HYMN 111.
Sweet is the work, my God! my King!
To praise Thy Name, give thanks, and sing;
To sbow Thy love by morning light,
And talk of all Thy truth at night.
Sweet is the day of sacred rest,
No earthly cares, shall fill my breast;
Oh! may that day to me be found,
A day with grace and mercy crown'd.
My heart shall triumph in the Lord,
And bless His works, and bless His word;
His works of grace, how bright they shine!
How deep His counsels how divine.
Oh! may we see, and hear, and know,
What mortals cannot reach below;
May all our pow'rs find sweet employ,
In that eternal world of joy.
HYMN 112.
The day of wrath, that dreadful day,
When Heav'n and earth shall pass away,
What pow'r shall be the sinner's stay?
How shall he meet that dreadful day?
When, shriv'lling like a parched scroll,
The flaming Heav'ns together roll,
When louder yet, and yet more dread,
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead;
Oh! on that day, that wrathful day,
