HYMN 75. The Apostolic Benediction. MAY the grace of Christ our Saviour, BAPTISM. HYMN 76. Children devoted to God. 1 THUS saith the mercy of the Lord, "I'll be a God to thee; 2 3 4 "I'll bless thy numerous race, and they Abraham believ'd the promis'd grace, Thus Lydia sanctified her house, Thus later saints, eternal King, To thee their infant offspring bring, 1 2 3 4 5 HYMN 77. God's promise to Abraham. HOW large the promise, how divine, "I'll be a God to thee and thine, 66 Supplying all their need." The words of this extensive love The Angel of the covenant proves, Jesus the ancient faith confirms, Pour out thy Spirit on them, Lord, Thus to the parents and their seed And numerous households meet at last HYMN 78. Christ's regard to little children. 1 SEE Israel's gentle Shepherd stand, With all-engaging charms! 2 Hark, how he calls the tender lambs, "Permit them to approach," he cries, "For 'twas to bless such souls as these "The Lord of angels came." 3 4 We bring them, Lord, by fervent prayer, Ye little flock, with pleasure hear; CONFIRMATION. HYMN 79. Prayer for the young. 1 GRACE is a plant, where'er it grows, 2 3 4 Ye careless ones, O hear betimes The voice of sovereign love! Your youth is stain'd with many crimes, For you the public prayer is made, the secret tear is shed, O shed yourselves a tear! We pray that you may early prove You cannot be too young to love HYMN 80. Intercession for children about to be confirmed. 1 2 3 4 1 2 3 LOOK down, O Lord, and on our youth Soon to appear before thy sight, And join themselves to Christ the Lord! HYMN 81. The young invited to Christ. YE hearts with youthful vigour warm, He, Lord of all the worlds on high, "The soul that longs to see my face, "Is sure my love to gain; "And those that early seek my grace, 4 What object, Lord, my soul should move, If once compar'd with thee? 5 What beauty should command my love, Away, ye false delusive toys, 2 3 4 LORD'S SUPPER. HYMN 82. Christ's dying love. HOW condescending and how kind Our misery reach'd his heavenly mind, He sunk beneath our heavy woes, There's not a gift his hand bestows, Now though he reigns exalted high, Well he remembers Calvary; Nor let his saints forget. Here let our hearts begin to melt, And with our joy for pardon'd guilt, |