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3 What sweetness does the promise yield,
When by the Spirit's power seal'd?
The longing soul is fill'd with good,
Nor feels a wish for other food.

4 By these inviting tastes allur'd,
We pass to what must be endur'd;
For soon we find it is decreed,

That bitter must to sweet succeed.
5 When sin revives and shows its pow'r,
When Satan threatens to devour,
When God afflicts, and men revile,
We draw our steps with pain and toil.
6 When thus deserted, tempest-tost,
The sense of former sweetness lost,
We tremble lest we were deceiv'd
In thinking that we once believ'd.

7 The Lord first makes the sweetness known, To win and fix us for his own;

And though we now some bitter meet,
We hope for everlasting sweet.

OLNEY HYMNS,

&c.

BOOK II.

ON OCCASIONAL SUBJECTS.

I. SEASONS.

III. PROVIDENCES.

II. ORDINANCES. IV. CREATION.

I. SEASONS.

NEW-YEAR'S HYMNS.

I. Time how swift.

1 WHILE with ceaseless course the sun

Hasted through the former year,
Many souls their race have run,
Never more to meet us here:
Fix'd in an eternal state,

They have done with all below;
We a little longer wait,

But how little-none can know.

2 As the winged arrow flies,
Speedily the mark to find;
As the lightning from the skies
Darts, and leaves no trace behind;
Swiftly thus our fleeting days

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Bear us down life's rapid stream;
Upwards, Lord, our spirits raise,

All below is but a dream.

3 Thanks for mercies past receive,
Pardon of our sins renew;

Teach us, henceforth, how to live
With eternity in view :

Bless thy word to young and old,
Fill us with a Saviour's love;
And when life's short tale is told,
May we dwell with thee above.

II. Time how short.

1 TIME, with an unwearied hand,
Pushes round the seasons past;
And in life's frail glass the sand
Sinks apace, not long to last :
Many, who, as you and I,
The last year assembled thus,
In their silent graves now lie;
Graves will open soon for us!

2 Daily sin, and care, and strife,
While the Lord prolongs our breath,
Make it but a dying life,

Or a kind of living death:
Wretched they and most forlorn,
Who no better portion know;
Better ne'er to have been born,
Than to have our all below.

3 When constrain'd to go alone,
Leaving all you love behind,
Ent'ring on a world unknown,
What will then support your mind?

When the Lord his summons sends,
Earthly comforts lose their pow'r;
Honour, riches, kindred, friends,
Cannot cheer a dying hour.

4 Happy souls who fear the Lord!
Time is not too swift for you;
When your Saviour gives the word,
Glad you'll bid the world adieu :
Then he'll wipe away your tears,
Near himself appoint your place;
Swifter fly, ye rolling years,
Lord, we long to see thy face.

III. Uncertainty of Life.

1 See! another year is gone!

Quickly have the seasons pass'd!

This we enter now upon
May to many prove their last :
Mercy hitherto has spar'd,
But have mercies been improv'd?
Let us ask, Am I prepar'd,
Should I be this year remov'd?

2 Some we now no longer see,
Who their mortal race have run,
Seem'd as fair for life as we,
When the former year begun:
Some, but who God only knows,
Who are here assembled now,
Ere the present year shall close,
To the stroke of death must bow.

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3 Life a field of battle is,

Thousands fall within our view;
And the next death-bolt that flies,
May be sent to me or you :

While we preach, and while we hear,
Help us, Lord, each one to think,
Vast eternity is near,

I am standing on the brink.

4 If from guilt and sin set free,
By the knowledge of thy grace,
Welcome, then, the call will be
To depart and see thy face:
To thy saints, while here below,
With new years new mercies come;
But the happiest year they know
Is their last, which leads them home.

IV. A New-Year's Thought and Prayer.
1 TIME, by moments, steals away,
First the hour and then the day;
Small the daily loss appears,
Yet it soon amounts to years:
Thus another year is flown,
Now it is no more our own,
If it brought or promis'd good,
Than the years before the flood.

2 But (may none of us forget)
It has left us much in debt;
Favours from the Lord receiv'd,
Sins that have his Spirit griev'd,
Mark'd by an unerring hand,
In his book recorded stand;
Who can tell the vast amount,
Plac'd to each of our account?

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