The down-hill of life, its exercises, temptations, and dangers

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S. W. Partridge, 1866 - 139 pages

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Page 133 - Just as I am, and waiting not To rid my soul of one dark blot, To Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot, O Lamb of God, I come...
Page 132 - JUST as I am, without one plea. But that thy blood was shed for me, And that thou bid'st me come to thee, O Lamb of God ! I come...
Page 67 - Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink ? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed ? for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.
Page 97 - If thou hast run with the footmen, and they have wearied thee, then how canst thou contend with horses? and if in the land of peace, wherein thou trustedst, they wearied thee, then how wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan?
Page 127 - In hope of that immortal crown I now the cross sustain, And gladly wander up and down, And smile at toil and pain : I suffer on my threescore years Till my Deliverer come. And wipe away His servant's tears, And take His exile home.
Page 4 - As yet I am as strong this day as I was in the day that Moses sent me: as my strength 'was then, even so is my strength now, for war, both to go out and to come in.
Page 5 - I am this day fourscore years old: and can I discern between good and evil? can thy servant taste what I eat or what I drink? can I hear any more the voice of singing men and singing women? wherefore then should thy servant be yet a burden unto my lord the king?
Page 80 - I am not worthy of the least of all the mercies and of all the truth, which thou hast showed unto thy servant, for with my staff I passed over this Jordan and now I am become two bands.
Page 69 - I count not myself to have apprehended : but this one thing I do ; forgetting the things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark, for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.
Page 60 - HOW OLD ART THOU? Count not the days that have idly flown, The years that were vainly spent; Nor speak of the hours thou must blush to own, When thy spirit stands before the throne To account for the talents lent. But number the hours...

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