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40 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
0 come to Him who makes the deaf to hear, And strains of bliss thy lowly heart shall cheer; Sweet sounds shall strike thee, all replete with love, Breathing like raptures of the blest above.
And art thou naked on this cold, bleak strand ?
Or clad in garb of misery and woe ? A wretched wanderer thro' a dreary land,
Where tempests rise, and piercing north winds blow? Come take the robe our Saviour bought for thee, From every stain by his own blood set free— 'Twill shield thee from the blasts of sin and care, And for the marriage-feast thy .soul prepare.
Or dost thou hunger for substantial food,
Pining for what the world cannot supply, Till, sick with faintness, thou hast trembling stood,
And fear'd to live, yet dreaded more to die ? 0 take the bread of life—'tis freely given, 'Tis proffer'd to thee by the Lord of heaven! New strength and vigour will that bread impart, And raise at once thy poor, desponding heart.
Thou dying one, whose pulse is throbbing weak, Whose hold on life seems to be loosening now;
Is fear impress'd upon thy sunken cheek, While death's cold drops are standing on thy brow ? |
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