T. 16.

621.* CHURCH of Christ, thy destination Is to joy in him by faith; He hath purchas'd thy salvation, He hath ransom'd thee from death.

2 Sin-sick souls, repair for healing To his stripes and bleeding wounds; Then retain a grateful feeling Of the grace which there abounds. 3 In all wants, in all distresses, Thence deriving sure relief; Looking daily unto Jesus,

Who to gladness turns your grief; 4 Join his church in this confession: “I am sinful, weak and poor, But my Saviour's birth and passion

Prove to me the richest store."

5" Nought but Jesus' grace, his merit,

And his blood-bought righteousness, Is the cause why I inherit

Life and peace and holiness."

6 Jesus' death thy strength abideth,
Church of Philadelphia;

He who in ought else confideth
Goes Laodicea's way.

622. T. 164.

O THOU, who out of sin's dark night
Hast us, thy children, called;

And hast thy glorious gospel-light
Unto our hearts revealed;
Abas'd with shame we all

Before thee humbly fall,

And render for electing grace
To thee, Lord Jesus, thanks and praise.
2 The patience, love, unweary'd care,
Abundant grace and blessing,
Thou dost bestow from year to year,
Is truly past expressing;
Great mercy thou hast shown
To us, we freely own,

Yet hath thy aim, most faithful Friend,
With us not fully been obtain'd.
A a

3 What rich returns of thankfulness

From us might be expected! Who, that we might show forth thy praise

Have been thro' grace elected;
But here we blush for shame,
Unworthy of the name

We bear, while of our heav'nly call
As yet so very short we fall.

4 May we show forth continually,
In our whole conversation,
What we to others testify

Of thee and thy salvation; May all men in us see, Our words and works agree, Then shall we of redeeming love To others a sweet savor prove. 5 But are there such among us still,

Whose hearts thy love ne'er warmed, Who, tho' their wretched state they feel, Are not thereby alarmed;

rouse them from death's sleep, That they may pray and weep, And flee as sinners to thy wounds, Where, for the vilest, grace abounds.

623.* T. 126.

TO God the great Creator,
The Lord of earth and heav'n,
Who rules all things in nature,
Eternal praise be giv'n:

That blessed Lamb, which John once

saw

We now revere with awe.

As if it had been slaughter'd,

2 Thou ransom'd church of Jesus,
The Saviour's happy bride,
Arise, show forth his praises
Who for thee bled and dy'd;
Ye, tho' a people poor and mean,
Of God are highly honor'd,
Because the Lamb was slain.
3 In our degree and measure

His love we will proclaim;
In lowliness with pleasure

Yield service to his name ; The church with tender care he'll guide, And will in ev'ry trial Our sure Support abide.

THE happy church of Christ
Stands to this very day;
Those who are chosen daily find
To her an open way.

2 Lord Jesus, when we trace
Thy gracious call and aim
With us thy flock, we render praise
Unto thy holy name.

3 Thou open'st us a door,

Our little strength thou know'st, Assist us, Lord, we thee implore, To call to thee the lost.

630.* T. 583.

HOW bold and vain th' attempt to overthrow

The blessed church of Jesus Christ below!

For Salem's bulwarks, holy walls and tow'rs,

Shall stand in spite of all opposing pow'rs.

633.* T. 79.

THOU know'st, the congregation Hath thee for her foundation, Whate'er the world may say;

Grant us to cleave for ever

To thee our faithful Saviour,

638.* T. 161.

JESUS, hear our supplication,

'Tis thy pleasure

Those to bless, who to thee cleave: Grant us stronger demonstration Of thy favor,

XXXII.

644.* T. 121. LORD Jesus, by thy death,

Whereon we trust by faith,
Thy wounds, thy pierced side,
Thy agony and sweat,

Preserve the church, thy bride,
Till thou com'st again,
Prince of life once slain ! :||:

645.* T. 166.

HIGH on his everlasting throne,

The Lord of hosts his work surveys, He marks the souls which are his own,

And smiles on his peculiar race; He rests well pleas'd their toil to see, Beneath his easy yoke they move, With all their heart and strengthragree In the sweet labor of his love.

2 His eye the world at once looks thro' A vast uncultivated field,

Mountains and vallies meet his view,
And all a barren prospect yield;
Clear'd of the thorns by civil care,
A few less dreary wastes are seen,
Yet still they all continue bare,
And not one spot of earth is

green.