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Look, as when thy Grace behe

The S Harlot in Distress,
Dry'd her Tears, her Pardon feald,

And bad her go in Peace :
Foul like her, and self-abhor'd,

I at thy Feet for Mercy groan-
Turn &c.

V.
Look, as when condemnd for them,

Thou didst thy Foll'wers fee, 5 Daughters of Jerusalem |

“ Weep for yourselves not me:"". Am I by my God deplor'd !

And shall I'nut myself bemoan-
Turn &c.

VI.
Look, as.when thy languid Eye

Was clos'd that we might live ;
« FATHER ! (at the Point to die I

My Saviour galp'd) forgive ! Surely with that dying Word,

He turns and looks, and cries "tis done" O my bleeding-loving LORO !

Thou break’t mine Heart of Stone !

H Y M N LXXX.
Praise to the REDEEMER.

I.
LUNG’D in.a Gulph of dark Despair

We wretched Sinners lay,
Without one chearful Beam of Hope,

Or Spark of glimm’ring Day.
Luke vii. 50. Luke xxiii. 28. I Luke

xxiii 34. former Part.

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II.
With pitying Eyes, the Prince of Grace

Beheld our helpless Grief ;
He faw, and (O amazing Love !)
He came to our Relief.

III.
Down from the shining Seats above,

With joyful Hafte he fled,
Enter'd the Grave in mortal Flesh,

And dwelt among the Dead.

IV.

Oh ! for this Love lets Rocks and Hills

Their lasting Silence break,
And all harmonious huinan Tongues,
The Saviour's Praises speak !

V.
Angels affist our mighty Joys,

Serike all your Harps of Gold;
But when you raise your highest Notes

His Love can ne'er be told !

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Know that the LORD is God alone!
He can create, and He destroy.

II.
His fou'reign Pow'r, without our Aid,

Made us of Clay, and form'd us Men;

And

And when like wand'ring Sheep we stray'd,
He brought us to his Fold again.

III.
We'll crowd thy Gates with thankful Songs,

High as the Heav'ns our Voices raise;
And Earth with her ten thousand Tongues
Shall fill thy Courts with sounding Praise.

IV.
Wide as the World is thy Command,

Vast as Eternity thy Love,
Firm as a Rock thy Truth must stand,

When rolling Years fhall cease to move.

H Y M N LXXXII.

Humiliation.

Sin,

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And born unholy and unclean ;
Sprung from the Man, whose guilty Fall
Corrupts the Race, and taints us alí.

Soon as we draw our Infant-Breath,
The Seeds of Sin grow up for Death !
Thy Law demands a perfect Heart,
But we're defil'd in ev'ry Part.

III.

Behold ! we fall before thy Face ;
Our only Refuge is thy Grace ;
No outward Forms can make us clean,
The Leprosy lies deep within.

IV.
Jesus, our God! thy Blood alone
Hath Pow'r sufficient to atone;
LORD! let us hear thy pard’ning Voice,
And make our down-cast Hearts rejoice!

HYMN LXXXIII.

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PSA L M cl,

I.
RAISE the LORD, who reigns abovey

And keeps his * Court below,
Praise the holy God of Love,

And all his Greatnefs fhew : Praise him for his noble Deeds,

Praise him for his matchless Pow'r ;
Him from whom all Good proceeds,
Let Earth and Heaven adore.

II.
Publish, spread to All around,

The great IMMANUEL's Name,
Let the Trumpets martial Sound,

HIM LORD of Hosts proclaim: Praise him ev'ry tuneful String,

All the Reach of heav'nly Art,
All the Powers of Music bring,
The Music of the Heart.

III.
Him, in whom they move, and live,

Let every Creature fing,
Glory to their Maker give,

And Homage to their King : Hallow'd be his Name beneath,

As in Heaven on Earth ador'd, Praife the Lord in every Breath;

Let all Things praise the LORD!

I

HYMN

Zech, jii. 7.

H Y M N LXXXIV.

PSA L M xcix. 1.

I.
OD is King, ye Lands rejoice,

Lift, ye Illes, a thankful Voice;
Ev'ry Throne by His contrould,
Well secures the passive World.

II.
Higher than the Sons of Pride,
He bids raging Waves subside;
Whate'er Strifes the Nations fill,
The Whole centers to his Will.

III.
O how deep his Counsel lies ! *
How unfathomably wise !
Ev'ry Way his Will is done,
Ev'ry Way his Pow'r is shown.

IV.
Thoughts are vain against the LORD,
All subserve his standing Word ;
Satan lets, and Men object,
Yet the Thing they thwart, effect.

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Subjects of the LORD, be bold;
Jesus will the Kingdom hold ;
Wheels encirling Wheels must run,
Each in Place to bring it on.

VI.
Bleft is Faith, that trusts his Pow'r,
Bleft is Faith, that waits his Hour ;
Haste, great Conqu’ror, bring it near,
Let the glorious Clofe appear!

• Rom. xi. 33

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