Wilt chase the fears of hell,
And teach my pale and quivering lips
Thy matchless grace to tell.

"Calmly I'll lay my fainting head
On thy dear faithful breast:
Pleased to obey my Father's call
To his eternal rest.

"Into thy hands, my Saviour God,
Do I my soul resign,
In firm dependence on that truth
That made salvation mine."

THE INWARD WARFARE.

"Strange and mysterious is my life;
What opposites I feel within:
A stable peace, a constant strife,
The rule of grace, the power of sin.
Too often I am captive led,
Yet daily triumph in my Head.

"I prize the privilege of prayer;
But O, what backwardness to pray:
Though on the Lord I cast my care,
I feel its burden every day.
I seek his will in all I do,
Yet find my own is working too.

"I call the promises mine own,
And prize them more than mines of gold;
Yet, though their sweetness I have known,
They leave me unimpressed and cold.
One hour upon the truth I feed;
The next, I know not what I read.

"I love the holy day of rest,
When Jesus meets his gathered saints:
Sweet day, of all the week the best,
For its return my spirit pants;
Yet often, through my unbelief,
It proves a day of guilt and grief.

"While on my Saviour I rely,
I know my foes shall lose their aim;
And therefore dare their power defy,
Assured of conquest through his name;
But soon my confidence is slain,
And all my fears return again.

"Thus different powers within me strive,
And death and sin by turns prevail.
I grieve, rejoice, decline, revive,
And victory hangs in doubtful scale;
But Jesus has his promise passed,
That grace