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Sin, the sting of death, no more
Dares to dart its wonted pow'r;
Christ, the first fruits of the grave,
Rises now your souls to save.
Nature's curse and Adam's doom,
Now he's buried in the tomb;
While with healing in bis wings,
From that tomb Messiah springs.
Rise, ye christians, rise and sing
Praise to your triumphant King,
Who to all of human race,
Opens wide the gates of grace.

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Hymn 48.

L. M.
For Easter.
E dies, the Friend of Sinners dies,

Lo! Salem's daughters weep around; A solemn darkness veils the skies,

A sudden trembling shakes the ground. Come saints and drop a tear or two,

For him who groau'd beneath your He shed a thousaud 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 sudden joys we see,

Jesus, the dead revives again.
The rising God forsakes the tomb,

In vain the tomb forbids his rise ;
Cherubic legions guard him home,
And shout him welcome to the skies,

Break off your tears, ye saints and tell

How high your great Deliv'rer reigns; Sing how he spoild the hosts of bell,

And led the monster, death, in chains.

Say, “Live for ever, wondrous King,

Born to redeem and strong to save;" Then ask the monster, “Where's thy sting?

And where's tby victory, boasting grave ?"

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YE of

, To God be all your praises giv'n; O praise him from the realms that lie Above the reach of mortal eye : Praise him, ye angels of his train, And all whom heav'n's vast hosts contain.

Praise him thou glorious orb of light,
And thou, pale ruler of the night ;
Praise him ye stars, bis praise repeat,
Thou heav'n of heav'ns, bis awful seat;
And you, ye floods, that heap'd on high,
Press with your weight th' extended sky.
Ye youthful bands and virgin choir,
Each lisping babe and hoary sire,
Wake to bis name your grateful songs,
To him alone all praise belongs ;
His glory earth's wide bounds o'erflows,
Nor highest heav'n its limit knows.

Hymn 50. P. M.
O

FOR a bumble and a contrite heart,
To

weep o'er hours of folly and of sin !
o for a beam of mercy to impart
One
ray
of comfort and of

peace

within ! Cease, cease, proud spirit, dare not to rebel

Against the mandate of a Pow'r divine; Let not one vaiu repining murmur tell,

The guilt of folly, insolent as thine. Bow to the justice of a mighty God,

And meekly bend beneath th' avenging hand, Haste thee to kiss the fury of his rod,

Lest ruin whelm thee from his dread command. In all the terrors of thy vengeful hour,

In all thy mercy still remember me; Let others ask for riches, pomp or pow'r,

My God, my God, give me humility.

Hymn 51.

C. M.
VHERE is a land of

,
Where saints and angels reign,
Infinite day excludes the night,

And pleasures bauish pain.
There everlastiug spring abides,

And ever blooming flowers :
Death, like a narrow sea, divides

This heav'nly land from ours.
To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

The God whom we adore,
Be glory, as it was, is now,

And shall be evermore.

Hymn 52. C. M. IN innocence I wash my hands, Thine altar with the sacred bands,

Whose tongues thy praises sound. How oft, inspir'd with warmth divine,

Thy threshold have I trod !
How lov'd the courts whose walls enshrine

The glory of my God.
Pour then, O pour, while thus I tread

The paths by thee prepar'd,
The beams of tuercy on my bead,

And round me plant thy guard !

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VITAL spark of heav'nly flame,

Quit, Oh quit, this mortal frame ! Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain !--the bliss of dying! Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life.

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Hark! they whisper-angels say,
“ Sister spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirit, draws my

breath? Tell me my soul can this be death?

The world recedes, it disappears,
Heav'n opens on my eyes, my ears

With sounds seraphic ring,
Lend, lend your wings !-I mount, I fly!.
O grave ! where is thy victory?

Ö death! where is thy sting?

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Hymn 54. L. M.

For the Charity Children.
HEN wand'ring comfortless, and low,

In poverty's dark vale of woe,
Expos’d to error, want, disease,
And vice, more fatal still than these,
Your fost'ring care our bosoms cheer’d,
Our infant minds with learning stor'd ;
For you our hands to heav'n we raise,
With grateful hearts in pray'r and praise.
O may your bosoms doubly know
The joys your lib'ral acts bestow,
And long, through years revolving, prove
The blessings of fraternal love,
That to the humane heart is giv'n,
A foretaste of the bliss of heav'u.
For you our hands to heav'n we raise
With grateful hearts in pray’r and praise,

Hymn 55. L. M.
FROM
TROM all that dwell below the skies,

Let the Creator's praise arise;
Let the Redeemer's name be sung
Through ev'ry land by ev'ry tongue.

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