HYMN CCLXVIIÍ.
EFORE Jehovah's awful throné, Ye nations bow with sacred joy; Know that the Lord is God alone,
He can create, and he destroy.
2 His sov❜reign pow'r without our aid,
Made us of clay, and form'd us men;
And when like wand'ring sheep we stray'd
He brought us to his fold again.
3 We are his people, we his care,
Our souls and all our mortal frame;
What lasting honours shall we rear
Almighty Maker, to thy name?
4 We'll crowd thy gates with thankful songs,
High as the heav'ns our voices raise;
And earth with her ten thousand tongues,
Shall fill thy courts with sounding praise.
5 Wide as the world is thy command,
Vast as eternity thy love;
Firm as a rock thy truth must stand, When rolling years shall cease to move.
HYMN CCLXIX.
YE dying sons of men,
Immerged in sin and woe,
The gospel voice attend,
While Jesus sends to you:
Ye perishing and guilty, come,
In Jesu's arms there yet is room,
No longer now delay,
Nor vain excuses frame;
He bids you come to-day,
Though poor, and blind, and lame;
All things are ready, sinner, come,
For every trembling soul there's room.
Believe the heav'nly word
His messengers proclaim;
He is a gracious Lord,
And faithful is his name:
Backsliding souls, return and come,
Cast off despair, there yet is room.
Compell'd by bleeding love,
Ye wand'ring souls draw near,
Christ calls you from above,
His charming accents hear!
Let whosoever will, now come;
In Jesu's arms there yet is room.
HYMN CCLXX.
OD moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
2 Deep in unfathomable mines
Of never-failing skill,
He treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.
3 Ye fearful saints fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
4 Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace:
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
5 His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding ev'ry hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow'r.
6 Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan his work in vain;
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.
HYMN CCLXXI.
QFXALTED high, at God's right-hand,
Nearer the throne than cherubs stand,
With glory crown'd in white array,
My wond'ring soul says, who are they?
2 A. These are the saints belov'd of God,
Wash'd are their robes in Jesu's blood;
More spotless than the purest white,
They shine in uncreated light.
3 Q. Brighter than angels, lo, they shine,
Their glories great, and all divine;
Tell me their origin, and say
Their order what, and whence came they? 4 A. Through tribulation great they came, They bore the cross and scorn'd the shame; Within the living temple blest,
In God they dwell, and on him rest.
5 Q. And does the cross thus prove their gain?
And shall they thus for ever reign,
Seated on sapphire thrones to praise
The wonders of redeeming grace?
6 A. Hunger they ne'er shall feel again,
Nor burning thirst shall they sustain:
To wells of living waters led,
By God, the Lamb, for ever fed.
7 Q. Unknown to mortal ears they sing
The secret glories of their King:
Tell me the subject of their lays,
And whence their loud exalted praise?
8 A. Jesus the Saviour is their theme;
They sing the wonders of his name;
To him ascribing power and grace,
Dominion and eternal praise.
9 Amen, they cry to him alone
Who lives to fill his Father's throne;
They give him glory, and again
Repeat his praise and say, Amen.
HYMN CCLXXII.
VITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame,
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.
2 Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirit come away.
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death? 3 The world recedes, it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring: Lend, lend your wings! I mount, I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death! where is thy sting?
HYMN CCLXXIII.
TRANGERS and sojourners below,
We travel through this wilderness,
Seeking the promis'd rest to know
In Christ the Fountain of true bliss;
We seek a place beyond the skies,
An everlasting paradise.
2 In this pursuit we stand in need
Of daily fresh supplies of grace:
Our souls with manna Christ must feed,
While we his leading foosteps trace:
So shall each pilgrim gladly move
Advancing to his home above.
3 No earthly bliss is worth our stay,
Or struggle for another breath;
These comforts vanish and decay,
And yield no solid joy in death:
While others vain delights pursue,
We taste God's love for ever new.
4 His cross inflicts the deadly blow,
And crucifies each rebel sin;
Peace, love, and joy, hence richly flow,
And cause sweet melody within:
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