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He'll cause us see our sall and help,

And unto Jesus fly.
S Thou, who at Pentecost didst send

Heav'n's -wind to sill the place
Where thy apostles met sor pray'r,

Grant us part of that grace j

3 That gladly we, like them, may sound

The wondrous works of God.
And fhew the mighty pow'r and fruits
Of Jesu's precious blood.

4 Come, Holy Ghost, thou heavenly Dove

Descending from above,
Renew our souls, and sill our hearts
With precious faith and love.

5 We are thy workmanship ; but sin

Hath ev'ry thing misplac'd; Come o'er thy handy-work again j Thy image is desac'd.

6 Create in us all things anew,

Cause old things-pass away;
Our corrupt habits quite subdue,

Sin weaken ev'ry day-. \ ,
.J Let David's house in us grow strong

But weak the house of Saulj
Let satan's holds and all our lusts

Besore God's Spirit sall.
8 O kindly guide poor travellers

Into the paths of peace,
And bring us to our Father's house,

Where sins and sorrows cease;


The Balm of Christ's Blood.

1 CHRIST'S blood, that universal balm Which thousands long have try'd, Doth quicken, soften, cleanse and heal, Where-e'er it is apply'd. 3 This sov'reign blood doth purge out sin, And doth allay our sears j It gives us light and strength within, And dries up hurtsul tears. 3 By this blood, hell its prey hath lost, Justice is satisfy'd; Vol.' IV. 3 Z

Now willing souls may be sorgiv'n
Since Jesus bled and dy'd.

4 No blood like this was ever died,

For heav'n it makes us meet; Mens hearts it draws, and pleads their cause No voice like it's so sweet.

5 Abel's slied blood did vengeance cry:

But Christ cry'd, Mercy shew; Them pity, " Father, and sorgive; "They know not what they do."

6 What love is this, that God should stoop

In human flesh to dwell,
And shed his blood sor enemies,
To keep them out of hell!

7 Great love it was sor God to bleed

For rebels doom'd to death ,
But more to sussser hell, to save
Them from eternal wrath.

8 O let this divine blood of thine

My hard heart overflow:
This blessing grant, though earthly gifts

Thou shouldst no more bestow.
6 In my saith's arms I take the Lamb,

As osser'd unto me:
His precious blood I do apply,

Me from all guilt to free.


Shew forth Christ's Death.

1 SINCE our Redeemer saith, Do this;

This we will always do;
Till Christ to us return again,
Thus we his death will shew.

2 How sweet and welcome to our souls

Is Christ's dear seast of love!
Tho' it be no more but a taste
Of that great seast above.

3 Thy flesh, Lord, is the sweetest sood,

Thy blood is drink divine j
Thy purchas'd fruit* are the best sare
On which thou mak'st us dine.

4 Pardon of lin, and peace with God,

Do make a noble seast j

Costly to Christ, tho' free to us:
Most sweetly do they taste.

5 Here we set sorth our suss'ring Lord,

As bleeding unto death;
Likewise the sorrows of his soul,
When lying under wrath:

6 The nails which piere'd his hands and seet,

Which caused streams of blood j
The thorns which crown'dd his blessed head,
And swell'd the crimson flood

7 Since Christ requires us sor to shew

His love to us when lost,
What wounds, and blood, and agonies,
To save us, it did cost j

8 Thus we revsew thy death sor us,

O Lamb, sor sinners flain:
We praise thy love, and rest upon
The merit of thy pain.

The Believer't! Work at the Holy Supper.

1 I'LL sit beneath Immanuel's cross,

Under these show'rs of blood:
On my hard heart cause drops to light
From thy wounds, O my God.

2 My Lord I see nail'tl to the tree,

And dying sor my sin;
Thy side wide open'd with a spear,
To lodge my soul therein.

3 I kiss the nail-holes in thy hands,

And side the spear did pierce:
I shelter here, this cave me hides
When storms blow sharp and sierce.

4 My heart doth bleed, my eyes do drop,

When 1 thy anguish see,
And think these bruises sore and pangs
Were all deserv'd by me.
j I see my sins prepar'd the cross,
The thorns, the nails, and spear,
Which tore thy flesh : they made thy soul
The pains of hell to bear.
6 In thy wounds I sin's ill do see j
In sin I'll not proceed,

No more abuse thy love, nor make

Thy wounds asresh to bleed 7 I mourn, and hate my cruel sins,

Which pierc'd my Lord to death;
These murderers fhall sind no more

Place in my soul to breathe;
S Awake, my soul, with all thy pow'rs

Join with the hosts above,
To celebrate sorgiving grace,

And praise redeeming love.


Sweet Fruits of Christ's Sufferings.

1 THY gospel, Lord, holds sorth thy love

In sweet and melting sounds, And us a sov'reign balm presents From Jesu's bleeding wounds.

2 It is thy pain that giveth ease

To my diseased soul•, . When I am sull of pains and wounds, Thy stripes do make me whole.

3 Thy cries bring answers to my prayer's,

Thy wounds are my resuge;
Thy blood doth wash my crimson guilt,
And save from wrath's deluge.

4 Thy cross doth bring me nigh to God,

And doth his wrath appease j
Thy blood brings pardon sor my guilt,
And gives my conscience ease.

5 Thy death hath purchas'd lise to me;

Thy grave hides all my sin,
And all the curses of the law:
Which yields great peace within.

6 Vast sums of debt sor us thou paid

With thy own dear heart's blood, And calls us to be pure and white, By washing in this flood.

7 This is our loving Ransomer,

Who our whole curse endur'd;
And, having paid our dreadsul debt,-- J
Our rooms in heav'n secur'd. - 't

8 To him that lov'd us unto death

All honour we will give.;

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1 I BLESS God for the food he gave To me a worm to eat, And

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