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Sin, the sting of death, no more
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.
In vain the tomb forbids his rise ;
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 ?"
, 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,
Hymn 50. P. M.
FOR a bumble and a contrite heart,
weep o'er hours of folly and of sin !
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.
And pleasures bauish pain.
And ever blooming flowers :
This heav'nly land from ours.
The God whom we adore,
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 !
The glory of my God.
The paths by thee prepar'd,
And round me plant thy guard !
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.
Hark! they whisper-angels say,
breath? Tell me my soul can this be death?
The world recedes, it disappears,
With sounds seraphic ring,
Ö death! where is thy sting?
Hymn 54. L. M.
For the Charity Children.
In poverty's dark vale of woe,
Hymn 55. L. M.
Let the Creator's praise arise;