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If God's own Son thus bleeds and dies,
The sinner sure may

Oh, that these cords of love divine

Might draw me, Lord, to thee!
Thou hast my heart, it shall be thine-

Thine it shall ever be!

Chief among ten thousand; or, the Excellencies of Christ,

Cant. v. 10-16.
To Christ, the Lord, let every tongue

Its voblest tribute bring;
When he's the subject of the song,

Who can refuse to sing !
Survey the beauties of his face,

And on his glories dwell;
Think of the wonders of his grace,

And all his triumphs tell.
Majestic sweetness sits enthron'd

Upon his awful brow;
His head with radiant glories crown'd,
His lips with grace

No mortal can with him compare,

Among the sons of men:
Fairer he is than all the fair

That fill the heavenly train.
He saw me plung’d in deep distress,

He flew to my relief;
For me he bore the shameful cross,

And carried all my grief.
[His hand a thousand blessings pours

Upon my guilty head;

presence gilds my darkest hours,
And guards my sleeping bed.
To him I owe my life, and breath,

And all the joys I have:
He makes me triumph over death,

And saves me from the grave.]
To heav'n, the place of his abode,

He brings my weary feet;

Shows me the glories of my God,

And makes my joys complete. Since from his bounty I receive

Such proofs of love divine, Had I a thousand hearts to give,

Lord, they should all be thine!

The Excellency of the Priesthood of Christ. 'Mong all the priests of Jewish race, Jesus the most illustrious stands; The radiant beauty of his face Superior love and awe demands. Not Aaron or Melchizedeck Could claim such high descent as he; His nature and his name bespeak His unexampled pedigree. Descended from the eternal God, He bears the name of his own Son; And, dress'd in human flesh and blood, He puts his priestly garments on. The mitred crown, th' embroider'd vest, With graceful dignity he wears; And, in full splendour, on his breast The sacred oracle appears. So he presents his sacrifice, An offering most divinely sweet ; While clouds of fragrant incense rise, And cover o'er the mercy-seat. The Father with approving smile Accepts the offering of his Son : New joys the wondering angels feel, And haste to bear the tidings down. The welcome news their lips repeat Gives sacred pleasure to my breast : Henceforth, my soul, thy cause commit To Christ, thy advocate and priest.

Sun. Psalm lxxxiv, 11. Great God! amid the darksome night, Thy glories dart upon my sight, While, wrapt in wonder, I behold The silver moon and stars of gold. But, when I see the sun arise, And pour his glories o'er the skies, In more stupendous forms I view Thy greatness and thy goodness too. Thou Sun of suns, whose dazzling light Tries and confounds an angel's sight! How shall I glance mine eye at thee In all thy vast immensity ? Yet I


be allow'd to trace
The distant shadows of thy face;
As, in the pale and sickly moon,
We trace the image of the sun.
In every work thy hands have made,
Thy power and wisdom are display'd;
But, Oh! what glories all divine
In my incarnate Saviour shine!
He is my Sun: beneath his wings
My soul securely sits and sings;
And there enjoys, like those above,
The balmy influence of thy love.
Oh, may the vital strength and heat,
His cheering beams communicate,
Enable me my course to run
With the same vigour as the sun


Profession of Love to Christ. And have I, Christ, no love for thee,

No passion for thy charms?
No wish my Saviour's face to sec,

And dwell within his arms ?
Is there no spark of gratitude

In this cold heart of mine, To him whose generous bosom glow'd

With friendship all divine?

Can I pronounce his charming name,

His acts of kindness tell;
And, while I dwell upon the theme,

No sweet emotion feel ?
Such base ingratitude as this

What heart but must detest!
Sure Christ deserves the noblest place

every human breast.
A very wretch, Lord! I should prove,

Had I no love for thee:
Rather than not my Saviour love,

O may I cease to be!

All Attainments vain without Love. 1 Cor. xiii. 1-3.
SHOULD bounteous nature kindly pour

Her richest gifts on me,
Still, O my God! I should be poor,

If void of love to thee.
Not shining wit, nor manly sense,

Could make me truly good :
Not zeal itself could recompense

The want of love to God.
Did I possess the gift of tongues,

But were deny'd thy grace ;
My loudest words, my loftiest songs,

Would be but sounding brass.
Tho' thou should’st give me heavenly skill

Each myst'ry to explain;
If I'd no heart to do thy will,

My knowledge would be vain.
Had I so strong a faith, my God!

As mountains to remove;
No faith could do me real good,

That did not work by love.
[What though, to gratify my pride,
And make


heaven secure, All my possessions I divide

Among the hungry poor:
What tho' my body I consign

To the devouring flame,

In hope the glorious deed will shine

In rolls of endless fame! These splendid acts of vanity,

Tho' all the world applaud, If destitute of charity,

Can never please my God.] Oh, grant me then, this one request,

And I'll be satisfy'd, That love divine may rule my breast,

And all my actions guide.

Penitential Sighs. Father! at thy call I come; In thy bosom there is room For a guilty soul to hide,– Press’d with grief on every side. [Here I'll make my piteous moan! Thou canst understand a groan: Here


sins and sorrows tell ; What I feel thou knowest well.] Ah ! how foolish I have been To obey the voice of sin To forget thy love to me, And to break my vows to thee. Darkness fills my trembling soul; Floods of sorrow o'er me roll: Pity, Father ! pity me! All my hope's alone in thee. But, may such a wretch as I, Self-condemn'd, and doom'd to die, Ever hope to be forgiven, And be smild upon by heaven? [May I round thee cling and twine, Call myself a child of thine; And presume to claim a part In a tender Father's heart?] Yes, I may ! for I espy Pity trickling from thine eye:

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