Into eternal fire;"

But kindly bid you to my wounds,
Where troubled fouls retire.

4 Come to the balm: behold the Lamb,
Which for your fins was flain :
Come flocking to my healing blood,
Which eafes fouls of pain.

5 No more refift my preffing calls,
Your fouls to me up-give:
O dying men, my voice regard,
And you fhall ever live.
60 rebels to my fceptre bow,
Your weapons caft away;
Come to me in this day of grace,
And make no more delay.

7 For, lo! the flaming fword is drawn,
And fhaken o'er your head :
If divine Justice be provok'd,
The blow will ftrike you dead.
8 Comply then with my Spirit's work,
In your hearts give me room:
In ftraits you'll find me ftill a friend,
I'll bring you fafely home.

HYMN XXIX.

Fitnefs for the GOSPEL-FEAST.

I WILL God let worms approach to him,

Heav'n's manna for to taste;
Yea, call a piece of duft and fin
To fit at Jefu's feast?

2 Come, holy, holy, holy Lord,
Who lov'd us when undone;

Come, thou united myftic Three,

Unite us all in One.

3 Come, Prince of love and peace, with pow'r
Our grudges all remove;

Come join our hearts, and make us fit
To keep the feaft of love.

4 Let charity our hearts poffefs;
O thed thy love abroad :
And may we Jefus all embrace
As our own Lord and God.

Let

5 Let Jefu's friends with hut feek,

His table compass roun »

Partake his food, admire bring me home;

That fprings from ev' triend:

60 Let the flinty stubbe thy face,

Which threat'nings end.

Be broken, melted, a

By Jefu's bleeding M N XXXII.

7 Let no fin in my hoURNING PENITENT.
To give my Lor

Help me to act andment I reflect
And not by cor;

8 Let worldly clogs lack and ftain'd
When I to Chrients fall.

Let faith's wings was conceiv'd
And to his wo drew breath,

CHI

xpos'd unto

fecond death.

fe fin doth corrupt,

hy heart as ftone;

I CHRIST's flesh ht God's remedy :

That ever was mone.

Is fet before the n thund'ring voice
Yet few it do regaing mount,

2 Shall ftarving fouls fligak God's laws,
Made ready at fuch coi account!

And chufe to feed on fwinifh luitny foul,
Until their fouls be loft?

3 Here bread of life, which doth exce
The manna of the Jews:

Our bread is Chrift, fubftantial food!
Theirs but this, fubftance shews.
4 Their manna came but from the clouds,
Ours comes from heavens high:
Who ate their manna now are dead,
Who ate ours live for ay.

5 "Lord, evermore give us this bread,"
Give daily new supply;

Give faith to eat, that we may live,
And may not faithlefs die.

6 With heav'nly manna fent by God
Let hungry fouls be fed,

Since richly is thy table ftor'd
With this immortal bread.

3 I do not fay," Depart fr enough

4

Into eternal fire;"

But kindly bid you to my W1 at once
Where troubled fouls retire

Come to the balm: behold

Which for your
fins was flay fouls,
Come flocking to my healing bl
Which eafes fouls of pain.

5 No more refift my preffing calls,
Your fouls to me up-give:
O dying men, my voice regard,
And you fhall ever live.

60 rebels to my fceptre bow,

Your weapons caft away;

iy,

Come to me in this day of grace,

And make no more delay.

ne

ot by ;

I.

Trievous.

7 For, lo! the flaming fword is drawr And fhaken o'er your head :

Ims;

If divine Justice be provok'd,
The blow will strike you dead.

8 Comply then with my Spirit's work,
In your hearts give me room:
In ftraits you'll find me ftill a frien
I'll bring you fafely home.

HYMN

e.

and

-ace from me,

úrn:

Fitnefs f can't look up,

return.

1 WILL God let rofs complain
Heav'n's marihalt me lay on;
Yea, call a pi hiding of thy face
To fit at think upon.

2 Com, when thou fmil'ft, I conquer fin;
I then get ev'ry thought,

And all that's oppofite to thee,

Into fubjection brought.

6 But, when thou hid'ft, I lofe my ftrength;

7

Like Samfon when betray'd,

My locks are cut, my heart is faint,
My faith and hope are dead.

If clouds remain, I'll wander far
Out of the king's high-way;

If

If Chrift his loft sheep do not feek,

Still farther will I ftray.

8 Good Shepherd, feek and bring me home;

Thou art the finner's friend:

Reftore the shinings of thy face,
Let me no more offend.

'HYMN XXXII.

The MOURNING Penitent.

1 WITH low abasement I reflect
On my original;

I fee my nature black and ftain'd
By my first parents fall.

2 In fin and guilt I was conceiv'd
Before I first drew breath,

And early was expos'd unto

Both first and fecond death.

3 My heart and life fin doth corrupt,
Yea, makes my heart as stone;
It makes me flight God's remedy:
My folly I bemone.

4 How awful is the thund'ring voice
From Sinai's flaming mount,

To criminals who break God's laws,
Of crimes here's your account!

5 With trembling this would fill my foul,
And even strike me dead,

Did I not fee on Zion mount

The Lamb for fin that bled.
6 A finner I, thro' Adam's fall,
Have lost my way to bliss:
When God a new way doth reveal,
Forbid this way I miss.

7 Unto this way I mourning look,
No other help I know :

If thou declinest helping me,
O whither shall I go ?

8 Thy word faith, I should not defpond,
But plead and keep in mind

The blood and bowels of the Lamb,
Who is loft mankind's friend.

HYMN XXXIII.

The Penitent Sinner's Hope.

1 IN Jefu's name a penitent
Doth at God's footstool ly;
My fins I do confefs and mourn,
And for free mercy cry.

2 Chrift bids me afk, and feek, and knock,
And promifeth I'll find:
Thus I feek pardon and relief;
Lord, eafe my grieved mind.
3 Chrift's blood and merit is alone
The ground on which I plead
With God, that I may mercy find
In this my time of need.

4 The doctrine of free grace I plead,
Which thy dear gofpel founds,
And tender love to penitents
That flows from Jefu's wounds.
5 Since Christ our furety paid the debt,
That fouls condemn'd might live;
With honour to thy justice now,
Great fins thou canft forgive.
6 Where should I go with all my fins
But to Redeeming blood?

Thousands have try'd it, and are wash'd;
The fountain's large and good.

7 I plead thy blood, and ancient love;
I humbly own my guilt:
Was it not for fuch ftraying fheep
The Shepherd's blood was fpilt?
8 That trembling woman in diftrefs
To Chrift was fear'd to come :
She touch'd his hem; he heal'd her foon,
And fent her joyful home.

HYMN XXXIV.

Thanksgiving to GOD the FATHER.

1 PRAISE to the Father's love, that gave His dear and only Son

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