v.5,13-19,22,23
C. M.
Deliverance from death.

Unto thine hand, O God of truth,
My spirit I commit;
Thou hast redeemed my soul from death,
And saved me from the pit.

The passions of my hope and fear
Maintained a doubtful strife,
While sorrow, pain, and sin conspired
To take away my life.

"My times are in thine hand," I cried,
"Though I draw near the dust;
Thou art the refuge where I hide,
The God in whom I trust.

O make thy reconciled face
Upon thy servant shine,
And save me for thy mercy's sake,

v.1-11
S. M.
Waiting for pardon and direction.

I Lift my soul to God,
My trust is in his name:
Let not my foes that seek my blood
Still triumph in my shame.

Sin, and the powers of hell,
Persuade me to despair:
Lord, make me know thy cov'nant well,
That I may 'scape the snare.

From the first dawning light
Till the dark ev'ning rise,
For thy salvation, Lord, I wait
With ever-longing eyes.

Remember all thy grace,
And lead me in thy truth;
Forgive the sins of riper days,
And follies of my youth.

v.1-6,15-18
L. M.
Deliverance from despair.

Thee will I love, O Lord, my strength,
My rock, my tower, my high defence:
Thy mighty arm shall be my trust,
For I have found salvation thence.

Death, and the terrors of the grave,
Stood round me with their dismal shade;
While floods of high temptations rose,
And made my sinking soul afraid.

I saw the op'ning gates of hell,
With endless pains and sorrows there,
Which none but they that feel can tell;
While I was hurried to despair.

In my distress I called my God,

Pardoning grace.

Out of the deeps of long distress,
The borders of despair,
I sent my cries to seek thy grace,
My groans to move thine ear.

Great God, should thy severer eye,
And thine impartial hand,
Mark and revenge iniquity,
No mortal flesh could stand.

But there are pardons with my God
For crimes of high degree;
Thy Son has bought them with his blood,
To draw us near to thee.

[I wait for thy salvation, Lord,
With strong desires I wait;
My soul, invited by thy word,
Stands watching at thy gate.]

Pleading with God under desertion.

How long, O Lord, shall I complain,
Like one that seeks his God in vain?
Canst thou thy face for ever hide,
And I still pray, and be denied?

Shall I for ever be forgot,
As one whom thou regardest not
Still shall my soul thine absence mourn,
And still despair of thy return?

How long shall my poor troubled breast
Be with these anxious thoughts oppressed?
And Satan, my malicious foe,
Rejoice to see me sunk so low?

Hear, Lord, and grant me quick relief,

Persecutors punished.

Up from my youth, may Isr'el say,
Have I been nursed in tears;
My griefs were constant as the day,
And tedious as the years.

Up from my youth I bore the rage
Of all the sons of strife;
Oft they assailed my riper age,
But not destroyed my life.

Their cruel plow had torn my flesh
With furrows long and deep;
Hourly they vexed my wounds afresh,
Nor let my sorrows sleep.

The Lord grew angry on his throne,
And, with impartial eye,
Measured the mischiefs they had done,

Recovery from sickness.

I love the Lord; he heard my cries,
And pitied every groan;
Long as I live, when troubles rise,
I'll hasten to his throne.

I love the Lord; he bowed his ear,
And chased my griefs away;
O let my heart no more despair,
While I have breath to pray!

My flesh declined, my spirits fell,
And I drew near the dead;
While inward pangs and fears of hell
Perplexed my wakeful head.

"My God," I cried, "thy servant save,
"Thou ever good and just;
Thy power can rescue from the grave,

Proper tune.
The majesty and condescension of God.

Ye that delight to serve the Lord,
The honors of his name record,
His sacred name for ever bless;
Where'er the circling sun displays
His rising beams, or setting rays,
Let lands and seas his power confess.

Not time, nor nature's narrow rounds,
Can give his vast dominion bounds,
The heav'ns are far below his height:
Let no created greatness dare
With our eternal God compare,
Armed with his uncreated might.

He bows his glorious head to view

v.1-13,20,21
C. M.
A prayer of the afflicted.

Hear me, O God, nor hide thy face;
But answer, lest I die;
Hast thou not built a throne of grace
To hear when sinners cry?

My days are wasted like the smoke
Dissolving in the air;
My strength is dried, my heart is broke,
And sinking in despair.

My spirits flag like with'ring grass
Burnt with excessive heat;
In secret groans my minutes pass,
And I forget to eat.

As on some lonely building's top
The sparrow tells her moan,

In presenting this delicate, dainty morsel to the imagination of the people, I believed that it could be realized. I viewed the machine that turned and raised the mamoth cheese, and saw the powerful machine invented by James Ireland at the West Oxford companies factory to turn the great and fine cheese he was making there. This company with but little assistance could produce a ten ton cheese.


Who hath prophetic vision sees
In future times a ten ton cheese,
Several companies could join
To furnish curd for great combine
More honor far than making gun