Archive for July, 2014

Tis The Blessed Hour Of Prayer

Saturday, July 26th, 2014

Lyrics: Fanny Crosby
Music: Howard Doane

’Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when our hearts lowly bend,
And we gather to Jesus, our Saviour and Friend;
If we come to Him in faith, His protection to share,
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!

Refrain:
Blessed hour of prayer, blessed hour of prayer,
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!

’Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when the Saviour draws near,
With a tender compassion His children to hear;
When He tells us we may cast at His feet every care,
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!

’Tis the blessed hour of prayer, when the tempted and tried
To the Saviour Who loves them their sorrow confide;
With a sympathizing heart He removes every care;
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!

At the blessed hour of prayer, trusting Him, we believe
That the blessing we’re needing we’ll surely receive;
In the fullness of the trust we shall lose every care;
What a balm for the weary, O how sweet to be there!

O Worship The King

Sunday, July 20th, 2014

Lyrics: Robert Grant
Music: LYONS, attributed to Johann M. Haydn

O worship the King, all glorious above,
O gratefully sing His power and His love;
Our shield and defender, the Ancient of Days,
Pavilioned in splendor, and girded with praise.

O tell of His might, O sing of His grace,
Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space,
His chariots of wrath the deep thunderclouds form,
And dark is His path on the wings of the storm.

The earth with its store of wonders untold,
Almighty, Thy power hath founded of old;
Established it fast by a changeless decree,
And round it hath cast, like a mantle, the sea.

Thy bountiful care, what tongue can recite?
It breathes in the air, it shines in the light;
It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain,
And sweetly distills in the dew and the rain.

Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail,
In Thee do we trust, nor find Thee to fail;
Thy mercies how tender, how firm to the end,
Our maker, defender, redeemer, and friend.

O measureless might! Ineffable love!
While angels delight to worship Thee above,
The humbler creation, though feeble their lays,
With true adoration shall all sing Thy praise.

Jesus Is Our Shepherd

Monday, July 7th, 2014

Lyrics: Hugh Stowell
Music: Bible Class Magazine, 1860

Jesus is our Shepherd,
His the voice we hear;
Folded in His bosom,
What have we to fear?
Only let us follow
Whither He doth lead,
To the thirsty desert,
Or the dewy mead.

Jesus is our Shepherd:
Well we know His voice;
How its gentlest whisper
Makes our hearts rejoice!
Even when He chideth,
Tender is His tone:
None but He shall guide us;
We are His alone.

Jesus is our Shepherd:
For the sheep He bled;
Ev’ry lamb is sprinkled
With the blood He shed;
Then on each He setteth
His own sacred sign:
“They that have My Spirit,
These,” saith He, “are Mine.”

Jesus is our Shepherd:
Guarded by His arm,
Though the wolves may threaten,
None can do us harm;
When we tread death’s valley,
Dark with fearful gloom,
We will fear no evil,
Victors o’er the tomb.

How Can I Keep From Singing?

Wednesday, July 2nd, 2014

This hymn goes out to Dr and Mrs Wee from Kemaman-Life BP Church which is celebrating its 20th Anniversary this week. May God continue to bless His work.

Lyrics and Music: Robert Lowry

My life flows on in endless song;
Above earth’s lamentation
I hear the sweet though far off hymn
That hails a new creation:
Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear the music ringing;
It finds an echo in my soul—
How can I keep from singing?

What though my joys and comforts die?
The Lord my Savior liveth;
What though the darkness gather round!
Songs in the night He giveth:
No storm can shake my inmost calm
While to that refuge clinging;
Since Christ is Lord of Heav’n and earth,
How can I keep from singing?

I lift mine eyes; the cloud grows thin;
I see the blue above it;
And day by day this pathway smoothes
Since first I learned to love it:
The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
A fountain ever springing:
All things are mine since I am His—
How can I keep from singing?