a 'Twould tear my soul asunder, Lord, With most tormenting fear.

p 4 What to be banish'd for my life,
And yet forbid to die!

To linger in eternal pain,
Yet death for ever fly!

a 5 Oh, wretched state of deep despair,
To see my God remove-
And fix my doleful station where
I must not taste his love!

6 [Jesus, I throw my arms around,
And hang upon thy breast;
Without a gracious smile from thee,
My spirit cannot rest.]

o 7 Oh! tell me that my worthless name,
Is graven on thy hands;

Shew me some promise in thy book,
Where my salvation stands.

8 [Give me one kind, assuring word,
To sink my fears again;

And cheerfully my soul shall wait
Her threescore years and ten.]

1

HYMN 108. C. M. St. Asaph's. [*]
Access to the Throne of Grace by a Mediator.
OME, let us lift our joyful eyes,

COME

Up to the courts above;

And smile to see our Father there,
Upon a throne of love.

e 2 Once 'twas a seat of dreadful wrath,
And shot devouring flame;

Our God appear'd consuming fire,
And vengeance was his name.

-3 Rich were the drops of Jesus' blood,
That calm'd his frowning face;
That sprinkled o'er his burning throne,
And turn'd the wrath to grace.

o 4 Now we may bow before his feet,
And venture near the Lord;

No fiery cherub guards his seat,
Nor double flaming sword.

-5 The peaceful gates of heav'nly bliss,
Are open'd by the Son;

• High let us raise our notes of praise, And reach th' Almighty throne.

6 To thee, ten thousand thanks we bring, Great Advocate on high;

And glory to th' eternal King,

Who lays his fury by.

HYMN 109. L. M. Islington. [b]
The darkness of Providence.

LORD, we adore the vast designs,

Th' obscure abyss of Providence!

p Too deep to sound with mortal lines,—
Too dark to view with feeble sense.
e 2 Now thou array'st thine awful face
In angry frowns, without a smile :
-We, through the cloud, believe thy grace,
Secure of thy compassion still.

3 Through seas, and storms of deep distress,
We sail by faith, and not by sight
Faith guides us in the wilderness,
Through all the briers and the night.
e 4 Dear Father, if thy lifted rod
Resolve to scourge us here below;
-Still we must lean upon our God,
• Thine arm shall bear us safely through.]
HYMN 110.

a

1

S. M. Aylesbury. Kibworth. [*] Death and the Resurrection.

AND must this body die?

This mortal frame decay?

a And must these active limbs of mine Lie mould'ring in the clay?

2 Corruption, earth, and worms,
Shall but refine this flesh;

• 'Till my triumphant spirit comes,
To put it on afresh.

3 God my Redeemer lives,

And often from the skies,

Looks down and watches all my dust

'Till he shall bid it rise.

4 Array'd in glorious grace,

Shall these vile bodies shine;

And ev'ry shape, and ev'ry face,
Look heav'nly and divine.

5 These lively hopes we owe

To Jesus' dying love;

We would adore his grace below,
And sing his pow'r above.

6 Dear Lord, accept the praise
Of these our humble songs;

o 'Till tunes of nobler sound we raise ;
With our immortal tongues.

1

HYMN 111. C. M. Mitcham. [*]

God's Dominion, and our Deliverance.
VION, rejoice, and Judah sing;

The Lord assumes his throne: Come, let us own the heav'nly King, And make his glories known.

2 The great, the wicked, and the proud, From their high seats are hurl'd; Jehovah rides upon a cloud,

And thunders thro' the world.

3 He reigns upon th' eternal hills,
Distributes mortal crowns;
Empires are fix'd beneath his smiles,
And totter at his frowns.

4 Navies, that rule the ocean wide,
Are vanquish'd by his breath:
And legions, arm'd with pow'r and pride,
Descend to wat❜ry death.

5 Let tyrants make no more pretence
To vex our happy land;
Jehovah's name is our defence;

Our buckler is his hand.

6 Still may the King of G ace descend,
To rule us by his word;

And all the honours we can give
Be offer'd to the Lord.]

1

HYMN 112. L. M.

Oporto. [*]

Angels ministering to Christ and Saints.

GREAT God! to what a glorious height

Hast thou advanc'd the Lord thy Son! Angels, in all their robes of light,

Are made the servants of his throne.

e 2 Before his feet thine armies wait,
o And swift as flames of fire they move,

-To manage his affairs of state,

In works of vengeance-and of love.
3 [His orders run thro' all the hosts,
Legions descend at his command;
To shield and guard our native coasts,
When foreign rage invades our land.]
o 4 Now they are sent to guide our feet,
Up to the gates of thine abode ;

Through all the dangers that we meet,
In travelling the heav'nly road.

-5 Lord, when I leave this mortal ground,
And thou shalt bid me rise and come-
Send a beloved angel down,

Safe to conduct my spirit home.

1

HYMN 113. C. M. Mear. [*]

The same.

THom glorious to behold!

HE majesty of Solomon,

The servants waiting round his throne,
The iv'ry and the gold.

2 But, mighty God, thy palace shines
With far superior beams;

Thine angel-guards are swift as winds,
Thy ministers are flames.

3 (Soon as thine only Son had made
His entrance on the earth,

A shining army downward fled,

To celebrate his birth.

4 And when oppress'd with pains and fears, On the cold ground he lies,

Behold a heav'nly form appears,

T'allay his agonies.

5 Now to the hands of Christ our King,
Are all their legions giv'n;

They wait upon his saints, and bring
His chosen heirs to heav'n.

6 Pleasure and praise run through their host, To see a sinner turn;

That Satan has a captive lost,

And Christ a subject born.

7 But there's an hour of brighter joy. When he his angel sends,

Obstinate rebels to destroy,

And gather in his friends.

8 Oh! could I say without a doubt,
There shall my soul be found,—
Then let the great archangel shout,
And the last trumpet sound.]

HYMN 114. C. M. Christmas. Sunday. [*]
Christ's Death, Victory, and Dominion.
SING my Saviour's wondrous death;
He conquer'd when he fell;

1

'I

'Tis Finish'd! said his dying breath,
And shook the gates of hell.

2 'Tis Finish'd! our Emmanuel cries,
The dreadful work is done!
Hence shall his sov'reign throne arise,
His kingdom is begun.

3 His cross a sure foundation laid,
For glory and renown;

When through the regions of the dead
He pass'd to reach the crown.

4 Exalted at his Father's side,
Sits our victorious Lord;

To heav'n and hell his hands divide
The vengeance or reward.

5 The saints from his propitious eye,
Await their sev'ral crowns;
And all the sons of darkness fly
The terrour of his frowns.

1

HYMN 115. C. M. Bedford. [*]

God the Avenger of his Saints.

H Reigns the Creator God;

TIGH as the heav'ns above the ground,

Wide as the whole creation's bound,

Extends his awful rod.

2 Let princes of exalted state

To him ascribe their crown;
Render their homage at his feet,
And cast their glories down.

e 3 Know that his kingdom is supreme,
Your lofty thoughts are vain;
He calls you gods, that awful name,
But ye must die like men.