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A bleeding Saviour, seen by faith,

A sense of pard’ning love,
A hope that triumphs over death,

Give joys like those above.

To take a glimpse within the vail,

To know that God is mine,
Are springs of joy that never fail,
Unspeakable ! divine !


In the cross of Christ I glory,
Tow'ring o'er the wrecks of time;
All the light of sacred story
Gathers round its head sublime.

Bane and blessing, pain and pleasure,
By the cross are sanctified ;
Peace is there that knows no measure,
Joys that through all time abide.


'Tis done! the precious ransom's paid,

" Receive my soul," He cries; Behold, He bows His sacred head,

He bows His head, and dies.

But soon He'll break death's envious chain,

And in full glory shine :
O Lamb of God, was ever pain,
Was ever love like Thine!


Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee!
Let the water and the blood;
From Thy riven side which flow'd,
Be of sin the double cure ;
Cleanse me from its guilt and pow'r.

Nothing in my hand I bring ;
Simply to Thy cross I cling ;
Naked, come to Thee for dress ;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace ;
Guilty, to the Fountain fly;
Wash me, Saviour, or I die !

While I draw this feeting breath,
When my eyes are closed in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment throne :
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee !


No condemnation now I dread,

Jesus, and all in Him, is mine ; Alive in Him, my living Head,

And clothed in righteousness divine, Bold I approach the eternal throne And claim the crown, through Christ, my own.



He was wounded for our transgressions.-ISAIAH liii. 5.

Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? Behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow.-LAM. i. 12.

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Low in the dim and sultry west

Is the fierce sun of Syria's sky; The evening's grateful hour of rest,

Its hour of feast and joy is nigh.

But He, with thirst and hunger spent,

Lone, by the way-side faintly sinks : A lowly hand the cup hath lent,

And from the humble well He drinks.

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On the dark wave of Galilee

The gloom of twilight gathers fast, And o'er the waters drearily

Sweeps the bleak evening blast.

The weary bird hath left the air

And sunk into his shelter'd nest; The wandering beast hath sought his lair,

And laid him down to welcome rest.

Still, near the lake, with weary tread,

Lingers a form of human kind;
And, from His lone unshelter'd head,

Flows the chill night-damp on the wind.

Why seeks not He a home of rest ?

Why seeks not He the pillow'd bed ? Beasts have their dens, the bird its nest,

He hath not where to lay His head.

Such was the lot He freely chose,

To bless, to save, the human race ;
And, through His poverty, there flows
A rich, full stream of heavenly grace.


There is a joy—unutterable, deep,
Rich, elevating, full, most solemn, and most sweet-
That joy is mine, where faith and love do keep

Their humble watch : where truth and mercy meet
My Saviour Christ! that holy joy is mine,
Where deepest agony of soul was Thine.

It is, Gethsemene, in thy dark shade,
It is, O Calvary, when led to thee ;
Where in the depths the Lord of life was laid ;
Where He endured the pains of death for me ;
There doth His glory on my spirit rise,
There doth that sweetest joy my soul surprise.

Joy springs from love—and 0, what love is this !

The love of God in Christ to fallen man:
•It is a spring, a river, an abyssa

A mystery that angels bend to scan :
My soul, behold, contemplate, and adore
That mystery no angel can explore.

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