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In the dear bosom of his love,

They must for ever rest. 124

Leach, HOW precious, Lord, thy sacred word; What light and joy those leaves afford,

To souls in deep distress :
Thy precepts guide our doubtful way; ;
Thy fear forbids our feet to stray ;

Thy promise leads to rest.
Thy threat'nings wake our slumb’ring eyes,
And shew us where our danger lies;

But 'tis thy gospel, Lord,
That makes the guilty conscience clean,
Converts the soul and conquers sin,

And gives a free reward. 125

Islington. GOD who in various methods told His mind and will to saints of old, Sent down his Son, with truth and grace, To teach us in these latter days. Our nation reads the written word, That book of life, that sure record : The bright inheritance of heaven, Is by the sweet conveyance given. God's kindest thoughts are here express'd Able to make us wise and bless'd;

The doctrines are divinely true,
Fit for reproof and comfort too.
Ye British isles, who read his love
In long epistles from above,
(He hath not sent his sacred word
To every land) praise ye the Lord !

THIS is the word of truth and love,
Sent to the nations from above;
Jehovah here resolves to shew
What his almighty grace can do.
This remedy did wisdom find
To heal diseases of the mind;
This sovereign balm, whose virtues can
Restore the ruin'd creature, man.
The gospel bids the dead revive,
Sinners, obey the voice and live :
Dry bones are rais'd, and cloth'd afresh,
And hearts of stone are turn'd to flesh.
Lions and beasts of savage name
Put on the nature of the lamb ;
Whilst the dark world esteem it strange,
Gaze, and admire, and hate the change.
May but this grace my soul renew,
Let sinners gaze and hate me too ;
The word that saves me does engage
A sure defence from all their rage.


Foundling GREAT was the day, the joy was great, When the divine disciples met; Whilst on their heads the Spirit came, And sat like tongues of cloven flame. What gifts, what miracles he gave ! And power to kill, and power to save! Furnish'd theirtongues with wondrous words, Instead of shields, and spears, and swords. Thus arm’d, he sent the champions forth From east to west, from south to north: 6 Go and assert your


Go spread the myst’ries of his cross.”
These weapons of the holy war,
Of what almighty force they are
To make our stubborn passions bow,
And lay the proudest rebels low!
Nations, the learned and the rude,
Are by these heavenly arms subdued ;
Wbile Satan rages at his loss,
And hates the doctrine of the cross.

Great King of grace, my heart subdue;
I would be led in triumph too,
A willing captive to my Lord,
And sing the vict'ries of his word.


Helmsley COME, ye sinners, sad and wretched,

Weak and wounded, sick and poor,
Jesus, ready, stands to save you,
Full of pity, join'd with power :

He is able,
He is willing, doubt no more.
Let not conscience make you linger,

Nor of fitness fondly dream;
All the fitness he requireth,
Is to feel your need of him,

This he gives you ;
Tis the Spirit's rising beam.
Come, ye weary, heavy laden,

Lost and ruin'd by the fall;
If you tarry 'till you're better,
You will never come at all :

Not the righteous, Sinners Jesus came to call.

Agonizing in the garden ;

Lo! your Saviour prostrate lies !
On the bloody tree behold hini;
Hear bim cry, before he dies,

“ It is finish'd !"
Sinners, Will not this suffice?
Lo! the incarnate God ascended,
Pleads the merit of his blood;

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Venture on him, venture wholly,
Let no other trust intrude;

None but Jesus,
Can do helpless sinners good.
Saints and angels, join'd in concert,

Sing the praises of the Lamb,
While the blissful seats of henven,
Sweetly echo with his name:

Sinners here may sing the same.

SINNERS obey the Gospel-word,
Haste to the supper of our Lord :
Be wise to know your gracious day,
All things are ready; come away.
Ready the Father is to own,
And bless his new returning son;
Ready the loving Saviour stands,
And spreads for you his bleeding hands.
Ready the Spirit of his love,
The hard, the stony, beart to move;
T' apply, and witness, with the blood,
And wash, and seal you sons of God.
Ready for you the angels wait,
To triumph in your bless'd estate;
Tuning their harps, they long to praise
The wonders of redeeming grace.


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