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2 Will it relieve their horrors there,

To recollect their stations here;
How much they heard, how much they knew,
How much among the wheat they grew?

For soon the reaping time, &c. 3 Oh! this will aggravate their case,

They perishd under means of grace;
To them the word of life, and faith,
Became an instrument of death.

And soon, &c. 4 We seem alike when thus we meet;

Strangers might think we all were wheat;
But to the Lord's all-searching eyes,
Each heart appears without disguise.

And soon, &c. 5 The tares are spar'd for various ends;

Some for the sake of praying friends;
Others, the Lord against their will,
Employs his counsels to fulfil.

But soon, &c. 6 But though they grow so tall and strong,

His plan will not require them long;
In harvest when he saves his own,
The tares shall into hell be thrown.

For soon, &c. 7 Most awful thought, and is it so,

Must all mankind the harvest know?
Is every man a wheat or tare?
Me for that harvest, Lord, prepare.

For soon the reaping time, &c.

HYMN 157. P. M.
1 EE the eternal Judge descending,

Seated on his Father's throne;
Now poor sinner, Christ will show thee
That he's with the Father one:

Trumpets call thee,

Stand and hear thy awful doom. 2 Hear the sinner now lamenting;

At the sight of fiercer pain; Cries and tears he now is venting,

But he weeps and cries in vain;

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3 Yonder sits my slighted Saviour,
With the marks of dying love:
Ol that I had sought his favour,
When I felt his spirit move 1
Doom'd I’m justly,
For I have against him strove.

4 All his wooing I have slighted,
While he daily sought my soul,
If my vows to him I plighted,
Yet, for sin I broke them all:
Golden moments, -
How neglected did they roll!

5 There I see my godly neighbours,
Who were once despis'd by me,
Now they're clad in dazzling splendour,
Waiting my sad fate to see;
Farewell neighbours—
Dismal gulf I'm bound for thee.

6 Haill ye ghosts that dwell in darkness,
Groaning, rattling of your chains!
Christ has now pronounc'd my sentence,
I’m to dwell in endless pains;
Down I'm rolling,
Never to return again.

7 Now experience plainly shows me,
Hell is not a fabled thing;
Now I see my friends in glory,
Round the throne they ever sing—
I'm tormented
With an everlasting sting.

HYMN 158. P. M.

1 HE fields are all white, the harvest is near, The Angels all with their sharp sickles appear; To reap down the wheat and gather it in barns;

who, the wild plants of nature are left for to urn.

* Qome then, 9 my soul meditate on that day, When all things in nature shall cease and decay;

When the trumpet shall sound, the angels appear,

To reap down the earth, both the wheat and the tare.

3 Then hear the sad wailing ascend to the sky, Of those in distress that have no where to fly; On the rocks and the mountains they anxiously call, Theft souls and their sins to o'erwhelm by their all.

4 But all be in vain, the mountains will ee,

The rocks fly like hailstones, and shall no more

The earth it shall shake— the seas shall retire, And the works of creation shall all be on fire.

5 But hear the great Judge, in that dread alarm, Saying, gather my saints, bring them all to my arms, That the seven last plagues may be poured out on those, Who have blasphem'd my name, and my saints who oppose.

6 Then O, wretched sinners, look up and espy,
The glorious Redeemer descend from the sky,
In a chariot of fire to the earth he is bound,
With a guard of bright angels attending around.

7 Come hither ye nations, your sentence receive, No longer my spirit shall strive and be griev'd : My sentence is right, my judgment is just, Come hither ye blest but depart all ye curst.

8 O sinners take warning, and seek ye the Lord, I have not been jesting, 'tis Jesus' own word, That those who believe, in glory shall stand, While all unbelievers are sure to be damn'd.

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HYMN 159, P. M.

Jesús comes the Judge severe,
Hell is trembling, earth is quaking-
Sinners shriek with awful fear!

Come to judgınent!

Stand your awful doom to hear.
2 See the world in flames now burning,

Hills and mountains fly away;
The moon in blood—the stars all falling;
Comets blazing through the sky;

Thunders rolling!

Sinners now for succour cry. 3 From the general conflagration,

Mount ihe righteous up on high!
Gain the hope of their salvation,
Live with God no more to die.

Glory to the Lamb they cry.
4 Stop, my soul, look back and wonder,

See the wicked left behind-
Hear them crying, weeping, wailing,
For a moment's ease to find.

Doom'd to sorrow !
In the lake of hell confined.

HYMN 160. P. M. * DONT you see my Jesus

coming? Don't you see him in yonder cloud, With ten thousand angels round him?

See how they do my Jesus crowd ! 2 Don't you see his arms extended ?

Don't you bear his charming voice ? Each loving heart beats high for glory:

Ohl my Jesus is my choice. 3 Don't you see the saints ascending?

Hear them shouting through the air ? Jesus smiling, trumpets sounding,

Now his glory they shall share. 4 Don't you see the heav'ns open,

And the saints in glory there?

Shouts of triumph bursting round you,

Glory, glory, glory here! 5 Come backsliders, though you've pierc'd him

And have caus'd his church to mourn; Yet you may regain free pardon,

If you will to him return. 6 Now behold each loving spirit,

Shout the praise of his dear name; View the smiles of their dear Jesus,

While his presence feeds the flame. 7 There we'll range the fields of pleasure

By our dear Redeemer's side: Shouting glory, glory, glory,

While eternal ages glide.


HYMN 161. L. M. 1

Down from the mansions of glory descends; Shepherds go worship the Babe in the manger,

Lo! for his guard the bright angels attends.
Kindest and best of the sons of the morning,

Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid;
Star in the east, the horizon adorning,

Guide where our infant Redeemer was laid. 2 Cold on his cradle, the dew drops are shining,

Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall; Angels adore him, in slumber reclining,

Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour, and all, 3 Say, shall we yield him a costly devotion,

Odours of Eden, or offering divine, Gems from the mountains and pearls from the


Myrrh from the forest, and gold from the mine. 4 Vainly we offer each ample oblation,

All these can never bis favour secure; Richer by far is the heart's adoration,

Dearest to God, are the prayers of the poor

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