Sacred Paths, Or, Life in Prospect of Immortality

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Joseph Dowe, 1841 - 218 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 151 - FRIEND after friend departs : Who hath not lost a friend ? There is no union here of hearts That finds not here an end: Were this frail world our only rest. Living or dying, none were blest. 2 Beyond the flight of time, Beyond this vale of death, There surely is some blessed clime Where life is not a breath, Nor life's affections transient fire, Whose sparks fly upward to expire.
Pàgina 130 - Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, Who according to His abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead...
Pàgina 154 - Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try ; Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. 4 Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, The Christian's native air, His watchword at the gates of death ; He enters heaven with prayer. 5 Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice, Returning from his ways, While angels in their songs rejoice, And cry,
Pàgina 50 - Remember thee, and all thy pains, And all thy love to me ; Yea, while a breath, a pulse remains, Will I remember thee. 6 And when these failing lips grow dumb, And mind and memory flee, When thou shalt in thy kingdom come, Jesus, remember me.
Pàgina 154 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near.
Pàgina 136 - How amiable are thy tabernacles,- O Lord of hosts ! " My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth, for the courts of the Lord ; my heart and, my flesh crieth out for the living God.
Pàgina 45 - How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God ! how great is the sum of them. If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake, I am still with thee.
Pàgina 148 - ORD, when we bend before Thy throne, And our confessions pour, Teach us to feel the sins we own, And hate what we deplore.
Pàgina 143 - While here o'er earth we rove : Speak to our hearts, and let us feel The kindling of thy love. 2 With thee conversing, we forget All time, and toil, and care ; Labor is rest, and pain is sweet, If thou, my God, art here.
Pàgina 38 - Behold an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile ! Nathanael saith unto him, Whence knowest thou me? Jesus answered and said unto him, Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig-tree, I saw thee.

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