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Mercies multiply'd each hour

Through the week our praise demand; Guarded by Almighty pow'r,

Fed and guided by his hand :
Though ungrateful we have been,
Only made returns of sin
When the morn shall bid us rise,

May we feel thy presence near !
May thy glory meet our eyes

When we in thy house appear!
There afford us, Lord, a taste
Of our everlasting feast.
Hay thy gospel's joyful sound

Conquer sinners, comfort saints;
Make the fruits of grace abound,

Bring relief for all complaints : Thus may

all our Sabbaths prove, Till we join the church above!


John xx. 19.

WELCOME, sweet day of rest,

That saw the Lord arise ; Welcome to this reviving breast, And these rejoicing eyes.

The King himself comes near,

And feasts His saints to day;
Here may we meet—and see Him here,
And love and praise and pray.
One day amidst the place

Where my dear God hath been,
Is sweeter than ten thousand days

Of pleasurable sin.
My willing soul would stay

In such a frame as this,
And sit and sing herself away

To everlasting bliss.

CCXCI. " This is the day which the Lord hath made ; we will

rejoice and be glad in it.”—Psalm cxviii. 24.
ANOTHER week begins,

The day we call the Lord's;
This day He rose who bore our sins,

For so his Word records.

Come then, ye saints, and sing

Of Christ, our ris n Lord;
of Christ, the everlasting King,

Of Christ, the incarnate word.

This is a glorious theme

On which the angels dwell;
How precious should the subjeet seem,

To sinners saved from hell.

We cannot sing too loud,

Whom God hath deign'd to call;
To other gods we lately bowed,

But He hath pardoned all.

Hail, mighty Saviour, bail,

Who tillist the throne above;
Ti'l heart and flesh together fail,

We'll sing thy endless love.

And when these tongues no more

On any theme can move;
With other tongues we'll sing thy pow'r,

And all thy goodness prove.


Hebrews iv. 3,

Sixca Christ, our Lord is crucified,

And all our sins did bear,
In the blest Sabbath of his rest

May we his servants share.

Thou, Lord, dost daily feed thy sheep;

Yet there's a weekly feast,
When in thy name thy servants meet,

A day of sacred rest.

Mysterious are the cords of love,

Which bind us to be free,
Free from the bondage of the law,

Yet in a law to Thee.

We come, and wait, and hear, and

pray, And long to see Thy face; We sing, because we love the way,

And praise redeeming grace.
We prize and value, Lord, this day,

And hope to taste thy love;
But what a glorious day is that,

When we shall meet above!

CCXCIII. “ Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given."

-Isaiah ix. 6.
We'll sing, though all should scorn,

Our theme is come from heaven;
To us a child is born;

To us a son is given.

The sweetest ne'vs that ever came,
We'll sing tho' all the world should blame.

The long expected morn,

Has dawned upon the earth ; The Saviour, Christ, is born,

And angels sing his birth. We'll join the bright seraphic throng, We'll share their joy and swell their song.

We'll sing of love divine,

Of grace to guilty man; No wisdom Lord, but thine,

Could form the wondrous plan; Could find a way tɔ save the lost, Thyself not ceasing to be just.

Oh, 'tis a lofty theme,

Supplied by angel's tongues; All other subjects seem

Unworthy of our songs. This sacred theme has boundless charms, It fills, it captivates, it warms.

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