3 Fond ambition, whisper not; Happy is my humble lot: Anxious, busy cares, away; I'm provided for to-day. 4 O, to live exempt from care, By the energy of prayer, Strong in faith, with mind subdued, Yet elate with gratitude! 612. L. M. 6l. Anonymous. Invocation of our Father's Presence. 1 O Father,--draw us after thee! So shall we run and never tire; Thy presence still our comfort be, Our hope, our joy, our sole desire; Thy Spirit grant;--for neither fear Nor sin can come, while that is here. 2 From all eternity, with love Unchangeable, thou hast us viewed; Before these beating hearts did move, Thy tender mercies us pursued: Ever with us may they abide, And close us in on every side. 3 In suffering be thy love our peace; In weakness be thy love our power; And when the storms of life shall cease, O God! in that important hour, In death as life be thou our guide, And bear us through death's whelming tide. 613. C. M. Heginbotham. Praising God in all Changes. 1 Father of mercies, God of love, My Father and my God! I'll sing the honors of thy name; And spread thy praise abroad. 2 In every period of my life, Thy thoughts of love appear; Thy mercies gild each transient scene, And crown each lengthening year. 3 In all these mercies may my soul A father's bounty see: Nor let the gifts thy grace bestows Estrange my heart from thee. 4 Then will I close my eyes in death, Free from distressing fear; For death itself is life, my God, If thou art with me there. 614. 7s. M. Cowper. Welcome, Cross. 1 'Tis my happiness below Not to live without the cross, But the Saviour's power to know, Sanctifying every loss: Trials must and will befall; But with humble faith to see Love inscribed upon them all,-- This is happiness to me. 2 God in Israel sows the seeds Of affliction, pain and toil: These spring up and choke the weeds Which would else o'erspread the soil: Trials make the promise sweet; Trials give new life to prayer; Trials bring me to his feet, Lay me low, and keep me there. 615. L. M. Anonymous. "Thy will be done." 1 When called, O Lord, to mourn the doom Of one affection held most dear,-- While o'er the closing, silent tomb, The bleeding heart distils the tear,-- Though love its tribute sure will pay, And early streams of solace shun, Still, still the humble soul would say, In lowly dust, "Thy will be done."