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Let every thing that hath breath praise the Lord. - PSALMIST.

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BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY CHARLES D. STRONG,

NO. 1 CORNHILL.

1850.

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ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by

STRONG AND BRODHEAD,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.

PREFACE.

THE reason which the compiler assigns for presenting this little volume to the public, is, that, in his opinion, such a work is needed - a work adapted to the use of Sunday Schools. The country is flooded with works professedly adapted to this use ; but, as a general thing, they are either made up of little ditties, scarcely fit for an infant class to sing, or with something which has no more connection with Sunday Schools than the “temple of God with idols.

The design, at the commencement, was, to prepare a work for the use of Sunday Schools exclusively; but after more mature consideration, it was thought best to adapt it equally to Social Worship, and hence carry out the old adage, to kill troo birds with one stone." To each tune (with few exceptions) are two hymns; one adapted to Sunday Schools, the other to Social Worship.

We would here take occasion to express our thanks for favors received from L. Mason, the publishers of the Musical Gems, Rev. A. D. Merrill, and especially to the author and publishers of the American Vocalist. Some of the best pieces in this collection are from the last-mentioned work.

May the old and young, who sing from these pages, sing the song of Moses and the Lamb, in heaven, forever.

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Sabbath Bell. 8 & 4.

AMERICAN VOCALIST, by permission.

Slow.

4 1. Hark, the deep toned bell is calling, Come, children, come! 2. Now a-gain its tones are peal-ing, Come, children, come !

3. Still the echoed voice is ringing, Come, children, come! 4. Haste, O haste, for time is fly-ing, All soon is gone!

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Youthful ones, where'er you wander, Joy- ful - ly come.
In this sac-red tem-ple kneeling; Seek here å home.

Ev-ery heart pure incense bringing, No lon- ger roam.
Come to Je-sus, liv-ing, dy-ing, Heaven's your home.

Christ Crucified." 1. Jesus died on Calvary's mountain, Long time ago;

And salvation's rolling fountain Now freely flows. 2. Once his voice, in tones of pity, Melted in woe,

And he wept o'er Judah's city, Long time ago. 3. On his head the dews of midnight, Fell long ago ;

Now a crown of dazzling sunlight Sits on his brow. 4. Jesus died, yet lives in heaven, No more to die;

Bleeding Jesus, blessed Savior, Now reigns on high. 5. Now in heaven he's interceding For dying man,

Soon he'll finish all his pleading, and come again. 6. When he comes, a voice from heaven Shall pierce the tomb,

“Come, ye blessed of my Father, Children, come home."

Carvosso. C. M.

Arranged for this work.

1. Shall Beth-le-hem for - get her night, Nor wait the

Shall shepherds, led by an - gel light, Go seek the

2. Shalt thou, be-lov'd Je - ru - sa-lem, Where stood his

Be filled, as with se - raph-ic flame, When children 7#-6

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house of prayer, choirs are there?) And shall not we, his courts who tread,

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The child's ho - san - na yield, Though on

his path no

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yes,

3. No, Jesus, no! We'll not Whose hopes mount up and seize withhold

the throne The praise that wakes the Reserved for them above. earth;

I'll join that union band, Had we ten thousand harps of I come, my friends, I come; gold,

Here is my willing heart and We'd chant the Savior's birth. hand, Thou art our Shepherd — we thy To seek a heavenly home.

lambs Thy fold the plains of heaven, And here and there, to Jesus's 3. I'd rather by your threshold name,

stay, Our endless praise be given. A porter at your door,

Than live in mansions great and

gay,
And be as heretofore.

One day in such a place is worth
For Social Worship. A thousand other days;

'Tis here I date my second birth, 1. O yes, I'll join the praying My soul's own native place.

band, My heart's already there, And travel with them to that 4. 'Tis here my better friends I land,

meet Forever bright and fair, Friends of my heart and soul; I'm tired of sin and sinful mirth, With them in heavenly places And senseless, frantic joys;

sit, How empty all the joys of earth! With them my name enroll. At best, but gaudy toys. There, in thy register of love,

Forever let it stand, 2. I'll join the band whose hearts Until transcribed to that above, are one,

With Christ's own wounded In grief, and joy, and love;

hand.

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