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6 Arife, my foul-awake, my voice,
And tunes of pleasure fing;
Loud hallelujahs shall address
My Saviour, and my King.

HYMN LXXXIII. Common Metre. The Pafion and Exaltation of Christ.

I

THUS faith the Ruler of the skies

"Awake, my dreadful fword;
"Awake, my wrath, and smite the man,
"My fellow," saith the Lord.
2 Vengeance receiv'd the dread command,
And, armed, down she flies;
Jesus submits t' his Father's hand,
And bows his head, and dies.

3 But, oh! the wisdom, and the grace,
That join with vengeance now!
He dies to fave our guilty race,
And yet he rises too.

4 A person so divine was he,
Who yielded to be slain,
That he could give his foul away,
And take his life again.

5 Live, glorious Lord, and reign on high;

I

2

Let ev'ry nation fing,

And angels found, with endless joy,
The Saviour, and the King.

HYMN LXXXIV. Short Metre.

The fame.

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'Tis Chrift, the Everlasting Cod,

And Christ, the man, we fing.

Tell how he took our flesh,

To take away our guilt;

Sing the dear drops of facred blood,

That hellish monsters fpilt.

3

4

5

[Alas! the cruel spear
Went deep into his fide;

And the rich flood of purple gore

Their murd'rous weapons dy'd.]

[The waves of swelling grief
Did o'er his bosom roll;
And mountains of almighty wrath
Lay heavy on his foul.]

Down to the shades of death
He bow'd his awful head;
Yet he arose to live and reign
When death itself is dead.
6 No more the bloody spear;
The cross and nails, no more;
For hell itself shakes at his name,
And all the heav'ns adore,

7

There the Redeemer fits
High on his Father's throne;
The Father lays his vengeance by,
And smiles upon his Son.

8 There his full glories shine
With uncreated rays,

And bless his faints' and angels' eyes
To everlasting days.

HYMN LXXXV. Common Metre.

I

Sufficiency of Pardon.

WHY does your face, ye humble fouls,

Those mournful colours wear?

What doubts are these that waste your faith,

And nourish your defpair ?

2 What though your num'rous fins exceed

The stars that fill the skies, And, aiming at th' eternal throne, Like pointed mountains rise?

3 What though your mighty guilt beyond The wide creation swell,

And hath its curs'd foundations laid
Low as the deeps of hell?

See here an endless ocean flows,
Of never-failing grace!
Behold a dying Saviour's veins
The facred flood increase !

$ It rises high, and drowns the hills,
Has neither shore nor bound:

Now, if we search to find our fins,
Our fins can ne'er be found.

6 Awake, our hearts, adore the grace
That buries all our faults,
And pard'ning blood, that swells above
Our follies, and our thoughts.

HYMN LXXXVI. Common Metre.

I

Freedom from Sin and Misery in Heaven.
UR fins, alas ! how strong they be !

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a vi'lent sea,

They break our duty, Lord, to thee,
And hurry us away.

2 The waves of trouble, how they rife!
How loud the tempests roar!
But death shall land our weary fouls
Safe on the heav'nly shore.

3 There, to fulfil his sweet commands,
Our speedy feet shall move;
No fin shall clog our winged zeal,
Or cool our burning love.

4 There shall we fit, and fing, and tell
The wonders of his grace;
Till heav'nly raptures fire our hearts,
And smile in ev'ry face.

5 Forever his dear facred name

Shall dwell upon our tongue;

And Jesus and salvation be
The close of ev'ry song.

HYMN LXXXVII. Common Metre. The Divine Glories above our Reafon.

How wond'rous great, how glorious bright,

Must our Creator be!

Who dwells amidst the dazzling light
Of vast infinity!

2 Our foaring spirits upward rife
Tow'rd the celestial throne:
Fain would we fee the blessed THREE,
And the Almighty ONE.

3 Our reason stretches all its wings,
And climbs above the skies;
But still how far beneath thy feet
Our grov'ling reason lies!

4 [Lord, here we bend our humble souls,
And awfully adore :

For the weak pinions of our minds
Can stretch a thought no more.]

5 Thy glories infinitely rise

Above our lab'ring tongue;
In vain the highest seraph tries
To form an equal fong.

6 [In humble notes our faith adores
The great mysterious King,
While angels strain their nobler pow'rs,
And sweep th' immortal string.]

HYMN LXXXVIII. Common Metre.

I

Salvation.

SALVATION! Oh, the joyful found!

'Tis pleasure to our ears;
A sov'reign balm for ev'ry wound,
A cordial for our fears.

2 Bury'd in forrow, and in fin,
At hell's dark door we lay;
But we arife, by grace divine,
To fee a heav'nly day.

3 Salvation! let the echo fly

The spacious earth around, While all the armies of the sky Conspire to raise the found.

HYMN LXXXIX. Common Metre.

1

Chrift's Victory over Satan.

HOSANNA to our conquring King!

The prince of darkness flies;
His troops rush headlong down to hell,
Like lightning from the skies.

2 There, bound in chains, the lions roar,
And fright the rescu'd sheep;
But heavy bars confine their pow'r
And malice to the deep.

3 Hosanna to our conqu'ring King!
All hail, incarnate love!
Ten thousand fongs and glories wait
To crown thy head above.

• Thy vict'ries, and thy deathless fame,
Through the wide world shall run;
And everlasting ages fing

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The triumph thou hast won.

HYMN XC. Common Metre. Faith in Christ for Pardon and Sanctification.

How fad our ftate by nature is!

Our fin, how deep it stains! And fatan binds our captive minds Fast in his fslavish chains.

2 But there's a voice of fov'reign grace
Sounds from the sacred word;

Ho! ye despairing finners, come,
And trust upon the Lord.

3 My foul obeys th' Almighty call,
And runs to this relief;
I would believe thy promife, Lord;
Oh! help mine unbelief.

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