7 Still lift your standard high, As warriors through the darkness toil 8 At last the march shall end, The wearied ones shall rest, The pilgrims find their Father's house, 561 E. H. Plumptre. 7s. 61. JESUS, Master, whom I serve, Strengthen hand and heart and nerve All the work Thou hast for me. 2 Lord, Thou needest not, I know, 3 Jesus, Master, wilt Thou use One who owes Thee more than all? Jesus, let me always be, In Thy service, glad and free. F. R. Havergal. (This hymn is Part II of "Jesus, Master, whose I am," No. 276, and "Take my life and let be," No. 453.) 562 S. M. O PRAISE our God to-day, Whose love hath helped us on our way, 2 His arm the strength imparts His grace alone inspires our hearts, 3 Oh, happiest work below, To sweeten many a cup of woe, 4 Lord, may it be our choice, "Rejoice with them that do rejoice, 563 Sow in the morn thy seed, H. W. Baker. At eve hold not thy hand; S. M. To doubt and fear give thou no heed; 2 And duly shall appear In verdure, beauty, strength, 3 Thou canst not toil in vain : Cold, heat, and moist, and dry, 4 Thence, when the glorious end, J. Montgomery. 564 C. M. Он, still in accents sweet and strong 2 We hear the call; in dreams no more But, girded for our Father's work, 3 Where prophets' word, and martyrs' blood, Would reap where they have strown. 4 O Thou whose call our hearts has stirred, To do Thy will we come; Thrust in our sickles at Thy word, 565 S. Longfellow. L. M. O Love divine, that stoop'd to share 2 Though long the weary way we tread, near. 3 When drooping pleasure turns to grief, 4 On Thee we fling our burdening woe, 566 O. W. Holmes. THY way, not mine, O Lord, 2 The kingdom that I seek 3 Choose Thou for me my friends, Not mine, not mine the choice, 6s. 81. H. Bonar. 567 Он, help us, Lord; each hour of need Thy heavenly succor give; C. M. Help us in thought, and word, and deed, Each hour on earth we live. 2 Oh, help us, through the prayer of faith More firmly to believe; For still, the more the servant hath, 3 If, strangers to Thy fold, we call, Imploring at Thy feet The crumbs that from Thy table fall, 'T is all we dare entreat. 4 But be it, Lord of mercy, all, 5 Oh, help us, Jesus, from on high; H. H. Milman. 568 11s, 10s COME, ye disconsolate, where'er ye languish, Come to the mercy-seat, fervently kneel; Here bring your wounded hearts, here tel your anguish ; Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. |