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That meek and lowly Lord,
Whom here your souls have known,
Pledges the honour of his word
To avow you for his own.
He brings salvation near,
For which his blood was paid;
How beauteous shall your souls appear,.
Thus sumptuously array'd.
Sing, for the day is nigh,
When near your Saviour's seat, The tallest sons of pride shall lie, The footstool of your
Salvation, Lord, is thine,"
And all thy saints confess,
The royal robes, in which they shine,
Were wrought by sovereign grace.
219. The Ministry of Angels.
GREAT God, what hosts of angels stand,
In shining ranks at thy right hand,
Array'd in robes of dazzling light,
With pinions stretch'd for distant flight!
Immortal fires! seraphic flames!
Who can recount their various names?
In strength and beauty they excel,
For near the throne of God they dwell.
How eagerly they wish to know
The duties he would have them do!
What joy their active spirits feel
To execute their Sovereign's will.
Hither, at his command, they fly,
To guard the beds on which we lie;
To shield our persons, night and day;
And scatter all our fears away.
Herod attempts, but all in vain,
To bind a Peter with his chain:
At one soft word an angel speaks,
The massy chain asunder breaks.
Send, O my God, some angel down,
(Tho' to a mortal eye unknown)
To guide and guard my doubtful way
Up to the realms of endless day.
220. Jesus seen of Angels.
O YE immortal throng
Of angels round the throne,
Join with our feeble song
To make the Saviour known:
Ye saw the heav'n-born child
In human flesh array'd,
Benevolent and mild,
While in the manger laid:
Ye in the wilderness
Beheld the tempter spoil'd,
Well known in every dress,
In ev'ry combat foil'd;
Around the bloody tree
Ye press'd with strong desire,
That wondrous sight to see,
The Lord of life expire.
Around his sacred tomb
A willing watch ye keep,
'Till the blest moment come
To rouse him from his sleep.
When all array'd in light
The shining Conqueror rode,
Ye hail'd his rapturous flight
Up to the throne of God.
The warbling notes pursue,
And louder anthems raise;
While mortals sing with you
Their own Redeemer's praise,
221. Angels called to praise. PRAISE the Lord, ye blessed ones, Your glorious Lord, and our's; Principalities and thrones,
And all ye heav'nly pow'rs;
Angels, that in strength excel,
Here your utmost strength employ;
Let your ravish'd bosoms swell
With endless praise and joy.
Shining hosts, on you we call,
And challenge you to sing;
Sing the sov'reign Cause of all,
The universal King;
While eternal ages last,
The transporting theme repeat;
Shout, and gaze, and fall, and cast
Your crowns before his feet.
There, with you, we hope to lie,
With you to rise again;
Nearest him who rules the sky,
And foremost of his train :
We shall lead the heav'nly choir,
We shall give the key to you,
Singing to our golden lyre
The song for ever new.
ON man, in his own image made,
How much did God bestow;
The whole creation homage paid,
And own'd him Lord below!
He dwelt in Eden's garden, stor'd
With sweets for ev'ry sense;
And there with his descending Lord,
He walk'd in confidence.
But oh! by sin how quickly chang'd;
His honour forfeited,
His heart from God and truth estrang'd,
His conscience fill'd with dread!
Now from his Maker's voice hè flees,
Which was before his joy;
And thinks to hide, amidst the trees,
From an all-seeing eye.
Compell'd to answer to his name,
With stubbornness and pride,
He casts on God himself the blame;
Nor once for mercy cry'd.
But grace, unask'd, his heart subdu'd,
And all his guilt forgave;
By faith the promis'd seed he view'd,
And felt his pow'r to save.
Thus we ourselves would justify,
Tho' we the law transgress;
Like him, unable to deny,
Unwilling to confess.
But when by faith the sinner sees
A pardon bought with blood;
Then he forsakes his foolish pleas,
And gladly turns to God."
223. Original Sin.
ADAM, our father and our head,
Transgress'd, and justice doom'd us dead:
The fiery law speaks all despair,
There's no reprieve nor pardon there.
Call a bright council in the skies;
Seraphs, the mighty and the wise,
Speak; are you strong to bear the load,
The weighty vengeance of a God?