[PSALMS 40, 116.-HYMNS 14, 101, 139,
151, 161, 167, 189.]
HYMN LXXI. (L. M.)
1 MY GOD, and is thy table spread? And does thy cup with love o'erflow? Thither be all thy children led,
And let them all thy goodness know. 2 Hail, sacred feast, which Jesus makes, Rich banquet of his flesh and blood! Thrice happy he, who here partakes That sacred stream, that heav'nly food.
Oh, let thy table honour'd be,
And furnish'd well with joyful guests!
And may each soul salvation see,
That here its sacred pledges tastes!
4 Drawn by thy quick'ning grace, O Lord,
In thronging numbers let them come;
And gather from their Father's board
The bread that lives beyond the tomb.
HYMN LXXII. (s. M.)
JESUS invites his saints
To meet around his board:
Here pardon'd sinners meet and hold
Communion with their Lord.
For food he gives his flesh;
He bids us drink his blood:
Amazing favour! matchless grace
Of our descending God!
This holy bread and wine
Maintains our fainting breath,
By union with our living Lord,
And int'rest in his death.
Our heav'nly Father calls
Christ and his members one;
We the young children of his love,
And he the first-born Son.
Let all our powers be join'd
His glorious name to raise ;
Pleasure and love fill every mind,
And every voice be praise.
HYMN LXXIII. (L. M.)
1 How rich are thy provisions, Lord!
Thy table furnish'd from above!
The fruits of life o'erspread the board,
The cup o'erflows with heav'nly love.
2 Thine ancient family, the Jews,
Were first invited to the feast:
We humbly take what they refuse,
And Gentiles thy salvation taste.
3 We are the poor, the blind, the lame,
And help was far, and death was nigh;
But at the Gospel-call we came,
And every want receiv'd supply.
4 From the high-way that leads to hell,
From paths of darkness and despair,
Lord, we are come with thee to dwell,
Glad to enjoy thy presence here.
5 What shall we pay th' eternal Son, That left the heav'n of his abode, And to this wretched earth came down, To bring us wand'rers back to God? 6 He by his death redeem'd our lives; Our souls he ransom'd with his own;
And all the unknown joys he gives,
Were bought with agonies unknown.
HYMN LXXIV. (C. M.)
1 LET us adore th' eternal Word,
By whom our souls are fed :
Thou art our living stream, O Lord,
And thou th' immortal bread.
2 The manna came from lower skies,
But Jesus from above;
Where the fresh springs of pleasure rise,
And rivers flow with love.
3 The Jews, the fathers, died at last,
Who ate that heav'nly bread;
But these provisions which we taste
Can raise us from the dead.
4 Bless'd be the Lord, that gives his flesh To nourish dying men;
And often spreads his table fresh,
Lest we should faint again.
5 Our souls shall draw their heav'nly breath,
While Jesus finds supplies;
Nor shall our graces sink to death,
For Jesus never dies.
6 Daily our mortal flesh decays;
But Christ our life shall come :
And his almighty power shall raise
Our bodies from the tomb.
HYMN LXXV. (c. M.)
1 How condescending and how kind
Was God's eternal Son!
Our mis'ry reach'd his heav'nly mind,
And pity brought him down.
2 When justice, by our sins provok'd, Drew forth its dreadful sword, He gave his soul up to the stroke Without a murm'ring word.
3 This was compassion like a God,
That when the Saviour knew
The price of pardon was his blood,
His pity ne'er withdrew.
4 Now though he reigns exalted high,
His love is still as great:
Well he remembers Calvary;
Nor let his saints forget.
5 Here let our hearts begin to melt,
While we his death record;
And, with our joy for pardon'd guilt,
Mourn that we pierc'd the Lord.
HYMN LXXVI. (C. M.)
I ALAS! and did my Saviour bleed?
And did my Sov'reign die?
Would he devote that sacred head
For such a worm as I?
2 Was it for crimes that I have done
He groan'd upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!
3 Well might the sun in darkness hide, And shut his glories in,
When Christ the mighty Maker died
For man the creature's sin.
4 Thus might I hide my blushing face, While his dear cross appears,
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt my eyes to tears!
5 But drops of grief can ne'er repay
The debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give myself away;
'Tis all that I can do.
1 WHEN I survey the wondrous cross,
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God:
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.
3 See from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet;
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
4 Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small :
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
HYMN LXXVIII. (s. M.)
NOT all the blood of beasts,
On Jewish altars slain,
Could give the guilty conscience peace,
Or wash away the stain.
But Christ, the heav'nly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name
And richer blood than they.
My faith would lay her hand
On that dear head of thine,
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