4 Next he describes the thorns he wore, And talks his bloody passion o'er, Till I am drown'd in tears:
Yet with the sympathetic smart,
There's a strange joy beats round my heart!
The cursed tree has blessings in't, my sweetest
balm it bears.
5 I hear the glorious suff'rer tell,
How on the cross he vanquish'd hell,
And all the powers beneath:
Transported and inspir'd, my tongue
Attempts his triumphis in a song:
How has the serpent lost his sting, and where's thy vict'ry death?
6 But when he shows his hands and heart, With those dear prints of dying smart, He sets my soul on fire:
Not the beloved John could rest
With more delight upon that breast,
Nor Thomas pry into those wounds with more intense desire.
7 Kindly he opes to me his ear,
And bids me pour my sorrows there,
And tell him all my pains:
Thus while I ease my burthen'd heart,
In ev'ry woe he bears a part,
His arms embrace me, and his hand my droop. ing head sustains.
HROUGHOUT the Saviour's life we trace
Nothing but shame and deep distress,
No period else is seen;
"Till on the cross he bow'd his head,
A spotless victim in our stead,
Caus'd by the creature's sin.
2 On the cold ground methinks I see
My Saviour kneel and pray for me;
For this I him adore;
Seiz'd with a chilly sweat throughout,
Blood drops did force their passage out
Through every opening pore.
3 The piercing thorns his temples bore,
His back with lashes all was tore,
Till one the bones might see;
Mocking, they push'd him here and there,
Marking his way with blood and tears,
Press'd by the heavy tree.
4 Thus up the hill he painful came,
Round him they mock'd and made their game :
At length his cross they rear.
And can you see the mighty God,
Cry out beneath sin's heavy load,
Without one thankful tear?
5 Thus veiled in humanity,
He dies in anguish on the tree;
What tongue his grief can tell?
The shudd'ring rocks their heads recline,
The mourning sun refus'd to shine,
When the Redeemer fell.
6 Shout, brethren, shout in songs divine,
He drank the gall to give us wine,
To quench our parching thirst:
Seraphs advance your voices higher,
Bride of the Lamb unite the choir,
And laud the precious Christ.
HOU sweet gliding Kedron, by thy silver
Our Saviour at midnight, when Cynthia's pale beam
Shone bright on thy waters, did frequently stray,
And lose in thy murmurs the toils of the day.
Come saints and adore him, come bow at his
feet,
Oh, give him the glory, the praise that is meet;
Let joyful Hosannas inceasing arise,
And join the loud Anthem that gladdens the
skies.
2 How damp were the vapours that fell on his
How hard was his pillow, how humble his bed! The Angels, astonish'd, grew sad at the sight, And follow'd their master with silent delight.
3 0 Garden of Olivet-dear honour'd spot,
The fame of thy wonders shall ne'er be forgot;
The theme most transporting to seřaphs above,
The wonder of joy and the wonder of love.
STRETCH'D on the cross the Saviour dies;
Hark! his expiring groans arise!
See, from his hands, his feet, his side,
Runs down the sacred crimson tide!
2 But life attends the dreadful sound,
And flows from every bleeding wound;
The vital stream how free it flows,
To save and cleanse his rebel foes !
3 And didst thou bleed,-for sinners bleed!
And could the sun behold the deed?
No; he withdrew his shining ray,
And darkness veil'd the mourning day.
4 Can I survey this scene of wo,
Where mingling grief and wonder flow,
And yet my heart unmov'd remain,
Insensible to love or pain?
5 Come, dearest Lord, thy grace impart,
To warm this cold, unfeeling heart;
Tili all its powers and passions move,
In melting grief, and ardent love.
STOP, Foor sinner! stop and think,
Before you farther go!
Can you sport upon the brink
Of everlasting wo?
Hell beneath is gaping wide,
Vengeance waits the dread command;
Soon he'll stop your sport and pride,
And sink you with the damn'd.
Then be entreated now to stop;
For unless you warning take,
Ere you are aware you'll drop
Into a burning lake.
2 Say, have you an arm like God,
That you his will onpose?
Fear you not that iron rod
With which he breaks his foes?
Can you stand in that great day,
When he judgment will proclaim?
When the earth shall melt away
Like wax before the flame ?
3 Ghastly death shall quickly come,
And drag you to the bar;
Then to hear your awful doom
Will fill you with despair:
All your sins around you'll crowd-
Sins of a blood-crimson dye;
Each for vengeance crying loud:
And what will you reply?
4 Though your heart be made of steel,
Your forehead lined with brass,
God at length will make you feel,
He will not let you pass;
Sinners then in vain will call,
(Though they now despise his grace,) "Rocks and mountains on us fall, And hide us from his face."
5 But as yet there is a hope, You may his mercy know: Though his arm is lifted up,
He still forbears the blow: "Twas for sinners Jesus died, Sinners he invites to come : None that come shall be denied, "There still is room."
ARK! the Jubilee is sounding;
Ho the joyful news is come;
Free salvation is proclaimed,
In and through God's own dear Son;
Now we have an invitation
To the meek and lowly Lamb;
Glory, honour, and salvation,
Christ the Lord is come to reign.
2 Come dear friend and don't neglect it,
Come to Jesus in your prime;
Great Salvation, don't reject it,
O receive it, now's your time;
Now the Saviour is beginning
To revive his work again;
Glory, honour, and salvation,
Christ the Lord is come to reign.
3 Come, dear children, praise your Jesus,
Praise him, praise him evermore;
May his great love now constrain us,
His great name for to adore;
O then let us join together,
Crowns of glory to obtain;
Glory, honour, and salvation,
Christ the Lord has come to reign,
HYMN 13. P. M.
1 SINNER, hear the Saviour's call,
He now is passing by;
He has seen thy grievous thrall,
And heard thy mournfu: cry;
He has pardons to impart,
Grace to save thee from thy fears,
See the love that fills his heart,
And wipes away thy tears.
2 Why art thou afraid to come,
And tell him all thy case?
He will not pronounce thy doom,
Nor frown thee from his face :
Wilt thou fear Immanuel ?
Wilt thou fear the Lamb of God,
Who to save thy soul from hell,
Has shed his precious blood?
3 Think, how on the cross he hung,
Pierc'd with a thousand wounds
Hark from each, as with a tongue,
The voice of pardon sounds!
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