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Ye Gentile sinners, ne'er forget

The wormwood and the gall; Go, spread your trophies at His feet,

And crown Him Lord of all.

Let ev'ry kindred, ev'ry tribe,

Around this earthly ball, To Him all majesty ascribe,

And crown Him Lord of all.


AI LL hail the power of Jesu's Name !

Ye Angels, prostrate fall : Bring forth the royal diadem,

And crown Him Lord of all.

Crown Him, ye Martyrs of our God,

Who from His altar call: Of Jesse's stem extol the rod,

And crown Him Lord of all.

Ye chosen seed of Israel's race,

A remnant weak and small,
Hail Him who saves you by His grace,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Oh that with yonder sacred throng,

We at His feet may fall; There join the everlasting song,

And crown Him Lord of all!

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TELP us, O Lord, Thy yoke to wear,

Delighting in Thy perfect will ;
Each other's burdens learn to bear,

And thus Thy law of love fulfil.
He that hath pity on the poor

Lendeth his substance to the Lord;
And lo! his

For more than this shall be restored.
Teach us, with glad, ungrudging heart,

As Thou hast bless'd our various store,
From our abundance to impart

A liberal portion to the poor.
To Thee our all devoted be,

In whom we breathe, and move, and live ;
Freely we have received of Thee,

Freely may we rejoice to give.

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166. FOUNTAIN of good! to own Thy love

What can we render, Lord, to Thee,

When all the worlds are Thine ?
But Thou hast needy brethren here,

Partakers of Thy grace;
Whose humble name Thou wilt confess

Before Thy Father's face.
In them Thou may'st be clothed and fed,

And visited and cheer'd ;
And in their accents of distress

Thy pleading voice is heard.
Thy face, with reverence and with love,

We in Thy poor would see;
For while we minister to them,

We do it, Lord, to Thee.

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O Fount of love! all-gracious God!

What can we offer but Thine own! For we are Thine, redecm'd with blood,

The precious blood of Christ Thy Son.

LREAT God! in heaven and earth su-

Whose glories all creation fill; (preme, Our souls adore Thy awful Name,

And humbly wait to do Thy will. Thy glorious might what tongue can tell, What force Thy sovereign power with

stand? Yet Thou dost stoop with men to dwell, And give Thy blessings through their

hand. Tis ours to feed these lambs of Thine,

And train their footsteps on to heaven; We hail with joy the charge divine, And freeiy give as Thou hast given,


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HE Lord, who once our weakness knew,

Born in this vale of tears,
In wisdom as in stature grew,

In favour as in years.
And as He bare our humble lot,

Mankind from sin to free,
In mercy said, “ Forbid them not,

Let children come to Me.”
May we, O Lord, betimes obey

The call Thy grace has given,
And still pursue the narrow way

That leads our steps to heaven.
Though Angels round Thy throne on high

Their hymns of triumph raise,
Thou hearest when to Thee we cry,

Thou wilt not scorn our praise.
* Son of John Wainwright (see Hymn 20), whom he succeeded, as Organist of the Collegiate Church at
Manchester, in 1768. He had been a competitor for the situation of Organist at Halifax, in 1766, when
Herschel, afterwards Sir William Herschel, the celebrated astronomer, was elected. He died 1782.

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