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'E'en down to old age, all my people shall prove 'My fov'reign, eternal, unchangeable love; ' And when hoary hairs fhall their temples adorn, 'Like lambs they fhall ftill in my bofom be born.

The foul that on Jefus hath lean'd for repose, 'I will not, I cannot, defert to his foes;

That foul, tho' all hell fhould endeavor to shake, 'I'll never, no never, no never forfake.


L. M.


As thy Days, fo fhall thy Strength be.
FFLICTED faint, to Chrift draw near,
Thy Savior's gracious promife hear;
His faithful word declares to thee,
That as thy days, thy ftrength fhall be.
Let not thy heart despond and say,
"How fhall I ftand the trying day?"
He has engag'd, by firm decree,
That as thy days, thy ftrength fhall be."
Thy faith is weak, thy foes are strong;
And if the conflict should be long,
Thy Lord will make the tempter flee;
For as thy days, thy ftrength fhall be.
Should perfecution rage and flame,
Still truft in thy Redeemer's name ;
In fiery trials thou fhalt fee,

That as thy days, thy ftrength fhall be.

When call'd to bear the weighty cross,
Or fore affliction, pain, or lofs,
Or deep diftrefs, or poverty,

Still as thy days, thy ftrength fhall be..

When ghaftly death appears in view,
Chrift's prefence fhall thy fears fubdue ;
He comes to fet thy fpirit free,

And as thy days, thy ftrength fhall be.

111. C. M.


I have graven thee on the Palms of my Hands.

REDEEMD offender, hail the day,

That fees,thy fins forgiv'n:

Jefus hath borne thy guilt away,
And pleads for thee in heav'n.

Imprinted on his hands thou art
In characters of blood;
The ftream that iffued from his heart
Shall waft thee fafe to God.

For me vouchlaf'd th' unfpotted Lamb,
His Father's wrath to bear:
I fee his feet, and read my name t
Engraven deeply there.

My faith looks back and fees him bleed;

A thorny crown he wears,

To fet upon the finner's head

A fhining crown of ftars,.

His righteousness my robe fhall be,
His bitter death my hope:
For my offence, upon the tree
My Lord was lifted up.

For me the Savior's blood avails,
Almighty to atone

The hands he gave to piercing nails
Shall lead me to his throne.

112. C. M.


I will never forfake thee.

YOURAGE my foul; Jehovah speaks;
His promife is for thee:-


"I never will forfake nor leave

The foul betroth'd to me."

The chearing word, as heav'nly dew,
My thirty foul drinks in:
Jefus commands me to rejoice,
Who bore away my fin.

My Savior's ever watchful eye,
Is over me for good:

What will he not on me bestow,
Who hath hinfelf bestow'd ?

Dear Lord, into thy faithful hands,
My welfare I commit;

And to thy righteousness alone,

For fafety I retreat,

Sorrows and agonies and death,

Thou didst endure for me,
When all the fins of God's elect,
Were made to meet on thee.

Tho' worthy, in myfelf, of hell,
And everlafting fhame;

I cannot dread the frown divine,
Accepted in the Lamb.

Exult my foul; thy fafety ftands
Unfhaken as his throne:
His people's everlasting life
Is founded on his own.

Pleading the Promife, &c.

GOD of grace, of love immense,
How free thy favours to difpenfe!

I to thy mercy-feat repair,

Since thou haft said, "I'll meet thee there."

Thy promife is a firm decree,

'Tis made to finners vile as me :

Nor unbelief by hell employ'd,

Shall make thy promise null and void.
Thou feeft my foul by fin opprest,
O come, and give the weary rest!
My bafe backflidings kindly heal,
Apply the balm, thy love reveal!

O take away the heart of ftone,

Thou know'ft how oft it makes me groan;
Give me a heart of flesh, my Lord,
Remember thine own facred word.

Should I go mourning to the grave,
'Twere juft; yet Lord from darkness fave:
Doth not thy tender word exprefs,
"I will not leave you comfortless?"
Burft through the clouds, O fource of light,
Let joy fucceed the weeping night!
Thy beams fhall make my defart grow,
The fruit appear, the fpices flow.

What thou haft promis'd I implorés,
Supplies from thy exhauftlefs ftores
O righteous Father, juft and true,
Give me both grace and glory too. ?

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OLY wonder, heav'nly grace, Come, infpire our humble lays, While the Savior's love we fing, Whence our hopes and comforts fpring. Man, involv'd in guilt and woe, Touch'd his tender bofom fo, That, when juftice death demands, Forth the great Deliv'rer ftands;.

Cries to God, " Thy mercy fhew,

"Lo! I conie thy will to do; "I the facrifice will be,

"Death fall plunge his dart in me.

Tho' the form of God he bore,
Great in glory, great in pow'r,
See him in our He
fleth array 'd,

Lower than his angels made.
He that heav'n itfelf poffefs'd,
Now an infant t at the breaft!
Angels from the world above,
See and fing th amazing love

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