4 Come, dearest Lord, extend thy reign,
Till rebels rise no more:
Thy praise all nature then shall join,
And heaven and earth adore.
109 Death of Christ on the Cross. Aff BEHOLD the Saviour of mankind Nailed to the shameful tree!
How vast the love that him inclined
To bleed-and die for me!
2 "My God," he cries-all nature shakes,
And earth's strong pillars bend!
The temple's vail in sunder breaks-
The solid marbles rend!
3 'Tis finished-now the ransom's paid-
Receive my soul," he cries;
Behold he bows his sacred head
He bows his head-and dies!
f" 4 But soon he'll break death's envious chain, And in full glory shine:
Aff O Lamb of God-was ever pain,
Was ever love like thine!
STRETCHED on the cross, the Saviour dies;
Hark-his expiring groans arise!
See, from his hands-his feet-his side,
Descends the sacred-crimson tide!
2 And didst thou bleed-for sinners bleed?
And could the sun behold the deed?
No-he withdrew his cheering ray,
And darkness vailed the mourning day.
3 Can I survey this scene of wo,
Where mingling grief and mercy flow,
And yet my heart so hard remain,
As not to move with love or pain?
4 Come-dearest Lord, thy grace impart,
To warm this cold, this stupid heart,
Till all its powers and passions move
In melting grief, and ardent love.
HARK! the voice of love and mercy
Sounds aloud from Calvary!
See! it rends the rocks asunder-
Shakes the earth-and vails the sky!
"It is finished!"-
Hear the dying Saviour cry!
2 "It is finished!"-oh, what pleasure
Do these charming words afford!
Heavenly blessings, without measure,
Flow to us through Christ the Lord!
"It is finished!"-
Saints, the dying words record!
3 Tune your harps anew, ye seraphs;
Join to sing the pleasing theme:
All in earth and heaven uniting,
Join to praise Immanuel's name:
Hallelujah!
Glory to the bleeding Lamb!
The Atonement the only Ground of Pardon.
IN vain we seek for peace with God
By methods of our own:
Blest Saviour, nothing but thy blood
Can bring us near the throne.
2 The threatenings of thy broken law
Impress the soul with dread:
If God his sword of vengeance draw,
It strikes the spirit dead.
3 But thy atoning sacrifice
Hath answered all demands;
And peace and pardon from the skies
Come to us by thy hands.
4 'Tis by thy death we live, O Lord!
'Tis on thy cross we rest:
Forever be thy love adored,
Thy name forever blest.
HOW shall the sons of men appear,
Great God, before thine awful bar?
How may the guilty hope to find
Acceptance with th' eternal mind?
2 Not vows, nor groans, nor broken cries,
Not the most costly sacrifice,
Not infant blood profusely spilt,
Will expiate a sinner's guilt.
3 Thy blood, dear Jesus-thine alone,
Hath sovereign virtue to atone :-
Here will we rest our only plea,
When we approach, great God, to thee.
NOT all the blood of beasts,
On Jewish altars slain,
Could give the guilty conscience peace,
Or wash away the stain.
2 But Christ, the heavenly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name,
And richer blood than they.
Aff 3 My faith would lay her hand
On that dear head of thine,
While like a penitent I stand,
And there confess my sin.
4 My soul looks back to see
The burdens thou didst bear,
When hanging on the cursed tree,
And hopes her guilt was there.
5 Believing, we rejoice
To see the curse remove;
We bless the Lamb with cheerful voice,
And sing his bleeding love.
Death and Resurrection of Christ.
HE dies!-the Friend of sinners dies!
Lo! Salem's daughters weep around!
A solemn darkness vails the skies!
A sudden trembling shakes the ground!
2 Ye saints, approach!-the anguish view
Of him who groans beneath your load;
He gives his precious life for you,
For you he sheds his precious blood.
3 Here's love and grief beyond degree!
The Lord of glory dies for men !-
But, lo! what sudden joys we see!
Jesus, the dead, revives again!
4 The rising God forsakes the tomb;
Up to his Father's court he flies;
Cherubic legions guard him home,
And shout him welcome to the skies!
5 Break off your tears, ye saints, and tell
How high our great Deliverer reigns;
Sing how he spoiled the hosts of hell,
And led the tyrant, Death, in chains!
6 Say," Live forever, glorious King,
Born to redeem, and strong to save!"
Then ask-"O death, where is thy sting!
And where thy victory, beasting grave!"
C. M. Warwick. Brattle Street
116 Sufficiency of the Atonement.
THERE is a fountain, filled with blood
Drawn from Immanuel's veins ;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
2 The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain, in his day;
And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.
3 Thou dying Lamb! thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransomed church of God
Are saved, to sin no more.
4 Since first, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be, till I die.
5 And when this feeble, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave-
Then, in a nobler, sweeter song,
I'll sing thy power to save.
Christ the Rock of Ages.
ROCK of ages! cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From thy side, a healing flood,
Be of fear and sin the cure,
Save from wrath, and make me pure.
2 Should my tears forever flow,
Should my zeal no languor know,
This for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and thou alone:
In my hand no price I bring,
Simply to thy cross I cling.
3 While I draw this fleeting breath,
When mine eye-lids close in death,
When I rise to worlds unknown,
And behold thee on thy throne,
Rock of ages! cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee.
L. M. Medway. Middlebury.
Christ the Physician of the Soul.
DEEP are the wounds which sin has made;
Where shall the sinner find a cure?
In vain, alas! is nature's aid;
The work exceeds her utmost power.
2 But can no sovereign balm be found?
And is no kind physician nigh,
To ease the pain, and heal the wound,
Ere life and hope forever fly?
3 Yes, there's a great physician near;
Look up, my fainting soul, and live!
See, in his heavenly smiles appear
Such help as nature cannot give!
4 See, in the Saviour's dying blood,
Life, health, and bliss abundant flow!
'Tis only that dear sacred flood
Can ease thy pain-and heal thy wo.
WHY droops my soul, with grief oppressed?
Whence these wild tumults in my breast?
Is there no balm to heal my wound?
No kind physician to be found?
2 Raise to the cross thy tearful eyes;
Behold the Prince of glory dies!
He dies, extended on the tree,
And sheds a sovereign balm for thee.
3 Dear Saviour, at thy feet I lie,
Here to receive a cure, or die;
But grace forbids that painful fear-
Almighty grace, which triumphs here.
4 Thou wilt withdraw the poisoned dart,
Bind up and heal the wounded heart;
With blooming health my face adorn,
And change the gloomy night to morn.
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