Cho.--Showers, showers of blessing, Showers of blessing we need; Mercy-drops round us are falling, But for the showers we plead. 2 "There shall be showers of blessing;"-- Precious reviving again; Over the hills and the valleys, Sound of abundance of rain. 3 "There shall be showers of blessing;" Send them upon us, O Lord! Grant to us now a refreshing, Come, and now honor thy Word. 4 "There shall be showers of blessing;" Oh, that to-day they might fall, Now as to God we're confessing, Now as on Jesus we call! D.W. Whittle. 348 Oh, Sing of His Mighty Love. 11s. _The Mighty Love._ (706) Oh, bliss of the purified! bliss of the free! I plunge in the crimson tide opened for me! O'er sin and uncleanness exulting I stand, And point to the print of the nails in his hand. Cho.--Oh, sing of his mighty love, Sing of his mighty love, Sing of his mighty love, mighty to save. 2 Oh, bliss of the purified! Jesus is mine! No longer in dread condemnation I pine: In conscious salvation I sing of his grace, Who lifteth upon me the smiles of his face. 3 Oh, bliss of the purified! bliss of the pure! No wound hath the soul that his blood cannot cure; No sorrow-bowed head but may sweetly find rest; No tears but may dry them on Jesus' breast. 4 Oh, Jesus, the crucified! thee will I sing! My blessed Redeemer! my God and my King; My soul, filled with rapture, shall shout o'er the grave, And triumph in death in the mighty to save. Rev. F. Bottome. 349 As Pants the Hart. C.M. _Desire for Communion._ (660) As pants the hart for cooling streams, When heated in the chase, So pants my soul, O Lord, for thee, And thy refreshing grace. Cho.--As pants the hart for cooling streams, So pants my soul, O Lord, for thee; As pants the hart for cooling streams, So pants my soul, O Lord, for thee. 2 For thee, my God, the living God, My thirsty soul doth pine; Oh, when shall I behold thy face, Thou Majesty divine? 3 I sigh to think of happier days, When thou, O Lord, wast nigh, When ev'ry heart was tuned to praise, And none more blest than I. 4 Why restless, why cast down, my soul? Trust God, and thou shalt sing His praise again, and find him still Thy health's eternal spring. Henry F. Lyte, 1834. 350 Hide Thou Me. P.M. _Safe in Christ._ In thy cleft, O Rock of Ages, Hide thou me; When the fitful tempest rages, Hide thou me; Where no mortal arm can sever From my heart thy love forever, Hide me, O thou Rock of Ages, Safe in thee. 2 From, the snare of sinful pleasure Hide thou me; Thou, my soul's eternal treasure, Hide thou me; When the world its power is wielding, And my heart is almost yielding, Hide me, O thou Rock of Ages, Safe in thee.