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One drop of this can truly cheer,

And heal the wounded soul; What multitude of broken hearts

This living stream makes whole!
Hark, O my soul! what sing the choirs

Around the glorious throne ?
Hark! the slain Lamb for evermore

Sounds in the sweetest tone!

The elders there cast down their crowns,

And all both night and day Sing praise to him who shed his blood,

And wash'd their guilt away.

And this, while here, we will proclaim,

Cheerful in our degree, That thro' the blood of God's dear Lamb

Each soul may happy be.

But thou, O Lord! make ev'ry day

Thy grace to us more sweet; 'Till we behold thy wounded side,

And worship at thy feet.

64. Sufferings of Christ.

Let me dwell on Golgotha,
Weep and love my life away!
While I see on yonder tree
Jesus bleed, and die for me!

That dear blood, for sinners spilt
Shews my sin'in all its guilt:
Ah! my soul, he bore thy load ;
Thou hast slain the Lamb of God,

Hark! his dying word, Forgive, • Father, let the sinner live; « Sioner, wipe thy tears away, • I thy ransom freely pay.'

While I hear this grace reveal'd,
And obtain a pardon seal'd,
All my soft affections move,
Waken'd by the force of love.

Farewel, world, thy gold is dross,
Now I see the bleeding cross;
Jesus dy'd to set me free
From the law, and sin, and thee!

He has dearly bought my soul ;
Lord, accept and claim the whole !
To thy will I all resign,
Now no more my own, but thine.

65. Christ our Sacrifice. But Christ the heav'nly Lamb,

Not all the blood of beasts

On Jewish altars slain, Could give the guilty conscience peace, Or wash


the stain.

Takes all our sins away ; A sacritice of pobler Dame,

And richer blood than they.

My faith would lay her hand

On that dear head of thine, While like a penitent I stand,

And there confess my sin.

My soul looks back to see

The burdens thou didst bear
When hanging on the accursed tree,

And hopes her guilt was there.
Believing we rejoice

To see the curse remove;
We bless the Lamb with cheerful voice,

And sing his bleeding love.


Invitation to the Lord's Table.

This is the feast of heav'nly wine,

And God invites to sup; The juices of the living vine

Were press’d to fill the cup.

Oh bless the Saviour, ye that eat,

With royal dainties fed;
Not heav'n affords a costlier treat

For Jesus is the bread.

The vile, the lost, he calls to them,

Ye trembling souls appear!
The righteous in their own esteem

Have no acceptance here.
Approach, ye poor, nor dare refuse

The banquet spread for you; Dear Saviour, this is welcome news,

Then I may venture too.
If guilt and sin afford a plea,

And may obtain a place,
Surely the Lord will welcome me,

And I shall see his face.

67. The Death of Christ. That doleful night before his death

The Lamb for sinners slain,
Did almost with his latest breath

This solemn feast ordain.
To keep thy feast, Lord, are we met,

And to remember thee:
Help each poor trembler to repeat,
For me he died, for me.

Hal. Thy sụff'rings Lord, each sacred sign

To our remembrance brings;
We eat the bread, and drink the wine,

But think on nobler things.
O tune our tongues and set in frame

Each heart that pants to thee,
To sing · Hosanna to the Lamb,

• The Lamb that died for me,' Hallelujah. 68. Christ's Sufferings. THROUGHOUT the Saviour's life we trace Nothing but shame and deep disgrace,

No period else is seen:
'Till he a spotless victim fell,
Tasting in soul a painful hell,

Caus'd by the creatures' sin.
On the cold ground methinks I see
My Jesus kneel, and pray for me;

For this I him adore :
Seiz'd with a chilly sweat throughout,
Blood drops did force their passage out,

Thro ev'ry open d pore.
A pricking thorn his temples bore,
His back with lashes all was tore,

Till one the bones might see;
Mocking, they push d him here and there,
Marking his


with blood and tear, Press'd by the heavy tree, Thus


the hill he painful came, Round him they mock, and make their game;

At length his cross they rear:
And can you see the mighty God
Cry out beneath sin's heavy load,

Without one thankful tear
Thus veiled in humanity,
He dies in anguish on the tree;

What tongue his griefs can tell ?

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