Rev. Edward Mote, 1825.

322 How Can I but Love Him? 6s & 5s.

The Exceeding Love of Christ.

So tender, so precious. 
  My Savior to me;
So true, and so gracious,
  I’ve found him to be.

Ref.—­How can I but love him? 
        But love him, but love him? 
      There’s no friend above him,
        Poor sinner, for thee.

2 So patient, so kindly
  Toward all of my ways;
I blunder so blindly,
  He love still repays.

3 Of all friends the fairest
  And truest is he;
His love is the rarest,
  That ever can be.

4 His beauty, tho’ bleeding
  And circled with thorns,
Is then most exceeding;
  For grief him adorns.

     J.E.  Rankin, D.D.

323 My Beloved, 11s & 8s.

My Beloved.

O thou, in whose presence my soul takes delight,
  On whom in affliction I call;
My comfort by day, and my song in the night,
  My hope, my salvation, my all.

2 Where dost thou at noon-tide resort with thy sheep,
  To feed in the pastures of love? 
And why in the valley of death should I weep,
  Or alone in the wilderness rove?

3 O, why should I wander an alien from thee,
  Or cry in the desert for bread? 
Thy foes will rejoice when my sorrows they see,
  And smile at the tears I have shed.

4 He looks, and ten thousands of angels rejoice,
  And myriads wait for his word;
He speaks, and eternity, fill’d with his voice,
  Re-echoes the praise of the Lord.

     Jos.  Swain, 1792.

324 De Fleury. 8s.  D

The Presence of Christ Desired.

How tedious and tasteless the hours
  When Jesus no longer I see! 
Sweet prospects, sweet birds, and sweet flowers
  Have lost all their sweetness to me: 
The midsummer sun shines but dim;
  The fields strive in vain to look gay;
But when I am happy in him,
  December’s as pleasant as May.

2 His name yields the richest perfume,
  And sweeter than music his voice;
His presence disperses my gloom,
  And makes all within me rejoice: 
I should, were he always so nigh,
  Have nothing to wish or to fear;
No mortal so happy as I;
  My summer would last all the year.

3 Content with beholding his face,
  My all to his pleasure resigned,
No changes of season or place
  Would make any change in my mind: 
While blest with a sense of his love,
  A palace a toy would appear;
And prisons would palaces prove,
  If Jesus would dwell with me there.

4 Dear Lord, if indeed I am thine,
  If thou art my sun and my song,
Say, why do I languish and pine? 
  And why are my winters so long? 
O, drive these dark clouds from my sky;
  Thy soul-cheering presence restore;
Or take me unto thee on high,
  Where winter and clouds are no more.