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We partake the Bread and Wine,

Seals of our Profeffion; Of the inward Grace the Sign,

Symbols of thy Paffion. We cominemorate thy Death,

While we are receiving, Feeding in our Hearts by Faith,

With unfeign’d Thanksgiving. May we thus our Time employ,

While below we tarry ! 'Till our Souls t' unfading Joy,

Angels come to carry.

HY MN LXXX.

After the Sacrament. ORD accept our feeble Praise

For the Banquet given; Tho' unworthy, we would raise

Hearts and Hands to Heaven.

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Of the Streains of Grace divine

We have now been tafting ; On the Bread and mystic Wine,

With rich Comfort feasting. Meat indeed thy Flesh we find,

Drink thy Blood so precious; Jesus, Saviour, thou art kind,

Merciful and gracious ! On our guilty Souls thy Rod

Fall with gentle Chidings; And thou healeft with thy Blood,

All our great Backslidings.

May we to thy bleeding Cross,

Soul and Body faften; All for Jesus count but Loss,

To his Coming haften! Take our Hearts so often bleft,

Yet so oft rebelling: Let them on thy Boom reft,

In thy Wounds still dwelling! Now, O Lord, that we have fod

On thy Body broken, Bruise within the Serpent's Head,

Of thy Love the Token.
None from Trials are below

Totally exempted,
All-fufficient Grace bestow,

Succour, Lord, the tempted!
Guard us from the Tempter's Wiles,

From the Sin of Judas;
From the World's deceitful Smiles,

'Till to Heav'n thou lead us.

H Y M N LXXXI. Ascribing all Glory to God for every

Mercy.

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LORY to our gracious Donor,

For his Mercics ever new! His alone be all the Honour !

Nothing we confess our Due: O the cealeless Mercies flowing

From thy Grace's boundless Store ! May our thankful Hearts be glowing With thy Love, ftill more and more!

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Thy kind Hand hath oft' afforded

To our Wants a rich Supply ;
We are ev'ry Day supported

By thy providential Eye.
May we, Lord, as some Requital,

Thankful Hearts to Jesus raise,
In his wond'rous Love's Recital :

Consecrate to him our Days ! Thou, an Hunger haft created

In our Hearts for living Bread ; May it never be abated,

Till our precious Souls are fed ! Open Lord the Ark, where hidden

Jesus, our true Manna lies; Are not hungry Spirits bidden

To that Fcast of Paradife?

O thou Friend of Sinners, pity

Thirsty Travellers, who go To an unteen distant City,

Thro' a parched Vale below! O supply cach fainting Spirit,

With the Streams of purest Love : 'Till our Canaan we inherit,

In thy Fulness loft above !

HY MN LXXXII.

For Easter Day.
E dies ! the Friend of Singers dies !

Lo Salem's Daughters weep around!
A soleinn Darkness veils the Skies!
A sudden Trembling thakes the Ground!

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Come, Saints, and drop a Tear or two,

For him who groan'd beneath your Load! He shed a thousand Drops for you!

A thousand Drops of richer Blood !

Here's Love and Grief beyond. Degree,

The Lord of Glory dies for Men ! But lo! what fulden Joys we fee!

Jesus the Dead revives again! The rising God forsakes the Tomb !

The Tomb in vain forbids his rise ! Cherubic Legions guard him Horne,

And thout him welcome to the Skies !

Break off your Tears ye Saints !, and tell

How high our great Deliv'rer reigns ! Sing how he spoil'd the Hosts of Hell,

And led the Monster Death in Chains : Say, “Live for ever, wondrous King !"

66 Born to redeein, and strong to save !" Then ask the Monster" Where's thy Sting?

“And where's thy Victory boasting Graver"

H Y M N LXXXIII.
The Efficacy of the precious Blood of

Jesus.
S there a Thing that moves and breaks,

A Heart as hard as Stone,
Or warms a Heart as cold as Ice ?

'Tis Jesu's Blood alone :

IS

One Drop of this can truly chear,

And heal the wounded Soul ; What Multitudes of broken Hearts

This living Stream makes whole !

Hark! O my Soul! What sing the Choirs

Around the glorious Throne!
Hark! the flain 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, will we proclaim,

Chearful in our Degree,
That thro' the Blood of God's dear Lamb,

Sinners inay pardon'd 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.

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HY MN LXXXIV.

The Year of Jubilee.
LOW ye the Trumpet, blow

The gladly solemn Sound;
Let all the Nations know,

To Earth's remoteft Bound,
The Year of Jubilee is comie ;
Return, ye ransom'd Sinners, Home!

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