Hell and the Grave unite their Force,
To hold our God in vain.;
The fleeping Conqu❜ror arofe,
And burft their feeble Chain.
To thy great Name, Almighty Lord,
Thefe facred Hours we pay,
And loud Hofannas fhall proclaim
The Triumph of the Day.
Salvation and immortal Praise,
To our victorious King,
Let Heav'n and Earth, and Rocks and Seas,
With glad Hofannas ring.
HYMN CIV.
Praise to the Redeemer.
Lung'd in a Gulph of dark Defpair,
We wretched Sinners lay,
Without one chearful Beam of Hope,
Or Spark of glimm'ring Day.
With pitying Eyes, the Prince of Grace
Beheld our helplefs Grief;
He faw, and (O amazing Love!)
He ran to our Relief.
Down from the fhining Seats above,
With joyful Hafte he fled,
Enter'd the Grave in mortal Flesh,
And dwelt among the Dead.
Oh! for this Love, let Rocks and Hills
Their lafting Silence break.
And all harmonious human Tongues
The Saviour's Praises speak.
Angels affift our mighty Joys,
Strike all your Harps of Gold
But when you raise your higheft Notes
His Love can ne'er be told.
Paffion and Exaltation of CHRIST.
YOME, all harmonious Tongues,
Your nobleft Mufic bring;
'Tis Chrift the everlafting God,
And Chrift the Man, we fing
Tell how he took our Flesh,
To take away our Guilt!
Sing the dear Drops of facred Blood,
That hellish Monsters.fpilt.
Down to the Shades of Death
He bow'd his awful Head:
Yet he arose to live and reign,
When Death itfelf is dead.
No more the bloody Spear,
The Cross and Nails no more;
For Hell itself shakes at his Name,
And all the Heav'ns adore.
There the Redeemer fits,
High on his Father's Throne ;
The Father lays his Veng'ance by,
And fimiles upon his Son.
HYMN CVI.
The Glory of CHRIST in Heaven.
H the Delights, the heav'nly Joys,
The Glories of the Place,
Where Jefus fheds the brightest Beams,
Of his o'erflowing Grace!
Sweet Majefty and awful Love,
Sit fmiling on his Brow,
And all the glorious Ranks above
At humble Distance bow.
His Head, the dear majeftic Head,
That cruel Thorns did wound,
See what immortal Glories fhine,
And circle it around!
This is the Man, th' exalted Man,
Whom we, unseen, adore,
But when our Eyes behold his Face,
Our Hearts fhall love him more.
Lord, fet our Spirits all on Fire
To fee thy blefs'd Abode;
And tune our Tongues to fing the Praise
Of our incarnate God!
HYMN CVII.
Look on Him whom they pierced, and
Nfinite Grief! amazing Woe!
Behold our bleeding Lord;
Hell and the Jews confpir'd his Death,
And us'd the Roman Sword.
Oh the fharp Pangs of fmarting Pain,
Our dear Redeemer bore,
When knotty Whips, and ragged Thorns,
His facred Body tore !
But knotty Whips, and ragged Thorns,
In vain do we accufe ;
In vain we blame the Roman Bands,
And the more fpightful Jews.
'Twere you, our Sins, our cruel Sins,
His chief Tormentors were ;
Each of our Crimes became a Nail,
And Unbelief the Spear.
'Twere you that pull'd the Veng'ance down Upon his guiltless Head;
Break, break our Hearts, oh burst these Eyes
And let our Sorrow bleed.
Strike, mighty Grace, each flinty Soul,
'Till melting Waters flow,
And deep Repentance drown our Eyes
In undiffembled Woe.
HYMN CVIII.
The Same.
LAS! and did our Saviour bleed ?
And did our Sov'reign die!
Would he devote that facred Head
For fuch a Worm as I?
Was it for Crimes that I had done,
He groan'd upon the Tree!
Amazing Pity! Grace unknown,
And Love beyond Degree.
I
Well might the Sun in Darkness hide,
And thut his Glories in,
When God the mighty Maker dy'd,
For Man, the Creature's Sin.
Thus might I hide my blufhing Face,
While his dear Crofs appears;
Diffolve my Heart in Thankfulness,
And melt my Eyes to Tears.
But Drops of Grief can ne'er repay
The Debt of Love I owe;
May I here give myself away!
'Tis all that I can do.
HYMN CIX.
The Same.
S there a Thing beneath the Sky,
Can Comfort bring, or fatisfy,
But our dear Saviour's Wounds?
Here is a fweet and conftant Peace,
A Treasure full of richeft Grace,
All elfe are empty Sounds.
Attend, my Soul, fink down with Shame Before his Face, who only came
To fuffer, bleed and die;
O think upon thy Sin and Guilt,
For which his precious Blood was fpilt,
Thou didst him crucify.
See, thou vile Piece of finful Duft,
Thy deareft Lord fweat for thy Luft,
'Till Drops of Blood fall down!
See how he yonder proftrate lies!
Obferve his mournful Pray'r and Cries,
Mark every Tear and Groan.
|