Finish'd, all the types and shadows
Of the ceremonial law:
Finish'd, all that God had promis'd;
Death and hell no more shall awe.
It is finish'd!
Saints, from hence your comfort draw.
Happy souls, approach the table,
Taste the soul-reviving food;
Nothing half so sweet and pleasant
As the Saviour's flesh and blood.
It is finish'd!
Christ has borne the heavy load.
Tune your harps anew, ye seraphs,
Join to sing the pleasing theme;
All in earth, and all in heaven,
Join to praise Immanuel's name.
Hallelujah!
Glory to the bleeding Lamb!
207 The Word is Truth.
My hiding-place, my refuge, tow'r,
And shield, art thou, O Lord!
I firmly anchor all my hopes
On thy unerring word.
Engrav'd, as in eternal brass,
Thy mighty promise shines!
Nor can the pow'rs of darkness raze
Those everlasting lines.
The sacred word of grace is strong
As that which built the skies,
The voice which rolls the stars along,
Spake all the promises.
My hiding place, my refuge, tow'r,
And shield, art thou, O Lord,
I firmly anchor all my hopes
On thy unerring word.
Thy Word is a Light.
O HOW I love thy holy word,
Thy gracious covenant, O Lord!
It guides me in the peaceful way;
I think upon it all the day.
What are the mines of shining wealth,
The strength of youth, the bloom of health!
What are all joys compar'd with those
Thine everlasting word bestows!
Long unafflicted, undismay'd,
In pleasure's path secure I stray'd;
Thou mad'st me feel thy chast'ning rod,
And strait I turn'd unto my God.
What tho' it pierc'd my fainting heart,
I bless thine hand that caus'd the smart;
It taught my tears awhile to flow,
But sav'd me from eternal woe.
Oh! hadst thou left me unchastis'd,
Thy precepts I had still despis'd;
And still the snare in secret laid,
Had my unwary feet betray'd.
I love thee, therefore, O my God,
And breathe towards thy dear abode ;
Where in thy presence fully blest,
Thy chosen saints for ever rest.
O JESU, our Lord,
Thy name be ador'd
For all the rich blessings convey'd by thy word.
In spirit we trace
Thy wonders of grace,
And cheerfully join in a concert of praise.
The trumpet of God
Is sounding abroad
The language of mercy-salvation thro' blood.
Thrice happy are they
Who hear and obey,
And share in the blessings of this Gospel day.
This blessing be mine,
Thro' favour divine,
But O, my Redeemer, the glory be thine.
The work is of grace,
Thine, thine be the praise;
And mine to adore thee and tell of thy ways.
SALVATION! What a glorious plan,
How suited to our need!
grace that raises fallen man,
Is wonderful indeed!
'Twas wisdom form'd the vast design,
To ransom us when lost;
And love's unfathomable mine
Provided all the cost.
Strict justice, with approving look,
The holy cov❜nant seal'd;
And truth, and power undertook
The whole should be fulfill'd.
Truth, wisdom, justice, pow'r, and love,
In all their glory shone,
When Jesus left the courts above,
And dy'd to save his own.
Truth, wisdom, justice, pow'r and love,
Are equally display'd;
Now Jesus reigns enthron'd above
Our Advocate and Head,
Now sin appears deserving death,
Most hateful and abhor'd;
And yet the sinner lives by faith,
And dares approach the Lord.
211. The Scriptures.
THE Bible is justly esteem'd
The glory supreme of the land,
Which shows how a sinner's redeem'd,
And brought to Jehovah's right hand :
With pleasure we freely confess
The Bible all books does outshine,
But Jesus, his person and grace,
Affords it that lustre divine.
The first gracious promise to man,
A blessed prediction appears,
His work is the soul of the plan,
And gives it the glory it wears.
How cheering the truth must have been,
That Jesus the promised seed,
Should triumph o'er Satan and sin,
And hell in captivity lead!
The ancient Levitical law
Was prophecy after its kind,
In types there the faithful foresaw
The Saviour that ransom'd mankind.
The altar, the lamb, and the priest,
The blood that was sprinkled of old,
Had life, when the people could taste
The blessings those shadows foretold.
Review each prophetical song,
Which shine in prediction's rich train,
The sweetness to Jesus belong,
And point out his sufferings and reign:
Sure David his harp never strung
With more of true sacred delight,
Than when of the Saviour he sung,
And he was reveal'd to his sight.
In every prophetical book,
Where God his decrees hath unseal'd,
With joy we behold as we look,
The wonderful Saviour reveal'd:
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