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and with nails, and fasten'd to the tree.

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what trackless depths of mercy known, Who rest not from their hallelujahs morn or de his foe God render'd up his Son;

is conquest o'er his doom ;

The dart the tyrant Death he slew, As mist from mountain tops when they the morno captive through her realms below.

had sound from Calvary I hear, hands of murd'rers, that insult the slain, pod torment, and the shrieks of pain.

letus eyes with borror up Its parting beam shall rest all glorious op thy grave.

en whom hanging in the midst I view !

bow unlike the other two!
llis head in pity down to those

guilt conspires to shed his blood,

And morn shall see our God in judgement coming is in lofty numbers show

forth. Serve God at morn, that solemn hallow'd hour,

When nature wakes, as from the sleep of death, When the glad song from mountaio, grove, and

bower, Is heard through heaven, and on the earth beServe God, let him receive thy morning's early

breath. Happy the day, whose first beam bears thy song On his bright wing, up to the gate of heaven,

thy faint mingle with that ,

even, To whom the glorious palm of victory is given. Happy the day, whose hours are thus begun;

A day from storms, and every tempest free, Though clouds may rise, the splendour of the sun Will make the darkness and the shadows flee,

ing see. Happy the day,—there's promise in its close ;

A brighter promise than the morning gave; For when its sunset o'er creation throws

A lustre, and then sparkles on the wave,

Eemal King's unfathom'd love,
Peregon the Sov'reign God above,
wafers on the cross below.

s üle of wonders ! rais'd too bigh
dia ken of frail mortality,

sambers shall I bring along? a abace shall I begin the song. og mystery l'il sing, inspir'd, the beach of human wisdom wrought,

tnpais of an angel's thought, de rage of man has God expir'd.

voice to tell mankind

is the grave be lay confin'd,

Maite sure the rai'pons tomb. Sayt, th’infernal empire to subdue ; el triomphant through the coasts of woe ;

the bad tumult thickens on my ear,

Tolae curst mountain's guilty top;

WEIB.

CHRIST'S PASSIONS.

1st bita high above his foes,
Ad gently bending from the wood

No more of earthly subjects sing ;

To heaven, my muse, aspire ;
To raise the song, charge ev'ry string,

And strike the living lyre.

We extended arms I see

And morn shall see our God in judgments

forth.

Is heard through heaven, and contes

breath.

Serve God at morn, that solemn hus

When nature wakes, as from the side Prodigious pile of wonders ! rais'd too high
When the glad song from mountain,
Serve God, let him receive thy martin' The mighty mystery I'll sing, inspir'd,

Happy the day, whose first beam begynte
Where thy faint praises mingle with the

Who rest not from their hallelopal'll raise my voice to tell mankind
To whom the glorious palm of rictarsk!" How in the grave he lay confin'd,

A day from storms, and every temperk Three days, th' infernal empire to subdue ;
Will make the darkness and the saint With his own dart the tyrant Death he slew,
A brighter promise than the morning
For when its sunset o'er creation temen
Its parting beam shall rest all glorious en un See there! whom hanging in the midst I view!

Begin, in lofty numbers show
Th’ Eternal King's unfathom'd love,
Who reigns the Sov’reign God above,

And suffers on the cross below.
For the dim ken of frail mortality.

What numbers'shall I bring along ?
bower,

From whence shall I begin the song.
Beyond the reach of human wisdom wrought,
Beyond the compass of an angel's thought,
How by the rage of man has God expir'd.
I'll make the trackless depths of mercy known,
How to redeem his foe God render'd up his Son;

The victor's conquest o'er his doom;
even,

To sure the rav'nous tomb.

triumphant through the coasts of woe; And led Hell captive through her realms below.

A mingled sound from Calvary I hear,
And the loud tumult thickens on my ear,
The shouts of murd'rers, that insult the slain,
The voice of torment, and the shrieks of pain.
I cast my eyes with horror up

curst mountain's ;

On his bright wing, up to the

the day, whose hours are the

Though clouds may rise, the
As mist from mountain tops when they din

ing see.
Happy the day,—there's promise in the

and then the

CHRIST'S PASSIONS.

Ah ! how unlike the other two!

I see him high above his foes,
And gently bending from the wood

His head in pity down to those
Whose guilt conspires to shed his blood.
His wide extended arms I see
Transfix'd with nails, and fastend to the tree.

No more of earthly subjects sing ;

To heaven, my muse, aspire; To raise the song, charge or’ry string,

And strike the living lyre.

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But in his own rich blood that streams from every seat like a rose when I'm dead.

Man, senseless man! canst thou look on,
Nor make thy Saviour's pains thy own?

The rage of all thy grief exert,
Rend thy garments and thy heart :
Beat thy breast, and grovel low,
Beneath the burden of thy woe;

Bleed through thy bowels, tear thy hairs,
Breathe gales of sighs, and weep a flood of tears.
Behold thy King, with purple cover'd round;.

Not in the Tyrian tinctures dyed,
Nor dipt in poison of Sidonian pride

a lares are all dead, and fine colours are
i sweet a perfume it will yield. (lost,
as the youth and the beauty of men,
tas bloom and look guy like the rose;
sau sa food care to preserve them is rain ;
2 kill them as fast as he goes.
11 nst be proud of my youth or my beauty,
ve bath of them wither and fade;
para gcod name by well doing my duty:

WAITS.

THE NUNC DIMITTIS.'

wound.
Dost thou not see the thorny circle red?
The guilty wreath that blushes round his head!
And with what rage the bloody scourge applied
Curls round his limbs, and ploughs into his side.
At such a sight let all thy anguish rise ;
Break up, break up the fountains of thy eyes.
Here bid thy tears in gushing torrents flow,
Indulge thy grief, and give a loose to woe.

Weep from thy soul, till earth be drown'd;

Weep, till thy sorrows drench the ground. Canst thou, ungrateful man ! his torments see, Nor drop a tear for him, who pours his blood for

thee?

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PITT

Tus enough the hour is come:
Now within the silent tomb
Let this mortal frame decay,
Wingled with its kindred clay;
Since thy inercies, oft of old
By thy chosen seers foretold,

now and steadfast prove,
God of truth, and God of love!
Sinte at length my aged ege
Swas the day-spring from on high!
Son of righteousness, to thee,
Lo! the nations bow the knee;
And the realms of distant kings
Own the healing of thy wings.
Those whom death had overspread
With his dark and dreary shade,
Lift their eyes, and from afar
Hail the light of Jacob's Star;
Waiting till the promis'd ray
Turn their darkness into day,

THE ROSE.
How fair is the Rose! what a beautiful flow'r!

The glory of April and May!
But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,

And they wither and die in a day.
Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast,

Above all the flow'rs of the field :

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Breathe gales of sighs, and weep a tauls But in his oryn rich blood that straat

Dost thou not see the thomy eirchen And with what rage the blood sent Here bid thy tears in gushing torrent 1A

Break up,

Van, senseless man! canst thon kost was Nor make thy Saviour's pains the

The rage of all thy grief exeri, Rend thy garments and thy heart Beat thy breast, and grovel lei, Beneath the burden of thy wee; Bleed through thy bowels, tear the *

When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are

Still how sweet a perfume it will yield. [lost, So frail is the youth and the beauty of men,

Tho' they bloom and look gay like the rose ; But all our fond care to preserve them is vain ;

Time kills them as fast as be goes.
Then I'll not be prond of my youth or my beauty,

Since both of them wither and fade;
Bat gain a good name by well doing my duty:
This will scent like

rose when I'm dead.

Behold thy King, with purple

Not in the Tyrian tinctures del Nor dipt in poison of Sidonias pot

WATTS.

wound.

THE "NUNC DIMITTIS.'

The guilty wreath that blushes rongids

Curls round his limbs, and ploughs inst At such a sight let all thy anguish rise

break up the fountains of this

Indulge thy grief, and give a love to sa

Weep from thy soul, till earth be drie Weep, till thy sorrows drench the goals

pour

Nor drop a tear for him, who

thee?

'Tis enough—the hour is come : Now within tbe silent tomb Let this mortal frame decay, Mingled with its kindred clay; Since thy mercies, oft of old By thy chosen seers foretold, Faithful now and steadfast prove, God of truth, and God of love! Since at length my aged eye Sees the day-spring from on high! Son of righteousness, to thee, Lo! the nations bow the knee; And the realms of distant kings Own the healing of thy wings. Those whom death had overspread With his dark and dreary shade, Lift their eyes, and from afar Hail the light of Jacob's Star; Waiting till the promis'd ray Turn their darkness into day.

THE ROSE

The glory of April and May!

And they wither and die in a day. Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to his

Above all the flow'rs of the field:

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THE SACRED LYRE.

See the beams intensely shed,
Shine o'er Sion's favour'd head !
Never may they hence remove,
God of truth and God of love!

HYMN

Dean of God goes forth to war,

A kingly crown to gain;
Ha band-red banner streams afar!
Wibe follows in his train?

MERRICK.

his best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain,
hos patient bears his cross below,
Be follows in his train.

HYMN.
When our heads are bow'd with woe,
When our bitter tears o'erflow;
When we mourn tbe lost, the dear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear !
Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn,
Thou our mortal griefs hast borne,
Thou hast shed the human tear;
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
When the sullen death-bell tolls
For our own departed souls ;
When our final doom is near,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
Thou hast bow'd the dying head;
Thou the blood of life hast shed ;
Thou bast fill'd a mortal bier ;
Gracious Son of Mary, hear!
When the heart is sad within
With the thought of all its sin;
When the spirit shrinks with fear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear !
Thoa the shame, the grief, hast known,
Tho' the sins were not Thine own,
Thou bast deign'd their load to bear,
Gracious Son of Mary, bear!

Ta marşr first, whose eagle eye
Cisealid pierce beyond the grave ;
The goal bis Master in the sky,

And callid on Him to save.
Like Him, with pardon on his tongue
la midst of mortal pain,
le pray'd for them that did the wrong!
bas follows in his train?
1pborious band, the chosen few,
Ou e bom the Spirit came;
Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew,

And moek'd the cross and flame.
They meet the tyrant's brandish'd steel,

The lion's gory mane :
Day bow'd their necks, the death to feel !
Who follows in their train?

The maatron and the maid,
found the Saviour's throne rejoice,
la robes of light array'd,
by climb'd the steep ascent of Heaven,
Through peril, toil, and pain!

HEBER

F

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