943 C. M. O for a closer walk with God! O for a closer walk with God! A calm and heavenly frame! A light to shine upon the road That leads me to the Lamb! 2 Where is the blessedness I knew When first I saw the Lord? Where is the soul-refreshing view Of Jesus and his word? 3 What peaceful hours I once enjoyed! How sweet their memory still! But they have left an aching void The world can never fill. 4 Return, O holy Dove, return, Sweet messenger of rest; I hate the sins that made thee mourn, And drove thee from my breast. 5 The dearest idol I have known, Whate’er that idol be, Help me to tear it from thy throne, And worship only thee. 6 So shall my walk be close with God, Calm and serene my frame; So purer light shall mark the road That leads me to the Lamb. 944 C. M. O, that I were as in months past. Job. 29:2. Sweet was the time when first I felt The Saviour’s pardoning blood Applied to cleanse my soul from guilt, And bring me home to God. 2 Soon as the morn the light revealed, His praises tuned my tongue; And, when the evening shade prevailed, His love was all my song. 3 In prayer, my soul drew near the Lord, And saw his glory shine; And when I read his holy word, I called each promise mine. 4 But now, when evening shade prevails, My soul in darkness mourns; And when the morn the light reveals, No light to me returns. 5 Rise, Saviour! help me to prevail, And make my soul thy care; I know thy mercy can not fail; Let me that mercy share. 945 8s & 6s. Grieve not the Spirit. Eph. 4:30. O Saviour, lend a listening ear, And answer my request! Forgive, and wipe the falling tear, Now with thy love my spirit cheer, And set my heart at rest. 2 I mourn the hidings of thy face; The absence of that smile, Which led me to a throne of grace, And gave my soul a resting-place From earthly care and toil. 3 ’Tis sin that separates from thee This poor benighted soul; My folly and my guilt I see, And now upon the bended knee, I yield to thy control. 4 Up to the place of thine abode I lift my waiting eye; To thee, O holy Lamb of God! Whose blood for me so freely flowed, I raise my ardent cry. 946 7s, 6 lines. He hath borne our griefs. Weeping soul, no longer mourn, Jesus all thy griefs hath borne; View him bleeding on the tree, Pouring out his life for thee; There thy every sin he bore: Weeping soul, lament no more.