This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1843 edition. Excerpt: ...I ask'd in Thy great name! "Thoughts Of Peace." Arise, O Sun of Righteousness, and shine, With beams benignant on Thy sorrowing child; Long have I lain beneath Thy chast'ning hand, This poor enfeebled body rack'd with pain, And enervated every mental power: I mourn, but murmur not; O God, Thou knowest ...
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1843 edition. Excerpt: ...I ask'd in Thy great name! "Thoughts Of Peace." Arise, O Sun of Righteousness, and shine, With beams benignant on Thy sorrowing child; Long have I lain beneath Thy chast'ning hand, This poor enfeebled body rack'd with pain, And enervated every mental power: I mourn, but murmur not; O God, Thou knowest I would not murmur at Thy righteous will, For what Thou dost is best, and well I know, Had I the punishment my sins deserve, The portion of the lost had now been mine. I know that Thou afflictest me in love; Then let me welcome what that love directs, Adore and bless the hand that wounds to heal; Mount on the wings of faith sublime, and see My God, my Saviour, on His glorious throne, Pleading my cause before His Father's face; An all-prevailing plea, which must bring down Blessings unnumbered on His suffering child. Soon shall these prayers and sighs be turned to praise, And I shall see my Saviour as He is, And dwell for ever on His matchless love, Which ever telling will remain untold. When pining sickness wastes the frame, Acute disease, or lingering pain; When life fast spends her feeble flame, And all the help of man is vain; Then, then to have recourse to God, To pray to Him in time of need; And feel the balm of Jesus' blood, --This is to find a friend indeed. And such, my soul, thy happy lot, --Thy Saviour marks thy falt'ring breath, Nor will He leave thee, doubt Him not, In pain, in sickness, or in death. Shouldst thou a moment's absence mourn, Should some short darkness intervene He'll give thee power, till light return, To trust Him with the cloud between. Art thou a sinner, soul? He said--Then how canst thou complain? How light thy troubles here, if weighed With everlasting pain! If thou of murmuring would'st be cured, ...
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