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Come needy, come guilty,

Come loathsome and bare:
You can't come too filthy---

Come just as you are,
This fountain in vain

Has never been tried ;
It takes out all stain

Whenever applied ;
The water flows sweetly

With virtue divine,
To cleanse souls completely,

Tho' leprous as mine. 70. Admiration of Sovereign Grace. S. M,

GRACE mov'd the triune God,

Lost sinners to redeem;
Grace is the source of ev'ry good,

And grace shall be my theme.
Grace, what a pleasing sound,

How it delights my ear,
How it revives my languid hope,

And drowns my ey'ry fear.
Thro' grace, I conquer hell,

And break infernal chains;
Thro' grace, my soul aspires to heav'n,

Where the Redeemer reigns.
Grace the good work begins,

And grace completes the same;
Grace shall constrain my soul to raise,

Hosannas to the Lamb.

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From his abounding grace,

Daily I draw supplies;
Grace is the never-ceasing spring,

Of all my sacred joys.
And when I meet my Lord,

And join the gracious throng,
Grace shall inspire my soul to sing,
And grace be all the song.

71. Calvary. S. M. Go forth in spirit, go

To Calvary’s holy mount; See there thy friend between two thieves,

Suffering on thy account. Fall at his cross's foot,

And say, my God and Lord, Here let me dwell and view those wounds

Which life for me procur'd. Fix on that face thine

eye: Why dost thou backward shrink? What a base rebel thou hast been

To Christ thou now dost think.
Fear not, for this is he

Who always loves us first,
And with white robes of righteousness

Delights to deck the worst.
Or art thou at a loss

What thou to him shall say? Be but sincere, and all thy case

Just as it is display.

That heart our Saviour lov'd

Which does not strive to weave
Pretences fair, to sooth itself,

And his sharp eyes deceive.

72. Christ Crucified. L. M. When I survey the wond'rous cross

On which the Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count but loss,

And pour contempt on all my pride. 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.
See from his head, his hands, and feet,

Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,

Or thorns compose so rich a crown? 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!

73. Christ's Humiliation. C. M, What object's this that meets my eyes

From out Jerusalem's gate, Which fills my mind with such surprise

As wonders to create ?

Who can it be that groans beneath

A pond'rous cross of wood, Whose soul's o'erwhelm'd in pains of death,

And body's bath'd in blood ?
Is this the man, can this be He

The prophets have foretold
Should with transgressors number'd be,

And for their crimes be sold ?
Yes, now I know, 'tis He, 'tis He,

E'en Jesus, God's dear Son, Wrapt in mortality, to die

For crimes that I had done.
O blessed sight, O lovely form!

To sinful souls like me:
I'll creep beside him as a worm,

And see him die for me.
I'll hear his groans, and view his wounds,

Until with happy John,
I on his breast a place have found

Sweetly to lean upon.
74. Christ the Great Melchisedek.
Thou dear Redeemer, dying Lamb,

We love to hear of thee:
No music like thy lovely name

Does sound so sweet to me.
O may we ever hear thy voice

In mercy to us speak,
And in our Priest will we rejoice,
Thou great Melchisedek!


C. M. L. M.

Our Jesus shall be still our theme,

While in this world we stay,
We'll sing our Jesu's lovely name

When all things else decay;
When we appear in yonder cloud,

With all thy favour'd throng,
Then will we sing more sweet, more loud,
And Jesus be our song.

75. On the Passion.
Come, all ye chosen saints of God,
That long to feel the cleansing blood,
In pensive sorrow join with me,
To sing of sad Gethsemane.
Gethsemane, the olive press!
(And why so call’d, let christians guess)
Fit name! fit place! where vengeance strove,
And grip'd and grappled hard with love.
'Twas here the Lord of life appear’d,
And sigh’d, and groan’d, and pray'd, and

fear'd; Bore all incarnate God could bear, With strength enough---and none to spare. The powers of hell united press’d, And squeez'd his heart, and bruis'd his breast, What dreadful conflicts rag'd within; When sweat and blood forc'd thro’ the skin, Dispatch'd from heaven an angel stood, Amaz'd to find him bath'd in blood, Ador'd by angels, and obey'd; But lower now than angels made.

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