1 While, with ceaseless course, the sun Hasted through the former year, Many souls their race have run, Never more to meet us here: Fixed in an eternal state, They have done with all below: We a little longer wait, But how little none can know. 2 As the winged arrow flies, Speedily the mark to find; As the lightning from the skies Darts and leaves no trace behind;-- Swiftly thus our fleeting days Bear us down life's rapid stream: Upward, Lord, our spirits raise; All below is but a dream. 3 Thanks for mercies past receive; Pardon of our sins renew; Teach us, henceforth, how to live, With eternity in view; Bless thy word to old and young; Fill us with a Saviour's love; When our life's short race is run, May we dwell with thee above. 889. L. M. Doddridge. The Same. 1 My helper, God, I bless his name; The same his power, his grace the same; The tokens of his friendly care Open, and crown, and close, the year. 2 I 'midst ten thousand dangers stand, Supported by his guardian hand, And see, when I survey my ways, Ten thousand monuments of praise. 3 Thus far his arm hath led me on; Thus far I make his mercy known; And, while I tread this mortal land, New mercies shall new songs demand. 890. C. M. Heginbotham. New Year. Providential Goodness. 1 God of our lives, thy various praise Our voices shall resound: Thy hand directs our fleeting days, And brings the seasons round. 2 To thee shall grateful songs arise, Our Father and our Friend, Whose constant mercies from the skies In genial streams descend. 3 In every scene of life, thy care, In every age, we see; And constant as thy favors are, So let our praises be. 4 Still may thy love, in every scene, In every age, appear; And let the same compassion deign To bless the opening year. 5 If mercy smile, let mercy bring Our wandering souls to God: In our affliction we shall sing, If thou wilt bless the rod. 891. L. M. John Fawcett. "He holdeth our soul in life." 1 O God, my helper, ever near! Crown with thy smile the present year; Preserve me by thy favor still, And fit me for thy sacred will. 2 My safety, each succeeding hour, Depends on thy supporting power: Accept my thanks for mercies past, And be my guard, while life shall last. 3 My moments move with winged haste, Nor know I which shall be the last: Danger and death are ever nigh, And I this year perhaps may die. 4 Prepare me for the trying day; Then call my willing soul away: I'll quit the world at thy command, And trust my spirit to thy hand. 892. C. M. Newton. New Year. Prayer for a Blessing.