4 Dead, already dead within, Spiritually dead in fin,
Dead to God while here you breathe,
Pant ye after fecond death?
Will you ftill in fin remain,
Greedy of eternal pain?
O ye dying finners, why,
Why will you for ever die?
SINNERS, obey the gofpel-word!
Hafte to the fupper of my Lord!
Be wife to know your gracious day!
All things are ready; come away.
2 Ready the Father is to own
And kifs his late returning fon :
Ready your loving Saviour stands,
And spread for you his bleeding hands.
3 Ready the Spirit of his love,
Just now the ftony to remove:
T'apply, and witness with the blood,
And wash, and feal the fons of God.
4 Ready for you the angels wait,
To triumph in your blest estate;
Tuning their harps they long to praise
The wonders of redeeming grace.
5 The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
Are ready with their shining host:
All heav'n is ready to refound,
"The Dead's alive! The Loft is found."
6 Come then, ye finners, to your Lord,
In Chrift to paradife reftor'd;
His proffer'd benefits embrace,
The plenitude of gospel-grace.
EHOLD the Saviour of mankind
Nail'd to the fhameful tree;
How vaft the love that him inclin'd
To bleed and die for thee!
2 Hark, how he groans! while nature fhakes,
And earth's ftrong pillars bend;
The temple's veil in funder breaks,
The folid marbles rend.
3 'Tis done! the precious ranfom's paid,
"Receive my foul," he cries!
See, where he bows his facred head!
He bows his lead and dies.
4 But foon he'll break death's envious chain, And in full glory shine:
O Lamb of God! was ever pain,
Was ever love like thine!
LOVE divine! what haft thou done!
Th' immortal God hath dy'd for me!
The Father's co-eternal Son
Bore all my fins upon the tree:
Th' immortal God for me hath dy'd;
My Lord, my Love is crucify'd!
2 Behold him, all ye that pass by,
The bleeding Prince of life and peace!
Come, fee, ye worms, your Maker die,
And fay, was ever grief like his !
Come feel with me his blood apply'd;
My Lord, my Love, is crucify'd!
3 Is crucify'd for me and you,
To bring us rebels back to God;
Believe, believe the record true,
Ye all are bought with Jefu's blood;
Pardon for all flows from his fide; My Lord, my Love is crucify'd. 4 Then let us fit, beneath his crofs,
And gladly catch the healing ftream;
All things for him account but lofs,
And give up all our hearts to him;
Of nothing think or fpeak befide;
My Lord, my Love is crucify'd.
HYMN VIII.
HEE we adore, eternal name,
And humbly own to thee,
How feeble is our mortal frame,
What dying worms we be !
2 Our wafting lives grow shorter ftill,
As days and months increase;
And ev'ry beating pulfe we tell,
Leaves but the number lefs.
3 The year rolls round, and fteals away
The breath that first it gave:
Whate'er we do, where'er we be,
We're trav'ling to the grave.
4 Dangers ftand thick through all the ground,
To push up to the tomb;
And fierce diseases wait around,
To hurry mortals home.
5 Great God! on what a lender thread
Hang everlasting things;
Th' eternal ftates of all the dead,
Upon life's feeble ftrings!
6 Infinite joy, or endless woe
Depends on ev'ry breath!
And yet how unconcern'd we go
Upon the brink of death.
7 Waken, O Lord, our drowsy sense,
To walk this dang'rous road;
And if our fouls are hurry'd hence,
May they be found with God!
WHEN rifing from the bed of death,
O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear,
I view my maker face to face,
O how fhall I appear!
2 If yet, while pardon may be found,
And mercy may be fought;
My foul with inward horror fhrinks,
And trembes at the thought!
3 When thou, O Lord, fhalt ftand difclos'd In majefty fevere,
And fit in judgment on my foul,
O how thall I appear!
4 O may my broken, contrite heart
Timely my fins lament,
And early with repentant tears
Eternal woe prevent!
5 Behold the forrows of my heart,
Ere yet it be too late ;
And hear my Saviour's dying groan,
To give those forrows weight.
6 For never shall my foul despair
Her pardon to fecure,
Who knows thy only Son hath dy'd
To make that pardon fure.
HYMN X.
I AND am I born to die?
To lay this body down?
And must my trembling spirit fly
Into a world unknown?
A land of deepest shade,
Unpierc'd by human thought!
The dreary regions of the dead,
Where all things are forgot!
2 Soon as from earth I go,
What will become of me?
Eternal happiness or woe
Muft then my portion be!
Wak'd by the trumpet's found,
I from my grave shall rife,
And fee the Judge with glory crown'd,
And fee the flaming skies!
How fhall I leave my tomb!
With triumph or regret?
A fearful or a joyful doom,
A curfe or bleffing meet?
Will angel-band's convey
Their brother to the bar?
Or devils drag my foul away,
To meet its fentence there?
Who can refolve the doubt
That tears my anxious breaft?
Shall I be with the damn'd cast out,
Or number'd with the bleft?
I must from God be driv'n,
Or with my Saviour dwell:
Muft come at his command to heav'n,
Or else depart to hell.
O thou, that wouldft not have
One wretch'd finner die,
Who dy'dft thyfelf my foul to fave
From endless mifery!
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