His flesh with rugged irons tore, 2 Surprised the spectacle to see, Why thus consign'd to woes? I cried 3 A Christ for rebel mortal dies! 4 Lord, since thy life thou'st freely given W HYMN 5. L. M. 1 WHEN I survey the wond'rous cross 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. IY The incarnate Son of God, ONDER-amazing sight! I see Expiring on the accursed tree, 2 Behold a purple torrent run, Down from his hands and head: 3 The trembling earth, the darken'd sky 4 So great, so vast a sacrifice If God's own Son thus bleeds and dies, 50 that these cords of love divine, HYMN 7. P. M. "M tired with visits, modes and forms, 'I'And flatt'ries paid to fellow worms; Their conversation cloys: Their vain amours and empty stuff: Of thy best company, my Lord, thou life of all my joys. When he begins to tell his love, Through every vein my passions move, In midnight shades, on frosty ground, Nor should I feel December cold, nor think the darkness long. There while I hear my Saviour God He bore upon the tree, Inward I blush with secret shame, And weep, and love, and bless the name, 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, 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, 1 And bids me pour my sorrows there, Thus while I ease my burthen'd heart, His arms embrace me, and his hand my droop ing head sustains. THE HYMN 8. P. M. THROUGHOUT the Saviour's life we trace "Till on the cross he bow'd his head, 2 On the cold ground methinks I see Seiz'd with a chilly sweat throughout, 3 The piercing thorns his temples bore, 4 Thus up the hill he painful came, Round him they mock'd and made their game: 5 Thus veiled in humanity, He dies in anguish on the tree; Shout, brethren, shout in songs divine, TH HYMN 9. P. M. HOU sweet gliding Kedron, by thy silver stream, 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 Oh, give him the glory, the praise that is meet; And join the loud Anthem that gladdens the How damp were the vapours that fell on his head, 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. AWAKENING AND INVITING. 13 3 O Garden of Onvet-dear honour'd spot, 1 HYMN 10. L. M. STRETCH'D on the cross the Saviour dies; Where mingling grief and wonder flow, 5 Come, dearest Lord, thy grace impart, AWAKENING AND INVITING HYMN 11. P. M. STOP, poor sinne.! stop and think, Can you sport upon the brink Of everlasting wo? Hell beneath 18 gaping wide, Vengeance waits the dread command; Soon he'll stop your sport and pride, And sink you with the damn'd. |