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Now he's crowned with a rainbow,

Brighter than a sardine stone;
He comes, he comes, the Christian sees him,
Seated on his great white throne.

Hallelujah! Hallelujah,
Hark the Herald Angels sing,
Join us Seraphs! Join us Seraphs,

Join to praise our conquering King, 4 Jesus saves us from temptation,

Sin and Satan, Death and Hell,
And he bought our great salvation :

Glory to Immanuel.
Once a dying on a mountain,

There his precious blood did run;
Now he's brought us to the fountain,
Springing from his Father's throne.

Give him glory, give him glory,
Let all heaven begin to sing,
Glory, glory, glory, glory,
Through eternal ages ring.

HYMN 152. P. M.

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Methinks 'tis Jubal's trump I hear,
Long look'd for now has come ;
It shakes the heavens, the earth, the sea,
Proclaims the year of Jubilee,

Return ye exiles home.
2 Behold the new Jerusalem,
Illuminated by the Lamb,

In glory doth appear.
Fair Žion rising from the tomb.
To meet the bridegroom now he's come

And hail the jubil' year.
3 King Jesus takes her to his arms-
Transported with his glorious charms,

She thus begins to sing : From tears, and sighs, and groans, and pains, She soars where joy immortal reigns,

To view the rosy spring. 4 As larks and linnets swectly sing,

While hills and valleys round them ring,

'Scaped from the fowler's snare, One thousand years she here shall dweli, While Satan is chained down in hell,

Which ends the jubil' year. 5 The dragon is let loose once more, And round the earth his trumpets roar,

He's now for war again;
But he that sits upon the throne,
Drives Satan and his legions down,

Into the fiery main. 6 T'he seventh trumpet you shall hear, A great white throne shall then appear,

Ten thousand angels round:
An angel turns the moon to blood,
Puts out the sun, consumes the flood,

And burns the solid ground. 7 Arise ye nations and come forth, From east and west and north and south,

Behold the Judge is come:
What horror fills the guilty breast,
Compellid to stand the solemn test,

And hear the awful doom.
8 Depart ye cursed, go down to hell,
With howling fiends for ever dwell,

No more to see my face;
My glorious gospel you've withstood,
And set at nought my precious blood,

And scoff d at sovereign grace. 9 See parents and their children part, Some shout for joy, some bleed in heart,

Never to meet again;
In fiery chariots Zion flies,
And quickly gains the upper skies,
On Canaan's happy plain.

HYMN 153. C. M.
EHOLD the man, threescore and ten,

1 Be Upon a dying


He's run his race, and got no grace,

An awful sight indeed. 2 Poor man he lies, in sore surprise And thus he doth complain ;


No grace I've got, and I cannot

Recall my time again. 3 This is the truth, I've spent my youth,

In sinful sports and mirth; Put far away the evil day,

And scarcely thought on death. 4 My conscience then, could not refrain,

But gave me many a check; But wilfully I put him by,

His voice I did reject. 5 God's spirit came, once and again,

To me from realms above; Alas! but I would not compiy;

I grieved the heav'nly dove. 6 In middle age, I did engage

In the affairs of life; Some wealth to gain, that might sustain

My children and my wife.
7 This worldly care, did prové a snare,

The devil led me on;
And now, alas, this is the case,

My day of grace is gone.
8 My sins are all, both great and small,

Before my fixed eye;
And I must go to endless wo,

To burn eternally.
9 O dreadful hell, where I must dwell,

God's vengealice reigneth there ; I yield my breath to cruel death,

In horror and despair.
10 My glass is run, and I'm undone,

No mercy can I find :
And instantly the man doth die,

And leave no hope behind.
11 An awful sight, God grant it might,

A warning be to all,
To seek God's face for saving grace,

And hearken to his call.


HYMN 154. P. M. 1

Behold thy light is come;
Thy glorious conquering king is near,

To take his exiles home :
The trumpet sounding through the sky,

To set poor sinners free;
The day of wonder now is nigh,

The year of jubilee.
2 Ye heralds blow your trumpets loud ;

The earth must know her doom ;
Go spread the news from pole to pole,

Behold the judge is come:
Blow out the sun I burn up the earth!

Consume the rolling flood!
While every star shall disappear,

Go turn the moon to blood!
3 Arise ye nations under ground,

Before the judge appear;
All tongues and

languages shall come,
Their final doom to hear!
King Jesus on his dazzling throne,

Ten thousand angels round,
And Gabriel with a silver trump,

Echo's the awful sound.
4 The glorious news of gospel grace

To sinners now is o'er ;
The trump in Zion now is still,

And to be heard no more!
The watchinen all have left their walls,

And with their flocks above,
On Canaan's peaceful shore they sing,
And shout redeeming love.

HYMN 155. P. M.

With all the dead awake,
Unto salvation wise,

Oil in your vessels take;
Upstarting at the midnight cry,
Behold your heavenly Father nigh.

Yvirgin souls arise,

2 He comes, he comes, to call

The nations to his bar,
And take to glory all
• Who meet for glory are;
Make ready for your full reward,

Go forth with joy to meet your Lord. 3 Go meet him in the sky,

Your everlasting friend-
Your head to glorify

With all his saints ascend.
Ye pure in heart, obtain the grace.

To see, without a veil, his face.
4 Ye that have here received

The unction from above,
And in his spirit lived,

And thirsted for his love;
Jesus shall claim you for his bride;

Rejoice with all the sanctified.
5 Rejoice in glorious hope

Of that great day, unknown,
When you shall be caught up

To stand before his throne;-
Call'd to partake the marriage feast,

And lean on your Immanuel's breast. 6 The everlasting doors

Shall soon the saints receive,
With seraphs, thrones, and powers,

In glorious joy to live:
And far from sorrow, pain and sin,

With God eternally shut in.
7 Then let us wait to hear

The trumpet's welcome sound;
To see our Lord appear,

May we be watching found !
Enrobed in righteousness divine
In which the bride shall ever shine.

JIYMN 156. L. M.
VHOUGH in the outward church below

The wheat and tares together grow;
Jesus ere long will weed the crop,
And pluck the tares in anger up:

For soon the reaping time will come,
And angels shout the harvest home.


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