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Hark! how his tender Bowels move,
Touch'd with a feeling sympathy,
The Fountain of eternal Love
Is open now, poor Soul, for thee.

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Then will we join to praise thy Name,
And fpread abroad thy glorious Fame,
Hosanna, to our Covenant God,
Behold the Merits of his Blood.

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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,
But, O my Redeemer, the Glory be thine,

The Work is of Grace, PT

Thine, thine be the Praise, And mine to adore thee, and tell of thy Ways.

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