Thy love doth us to fing conftrain
This heav'nly fong, the Lamb is flain.
8 The Lamb redeems us by his blood,
And makes us kings and priefts to God:
All praife and honour doth pertain
Unto the Lamb for finners flain.
HYMN LI.
Trace CHRIST's Sufferings.
1 LET's trace Chrift's steps, like foll'wers brave,
From the bleft feaft unto the grave;
Nor leave him when to Calv'ry led,
Like those who him forfook and fled.
2 First to Gethsemane we'll go,
There floods of wrath him overflow;
Both fears and foes befet him round,
Our fins him prefs down to the ground.
3 There he lies in a bloody fweat,
Which him o'erspread from head to feet;
He's bruis'd, he pours out prayers and cries
With floods of tears from both his eyes.
4 His friends prove false; one him betrays,
Another him with oaths denies :
Men feize and bind him like a thief,
His friends him leave without relief.
4 Amidft his foes he's left alone,
He's buffeted and spit upon,
His head is crown'd with wreaths of thorn,
His body is with fcourges torn.
6 He's load with fcoffs and blafphemies,
Bafely infulted, charg'd with lies;
Found innocent, yet doom'd to die,
And bear his cross to Calvary.
For us a fhameful death he dy'd;
Between two thieves he's crucify'd :
He's nail'd, and jeer'd by cruel men,
With ling'ring torments pierc'd and flain.
8 His God, his fun, withdrew their light;
Earth, rocks, and men, were in a fright
Yet he by death fubdu'd his foes,
And from the grave in triumph rofe.
The Soul wondring at REDEEMING LOVE.
1 HOW full of wonder is that love,
That made God leave his throne above,
To dwell in clay with men below,
And death for them to undergo!
2 That God, who keeps the key of death,
Should on a crofs refign his breath!
To bring us pleasure, fhould feel pain;
To give us life, he fhould be flain!
3 Great love! that made Chrift groan and die,
Yea, rend the heavens with his cry,
That loud cry," My God, my God, why
Haft thou forfaken me, to-day!"
4 Our Lamb hell's pains for us would bear;
Let him the crown for ever wear:
Let all who love his worthy name
In fongs of triumph fpread his fame.
5 Inflame our hearts, refine our tongues,
To praise with heav'nly thoughts and fongs:
O let our hearts be tun'd with love,
And make us meet for fongs above.
6 Deep in my foul this truth ingrain,
My glorious friend the Lamb is flain:
I'll wondring ly, that God fhould die
For man that was his enemy.
7 O holy Ghoft, come from above,
Withdraw my heart from worldly love,
That I may think of nought befide,
My God, my Saviour crucify'd.
8 With Simeon, I the Lamb embrace,
"Lord, let me go in peace;
Now make me meet with faints above,
To fing thy everlasting love.
HYMN LIII.
The bleffed Fruits of the curfed Tree.
I IN mournful fongs we will record
The pangs and forrows of our Lord,
The tears and blood he for us fpilt,
To make atonement for our guilt.
My Jefus on the curfed tree
Did bow his dying head for me.
2 The dying pangs of our dear Lord
The honour of God's law restor'd;
The death and fuff'rings he endur❜d
Eternal life for us procur❜d.
Our glorious Jefus, by his love,
Hath made the curfe a bleffing prove.
3 We praise the Lamb, our deareft Lord,
Whofe hands and feet for us were bor'd
It was the cross, that curfed tree,
On which the prince of life did die;
Accurs'd it was, yet divine love
Hath made the curfe a bleffing prove.
Each heavy blow, and bloody stripe,
Our fums of debt quite out doth wipe:
Then all our debt was fully paid,
When he on Calv'ry bow'd his head.
That tree of death to us is made
A tree of life with pleafant fhade.
5 Behold, Chrift's blood his garments dy'd,
When he was bruis'd and crucify'd :
He dy'd upon the curfed tree,
My precious foul from hell to free.
That tree of death to us is made
A tree of life with pleafant fhade.
6 Chrift bore the curfe for wretched men ;
To buy us heav'n, our Lamb was flain;
His wounds stand open to receive
All helpless finners who believe.
My Jefus on the cursed tree
Did bow his dying head for me.
HYMN LIV.
CHRIST'S Blood calling aloud to us.
I HEAR my Saviour cry aloud,
O finner, haften to my blood
Each drop of blood cries to thee, Come,
In my pierc'd fide yet there is room.
Let finners come, and no more doubt;
For,
"him that comes I'll not caft out."
2 My blood fhall ranfom all from wrath,
Who truft and look to me by faith:
My righteoufnefs is free to all,
Who come to me upon my call.
Let finners come and no more doubt;
For him that comes I'll not caft out.'
3 A Saviour you cannot find
In creatures doings who have finn'd; Pure righteoufnefs you feek in vain but the Lamb that's flain.
To my wounds let the guilty fly,
For love to you brought me to die,
4 Of works no more let finners boast ;
Your infide view, and cry, we're loft:
Truft in my blood, who for you dy'd ;
Look to me and be justify 'd.
Το my wounds let the guilty fly,
For love to you brought me to die,
5 Bleft Lord, I hear thy gracious call,
And gladly at thy feet do fall;
The welcome offers of thy grace
My foul doth heartily embrace :
To Chrift I fly, and do confefs,
He is "the Lord our righteousness"
6 Dear Lamb, thy voice doth sweetly found,
I see a fountain in each wound;
The ftreams which thence do freely flow,
Black fouls do wash as white as fnow.
I'll shelter take, in all distress,
Under my Saviour's righteoufnefs.
Mourn for Sin, that pierced the LAME.
1 MY foul, weep o'er thy fin and guilt,
For which thy Saviours blood was fpilt;
Mourn for thy pride and unbelief;
For which he dragg'd was like a thief;
He for thy debt his heart's blood paid;
My Lamb, my Love is crucify'd.
2 I fee the drops of bloody fweat
Fall from thy forehead to thy feet:
Thefe drops befmear'd thy raiment all,
They move my tears as they do fall :
How heavy are my fins when weigh'd
My Lamb, my Love is crucify'd.
VOL. IV.
4 B
3 Upon hard hearts let these drops light, -
Who are not moved at the fight;
Let hearts which terrors cannot move
Now be diffolv'd by Jefu's love:
Still I must look on fin with pain,
Since for my fins the Lamb was flain,
4 My fins did fpit in Jefu's face,
They would the Prince of life difgrace.
To fhame they fought him to expofe,
They nail'd him naked to the cross;
And bleeding, lift up on the tree,
Long hung the Man that dy'd for me.
5 My fins thee griev'd and ftabb'd thy heart;
They wounded thee in ev'ry part:
By fin thy bleffed flesh was torn,
I view thee whom I pierc'd, and mourn ;
Thy bleeding body, pierc'd and tore.
I kifs, and blifs, and thee adore.
6 Our griefs and burdens, guilt and fhame,
Were all laid on the fpotlefs Lamb:
Had he refus'd them, I had been
Quite funk and loft in guilt and fin;
But juftice now is fatisfy'd,
My Lamb, my Love is crucify'd.
HYMN LVI.,
The foul bemoaning its Cafe to God.
I TO God complaints and tears I send ;
When fhall my fins and groanings end?
By unbelief I faint and fall,
Yet falling I for pity call:
I'm weaker than a bruifed reed,
Always from Chrift I strength do need.
2 I nothing have me to commend,
My ftony heart I cannot rend;
By nature I have nothing good:
Thou faw'ft me in my filth and blood;
Yet then, in love, thou bidft me live,
And for my foul a ransom gave.
3 I'm dull when thee I come before,
I'm lifeless when I should adore :
From clogs of fin my foul fet free;
Lord, rouze my foul to worship thee,
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