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402.

L. M. Six Line.
Imploring divine mercy. Psa. cxxx.
1 OUT of the depth of sad distress,

The gloomy mazes of despair,
To heaven we raise our warm address;

Deign, O our God! to hear our prayer : O let thine ear indulge our grief,

For thine indulgence is relief. 2 Shouldst thou, O God! minutely scan

Our faults and as severely chide ; No mortal seed of sinful man

Could such a scrutiny abide : But mercy shines in all thy ways,

Bright theme of universal praise ! 3 With longing eyes we seek the Lord,

Before his throne our souls attend: Firmly on his eternal word

Our faith is fix’d, our hopes depend : On wings of love our souls shall rise

In contemplation to the skies. 4 Ye pious minds! on God rely:

With full assurance in him trust; He sends redemption from on high,

And raises sinners from dust: He will forgive the contrite heart, And life, eternal life impart.

403.

C. M.

A Communion Hymn.
1 O GOD! accept the sacred hour

Which we to thee have given;
And let this hallow'd scene have power

To raise our souls to heaven.

2 Still let us bold till life departs,

The precepts of thy Son,
Nor let our thoughtless, thankless hearts

Forget what he has done.
3 His true disciples may we live,

From all corruption free,
And humbly learn like him to give

Our powers, our wills to Thee,
4 And oft along life's dangerous way,

To smooth our passage through, Wilt thou, on this thy holy day,

For us this scene renew.

404. L. M. On the dangerous Sickness of a Minister. 10 THOU, before whose gracious throne

We bow our suppliant spirits down!
Thou know'st the anxious cares we feel,
And all our trembling lips would tell.
Thou only canst assuage our grief,
And give our sorrowing hearts relief;
In mercy, then thy servant spare,

Nor turn aside thy people's prayer. 2. Avert thy desolating stroke,

Nor smite the shepherd of the flock;
Restore him, sinking to the grave,
Stretch out thine arm, make haste to save!
Bound to each soul by tender ties,
In every heart his image lies ;
Thy pitying aid, O God! impart,

Nor rend him from each bleeding heart. 3 But if our supplications fail,

And prayers and tears cannot prevail,
Be thou his strength, be thou his stay:
Support him through the gloomy way.

Around him may thine angels stand,
Waiting the signal of thy hand,
To bid his happy spirit rise,
And bear him to their native skies,

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All Nature joining in the praise of God. 1 BEGIN the high, celestial strain,

My ravish'd soul, and sing
A solemn hymn of grateful praise

To heaven's almighty King ;
2 Ye curling fountains, as you roll

Your silver waves along, Whisper to all your verdant shores

The subject of my song.
3 Retain it long, ye echoing rocks !

The sacred sound retain ;
And from your hollow-winding caves

Return it oft again. 4 Bear it, ye winds, on all your wings

To distant climes away;
And round the wide-extended world

My lofty theme convey. 5 Long let it warble round the spheres,

And echo through the sky,
Till angels, with immortal skill,

Improve the harmony.
6 While I, with sacred rapture fir'd,

The bless'd Creator sing,
And warble consecrated lays

To heaven's almighty King:

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Praise.

1 HARK! what distant music melts upon the ear! So sweet the tones, the symphonies so clear! Some seraph sure has touch'd his golden lyre, And praise resounds through all the heavenly choir. Ye mortals, catch the soul-commanding sound; Learn the bless'd theme, and chant the chorus round.

2 O could our strains the rapturous notes combine,

Then should our grateful anthems pour along

The smoothing, swelling harmonies of song; And every breast would glow with Love Divine ! Most gracious God, thy humble suppliants hear;

Accept the tributary lays we bring : Thy power we own; thy majesty revere;

Thy goodness celebrate; thy glories sing. And oh! may all in one grand concert raise To Thee hosannas of unceasing praise.

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Sounding of the last Trumpet.

1 JESUS, all hail ! thou risen Saviour, hail ! At thy command the seventh trump shall sound, The sun retire, the moon, the stars turn pale, And heaven, and earth, and sea, no more be found.

2 Rous'd at thy word, the slumbering nations rise i The dead, who live not till the trump be blown, Lift up to Thee their

supplicating eyes, And they who pierc'd Thee, weep at mercy's throne.

On all their sins the cleansing fountain rolls, Their robes are wash'd in thine all-saving blood; The Fount of Life supplies their thirsty souls, And every nation drinks the living flood.

4 Bath'd in the crimson stream of Love Divine, With tears of joy, in ecstasy, they cry: “The east, the west, the south, the north, are thine, From everlasting, thine, we shall not die.”

5 “All souls are mine ; all live to God in me, The first the last, the last the first proclaim ; Jew, Gentile, Greek, barbarian, bond or free, Are one new man, and bear Immanuel's name.”

8 S.

408. P. M.

Praise. Rev. xv. 4. Psa. lxviii. 32. 1 THIS God is the God we adore,

Our faithful, unchangeable Friend, Whose love is as great as his power,

And neither knows measure nor end. 2 'Tis Jesus, the first and the last,

Whose spirit shall guide us safe home; We'll praise Him for all that is past,

And trust Him for all that's to come.

409.

C. M.

Praise to the Redeemer.
1 PLUNG'D in a gulf of dark despair

We wretched sinners lay,
Without one cheering beam of hope,

Or spark of glimmering day.

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