1 Open, Lord, my inward ear, And bid my heart rejoice; Bid my quiet spirit hear The comfort of thy voice; Never in the whirlwind found, Or where earthquakes rock the place Still and silent is the sound, The whisper of thy grace. 2 From the world of sin, and noise, And hurry, I withdraw; For the small and inward voice I wait with humble awe; Silent I am now and still, Dare not in thy presence move; To my waiting soul reveal The secret of thy love. 983. L. M. 8l. H. Ballou, 2d. "A Hiding-place from the Wind," &c. 1 When dread misfortune's tempests rise, And roar through all the darkened skies, Where shall the anxious pilgrim gain A shelter from the wind and rain? Within the covert of thy grace, O Lord, there is a hiding-place, Where, unconcerned, we hear the sound, Though storm and tempest rage around. 2 When, wandering o'er the desert bare Of burning sands and sultry air, We've sought the cheerless region through, But found no stream to meet our view,-- 'Tis then, the rivers of thy love, Descending from thy throne above, Supply our wants, and soothe our pain, And raise our fainting souls again. 3 When in a weary land we tire, And our exhausted powers expire, With toil, and care, and heat oppressed, Where shall our languid spirits rest? O, who could bear the blasting ray, And all the burden of the day, Did not a Rock in Zion stand, O'ershading all this weary land! 984. C. M. H. Ware. On Opening an Organ. 1 All nature's works his praise declare To whom they all belong; There is a voice in every star, In every breeze a song. Sweet music fills the world abroad With strains of love and power; The stormy sea sings praise to God-- The thunder and the shower. 2 To God the tribes of ocean cry, And birds upon the wing; To God, the powers that dwell on high Their tuneful tribute bring. Like them let man the throne surround, With them loud chorus raise, While instruments of loftiest sound Assist his feeble praise. 3 Great God! to thee we consecrate Our voices and our skill; We bid the pealing organ wait To speak alone thy will. Oh, teach its rich and swelling notes To lift our souls on high; And while the music round us floats, Let earth-born passion die. 985. C. M. L. H. Sigourney. Marriage Hymn. 1 Not for the summer's hour alone, When skies resplendent shine, And youth and pleasure fill the throne, Our hearts and hands we join; 2 But for those stern and wintry days Of sorrow, pain, and fear, When Heaven's wise discipline doth make Our earthly journey drear;--