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412 The Book of Praise.
Set free from present sorrow,
We cheerfully can say, E'en let the unknown to-morrow
Bring with it what it may. .
It can bring with it nothing,
But He will bear us through; . Who gives the lilies clothing
Will clothe His people too ; Beneath the spreading heavens
No creature but is fed ; And He, who feeds the ravens,
Will give His children bread.
Though vine nor fig-tree neither
Their wonted fruit shall bear; Though all the field should wither,
Nor flocks nor herds be there ; Yet, God the same abiding,
His praise shall tune my voice ; For, while in Him confiding,
I cannot but rejoice.
William Cowper. "1779.
Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest;
Far did I rove, and found no certain home ; At last I sought them in His sheltering breast,
Who opes His arms, and bids the weary come '-With Him I found a home, a rest Divine ; And I since then am His, and He is mine.
Yes ! He is mine ! and nought of earthly things, Not all the charms of pleasure, wealth, or power?
The fame of heroes, or the pomp of kings, Could tempt me to forego His love an hour.