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His flesh with rugged irons tore,
Gasping in dying pangs.
In such exquisite pain? Why thus consign'd to woes? I cried “ 'Tis I," the bleeding God rèplied,
"To save a world from sin." 3 A Christ for rebel mortal dies ! How can it be! my soul replies,
What! Jesus die for me? “Yes," saith the suff'ring Son of God, "I give my life, I spill my blood,
For thee, poor soul, for thee." 4. Lord, since thy life thou'st freely given To bring my wretched soul to heaven,
And bless me with thy love; Then at thy feet, O God, I'll fall. Give thee my life, my soul, my all, To reign with thee above.
HYMN 5. L. M. 1
On which the prince of glory died My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride! Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ, my God: All the vain things that charm me mos
I sacrifice them to thy blood. 2 See from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down: Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown? Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small : Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.
HYMN 6. C. M.
'YONDER-amazing sight! see
Expiring on the accursed tree,
And welt'ring in his blood. 2 Behold a purple torrent run,
Down from his hands and head: The crimson tide puts out the sun!
His groans awake the dead.
Proclaim the truth aloud;
“This is the Son of God." 4 So great, so vast a sacrifice
May well my hopes revive:
The sinner sure may live.
Might draw me, Lord, to thee!
HYMN 7. P. M.
Their conversation cloys: Their vain amours and empty stuff: But I can ne'er enjoy enough Of thy beut company, my Lord, thou life of all
my joys. & When he begins to tell his love, Through every vein iny passions move,
The captives of his tongue : In midnight shades, on frosty ground, I could attend the pleasing sound, Nor should I feel December cold, nor think the
He bore upon the tree,
it all for me.
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 triumphıs 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.
HYMN 8. P. M.
Nothing but shame and deep distress,
Caus'd by the creature's sin.
For this I him adore;
Through every opening pore
3 The piercing thorns his temples bore,
Till one the bones might see;
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?
What his grief can tell ?
When the Redeemer fell.
To quench our parching thirst : Seraphs advance your voices higher, Bride of the Lamb unite the choir, And laud the precious Christ.
HYMN 9. P. M. 1 THOU sweet gliding Kedron, by thy silver
stream, Our Saviour at midnight, when Cynthia's pale
skies. How damp were the vapours that fell on his
head, How hard was his pillow, how humble his bed! The Angels, astonishid, grew sad at the sight, And follow'd their master with silent delight.
AWAKENING AND INVITING. 13 3 O Garden of Onivet-dear honour'd sput,
The fame of thy wonders shall ne'er be forgot ;
HYMN 10. L. M.
Hark! lis expiring groans arise! See, from his hands, his feet, bis side.
Runs down the sacred crimson tido ! 2 But life attends the dreadful sound,
And flows from every bleeding wound;
To save and cleanse his rebel fces !
And could the sun behold the deed ?
And darkness veil'd the mourning day. 4 Can I survey this scene of wo,
Where mingling grief and wonder flow,
Insensible to love or pain ?
To warm this cold, unfeeling heart;
AWAKENING AND INVITING
HYMN 11. P. M. 1 OP, poor sinnu. ! stop and think,
Before you fart her go!
Of everlasting wo?
Vengeance waits the dread command;
And sink you with the damn'd.