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2 Follow to the judgment hall,
View the Lord of life arraign'd;
Oh, the pangs His soul sustain'd!
God's own sacrifice complete:
4 Early hasten to the tomb
Where they laid His breathless clay-
Who hath taken Him away?
Christ is risen; He meets our eyes!
Saviour, teach us so to rise.
PILGRIM through this lonely world,
A mourner all His life was He,
2 That tender heart, which felt for all,
It found on earth no resting-place,
3 Such was our Lord; and shall we fear
Or love a faithless, evil world,
That wreath'd His brow with thorn?
No: facing all its frowns or smiles,
We homeward press, through storm or calm,
5 Dead to the world, with Him who died
We, risen with our risen Head,
C. M. Double.
when we the path
Which Thou on earth hast trod;
To man Thy wondrous love and grace,
Thy love, by man so sorely tried,
2 Faithful amid unfaithfulness,
Thou didst Thy Father's name confess,
Or suff'ring, shame, and loss:
3 O Lord! with sorrow and with shame,
How little we, who bear Thy name,
And all our rest and pleasure find
BEHOLD, the blind their sight receive!
Behold, the dead awake and live!
The dumb speak wonders, and the lame
Behold the Lord ascending high,
AND didst Thou, Jesus, condescend,
When veil'd in human
To heal the sick, the lame, the blind,
2 Didst Thou regard the beggar's cry,
3 And didst Thou pity mortal woe,
4 Didst Thou thy trembling servant raise,
I perish, Lord; oh, save my soul;
HIS SUFFERINGS AND DEATH.
IS midnight; and on Olive's brow
'Tis midnight; in the garden now
The suffering Saviour prays alone.
Heeds not his Master's grief and tears.
4 T is midnight; and from ether-plains
pale beams [stray, Shone bright on the waters, would frequently And lose in thy murmurs the toils of the day. 2 How damp were the vapors 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 solemn delight.
3 Oh, garden of Olives, thou dear, honor'd spot, The fame of thy wonders shall ne'er be forgot; The theme most transporting to seraphs above; The triumph of sorrow- the triumph of love. Come, saints, and adore Him; come, bow at His feet;
Oh, give Him the glory, the praise that is meet; Let joyful hosannas unceasing arise,
And join the full chorus that gladdens the skies.
HEN I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of glory died, My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride. 2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God; All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood.
3 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? 4 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.
LAS! and did my Saviour bleed