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Hark! how his tender Bowels move,
Then will we join to praise thy Name,
The Trumpet of God
Is founding abroad, The Language of Mercy, Salvation thro' Blood.
Thrice happy are they,
Who hear and obey, And share in the blellings of this Gospel-Day.
The People who know
The Saviour below, With burning Affection to worship him glow.
Their Their Anguilh and Smart,
And Sorrows depart, Who find his Salvation inscrib'd on their
(Heart. This Blessing is mine,
Thro' Favour Divine,
The Work is of Grace, PT
Thine, thine be the Praise, And mine to adore thee, and tell of thy Ways.