is obsolete,

And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet,

But now 'tis gone away:

Thus does the shade,

In memory fade,

When in forsaken tomb the form belov'd is

laid!

4 Then since this world is vain, And volatile and fleet,

1

Why should I lay up earthly joys,
Where rust corrupts and moth destroys,
And cares and sorrows eat?
Why fly from ill

With anxious skill,

When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart lie still?

HYMN DCCCLX.

The Harp of Judah; or, the Hiding-place.

H. K. WHITE.

WAKE, sweet harp of Judah, wake,
Retune thy strings for Jesus' sake ;
We sing the Saviour of our race,

The Lamb, our shield, and hiding-place.
2 When God's right arm is bar'd for war,
And thunders clothe his cloudy car,
Where, where, oh! where shall man retire,
To escape the horrors of his ire?

3 'Tis he, the Lamb, to him we fly,
While the dread tempest passes by;
God sees his Well-beloved's face,
And spares us in our hiding-place.

4 Thus while we dwell in this low scene.
The Lamb is our unfailing screen;
To him, though guilty, still we run,
And God still spares us for his Son.
5 While yet we sojourn here below,
Pollutions still our hearts o'erflow;

Fallen, abject, mean, a sentenc'd race,
We deeply need a hiding-place.

6 Yet courage-days and years will glide,
And we shall lay these clods aside;
Shall be baptiz'd in Jordan's flood,
And wash'd in Jesus' cleansing blood.

[7 Then pure, immortal, sinless, freed,
We through the Lamb shall be decreed;
Shall meet the Father face to face,
And need no more a hiding-place.]

HYMN DCCCLXI.

Evening Hymn for Family Worship.

H. K. WHITE.

10 LORD, another day is flown,

And we a lonely band,

Are met once more before thy throne,
To bless thy fostering hand.

2 And wilt thou bend a listening ear,
To praises low as ours?

Thou wilt! for thou dost love to hear
The song which meekness pours.

3 And Jesus, thou thy smiles wilt deign,
As we before thee pray;

For thou didst bless the infant train
And we are less than they.

4 O let thy grace perform it's part,
And let contention cease,

And shed abroad in every heart
Thine everlasting peace!

5 Thus chasten'd, cleans'd, entirely thine,
A flock by Jesus led;

The Sun of Righteousness shall shine,
In glory on our head.

6 And thou wilt turn our wandering feet,
And thou wilt bless our way;

"Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet The dawn of lasting day.

HYMN DCCCLXII.

The Star of Bethlehem.

H. K. WHITE.

1 WHEN marshall'd on the nightly plain, The glittering host bestud the sky;

One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

2 Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone the Saviour speaks,
It is the star of Bethlehem.

3 Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud,-the night was dark, The ocean yawn'd,-and rudely blow'd

The wind that toss'd my foundering bark.

4 Deep horror then my vitals froze,

Death-struck, I ceas'd the tide to stem; When suddenly a star arose,

It was the star of Bethlehem.

5 It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease; And through the storm and dangers thrall, It led me to the port of peace.

6 Now safely moor'd-my perils o'er, I'll sing, first in night's diadem, For ever and for ever more,

The star!-the star of Bethlehem!

HYMN DCCCLXIII.

Confession and Repentance.

H. K. WHITE.

1 LORD, my God, in mercy turn,

In mercy hear a sinner mourn!

To thee I call, to thee I cry,
O leave me, leave me not to die!
2 O pleasures past, what are ye now
But thorns about my bleeding brow?
Spectres that hover round my brain,
And aggravate and mock my pain.
3 For pleasure I have given my soul;
Now justice, let thy thunders roll!
Now vengeance smile-and with a blow,
Lay the rebellious ingrate low.

4 Yet Jesus, Jesus! there I'll cling,
I'll crowd beneath his sheltering wing;
I'll clasp the cross, and holding there,
Even me, oh bliss!—his wrath may spare.

1 THE

ORIGINALS.

HYMN DCCCLXIV.

The Eternal Monarch.

PART I.

H. K. WHITE.

HE Lord our God is full of might,
The winds obey his will;