I do not dare, O holy Lord, Approach Thy sacred shrine Trusting in mine own righteousness, For nought but sins are mine, But in the merits of Thy Son, The Saviour all-divine. Unworthy as I own I am Christ’s feast of love to share, In His name hear my humble cry, For His sake grant my prayer, And let Thy mercy cleanse my soul, And shed Thy Spirit there! Oh, make me one with my dear Lord In His appointed rite, A branch of the Eternal Vine Not fruitless in His sight; His own on earth, His own in heaven Through ages infinite! IV. THE BEACON. When shades of night around him close, The lighthouse guard has charge to keep, And trim the beacon-fire, which glows Like a red star above the deep. Still calm and bright Must shine that light That guides the seaman on his way, Till morning gleam And lighthouse beam Fade in the rosy blush of day. Like charge is to the Christian given In grief or joy, in storm or strife, To glorify the God of heaven Both by his lips and by his life. Still pure and bright Must shine his light, And shed around a holy ray, A flame of love Lit from above, And shining on to perfect day. Pride, discontent, mistrustful fear, Too oft, alas! the beacon hide; The sinner must be humbled here That Jesus may be glorified. So pure and bright Shall shine his light, To other hearts a beam convey, A flame of love Lit from above, Still shining on to perfect day. Lord, feed our lamps with heavenly grace, And let them to Thy glory shine, Nor let our weakness e’er disgrace The holy faith which seals us Thine! Then pure and bright Shall shine our light, Our heavenly Father’s grace display, A flame of love Lit from above, Still shining on to perfect day! V. THE BLOSSOMING ROD. An angel of comfort from heaven sped— All nature brightened as he drew near Where a poor man toiled in his lowly shed And thanked the Lord for his scanty bread; The angel breathed in the Christian’s ear, “Thy God beholds, and will not forget; Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!” He spread his pinions, then paused again Where prayer from a sick man’s couch was heard; In weary weakness, in restless pain, For tedious months had the sufferer lain, But his pale face beamed at the whispered word: “Thy God beholds, and will not forget; Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”