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Every one of us Shall Give Account of Himself.

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3 How careful, then, ought I to live,-
With what religious fear,-
Who such a strict account must give
For my behavior here!

4 Thou awful Judge of quick and dead,
The watchful power bestow;
So shall I to my ways take heed,-
To all I speak or do.

5 If now thou standest at the door,
Oh, let me feel thee near!

And make my peace with God, before
I at thy bar appear.

6 My peace thou hast already made,
While hanging on the tree;
My sins were there upon thee laid,
And thou didst die for me.

387 I have stretched out my hands unto thee,

Psalm lxxxviii. 9.

Father, I stretch my hands to thee; No other help I know;

If thou withdraw thyself from me, Ah, whither shall I go?

What did thine only Son endure

Before I drew my breath!
What pain, what labor, to secure
My soul from endless death!
Author of faith, to thee I lift

My weary, longing eyes;
O, may I now receive that gift;
My soul without it dies.

388

C. M.

Charles Wesley, ab. 1741.

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For me vouchsafed th' unspotted Lamb
My load of sin to bear:

I see his feet, and read my name
Engraven deeply there.

Forth from the Lord his gushing blood
In purple currents ran;

And every wound proclaimed aloud
His wondrous love to man.

7 Ah, might I, Lord, the virtue prove For me the Saviour's blood avails,

Of thine atoning blood,

And know thou ever livest above,

My Advocate with God.

Charles Wesley, 1763.

Almighty to atone;

The hands he gave to piercing nails Shall lead me to his throne.

Augustus M. Toplady, 1759.

O Death, Where is Thy Sting?

389 Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord. C. M.

Rev. xiv, 13.

Hear what the voice from heaven proclaims

For all the pious dead!
Sweet is the savour of their names,
And soft their dying bed.

They die in Jesus, and are blest:

How calm their slumbers are!
From sufferings and from woes released,
And freed from every snare:

Till that illustrious morning come,
When all thy saints shall rise,
And, decked in full, immortal bloom,
Attend thee to the skies.

Their tongues, great Prince of Life, shall join
With their recovered breath,

And all the immortal host ascribe
Their victory to thy death.

390

Ver. 1, 2, Isaac Watts, 1709; ver. 3, 4, Unknown.

In remembrance of me.
Luke xxii. 19.

In memory of the Saviour's love,
We keep the sacred feast,
Where every humble, contrite heart
Is made a welcome guest.

By faith we take the bread of life,
With which our souls are fed;
And cup, in token of His blood
That was for sinners shed.

Under his banner thus we sing
The wonders of his love,

And thus anticipate by faith
The heavenly feast above.

389-393

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How long shall death the tyrant reign,
And triumph o'er the just?
While the rich blood of martyrs slain
Lies mingled with the dust.

When shall the tedious night be gone?
When will our Lord appear?
Our fond desires would pray him down,
Our love embrace him here.

Let faith arise and climb the hills,
And from afar descry
How distant are his chariot wheels,
And tell how fast they fly.

Lo, I behold the scattering shades;
The dawn of heaven appears;
The sweet, immortal morning spreads
Its blushes round the spheres.

I see the Lord of glory come,
And flaming guards around;
C. M. The skies divide to make him room,
The trumpet shakes the ground.

Thomas Cotterill, 1812; Richard Whittingham, 1835.

I have fought the good fight.
2 Tim. iv. 7.

C. M.

391
With heavenly weapons I have fought

The battles of the Lord:
Finished my course, and kept the faith,
And wait the sure reward.

God hath laid up in heaven for me
A crown which cannot fade;
The righteous Judge, at that great day,
Shall place it on my head.

Nor hath the King of grace decreed
This prize for me alone;
But all that love and long to see
The appearance of his Son.

Isaac Watts, ab. 1709.

I hear the voice, "Ye dead, arise!"
And lo, the graves obey;
And waking saints, with joyful eyes,
Salute the expected day.

They leave the dust, and on the wing
Rise to the middle air;

In shining garments meet their King,
And low adore him there.

Oh, may my humble spirit stand
Among them, clothed in white.
The meanest place at his right hand
Is infinite delight.

How will our joy and wonder rise,
Shall bear us homeward thro' the skies,
When our returning King
On love's triumphant wing.

Psalm xxiii. 4.

Isaac Watts, 1709.

393 I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.
C. M.
Death cannot make our souls afraid,
If God be with us there;
We may walk thro' its darkest shade,
And never yield to fear.

Clasped in my heavenly Father's arms,
I would forget my breath,
And lose my life among the charms
Of so divine a death."

Isaac Watts, ab. 1709.

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2 My dying Saviour, and my God, Fountain for guilt and sin, Sprinkle me ever with thy blood,

And cleanse and keep me clean.

C. M. 396

Thou art my hope, O Lord God. Psalm lxxi, 5.

C. M.

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Anne Steele, 1716.

Eternal Source of joys divine, To thee my soul aspires;

Oh, could I say,

"The Lord is mine!" 'Tis all my soul desires.

Thy smile can gild the shade of woe,
Bid stormy trouble cease,

Spread the fair dawn of heaven below,
And sweeten pain to peace.

My Hope, my Trust, my Life, my Lord, Assure me of thy love;

Oh, speak the kind, transporting word, And bid my fears remove.

Then shall my thankful powers rejoice,
And triumph in my God;

Till heavenly rapture tune my voice
To spread thy praise abroad.

Anne Steele, 1716-1778.

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H., 1883.

Let us Run With Patiqnge the Rage.

398

Be still, and know that I am God. Psalm xlvi. 10.

Keep silence, all created things,

C. M. 400

And wait your Maker's nod;
My soul stands trembling while she sings
The honors of her God.

Life, death, and hell, and worlds unknown,
Hang on his firm decree;
He sits on no precarious throne,
Nor borrows leave to be.

His mighty voice bids ancient night
Her gloomy realm resign;

And lo, ten thousand globes of light
In fields of azure shine.
His wisdom, with superior sway,

Guides the vast, moving frame;
While all the ranks of beings pay
Deep reverence to his name.
Lord of the armies of the sky,
Ruler of all below;
The lowliest he exalts on high,

He brings the haughty low.
Not Gabriel asks the reason why,
Nor God the reason gives;
He that resists his will must die,
But he that trusts him, lives.
My God, I would not long to see
My fate with curious eyes,
What gloomy lines are writ for me,
Or what bright scenes may rise.
In thy fair book of life and grace,
May I but find my name
Recorded in some humble place,
Beneath my Lord, the Lamb.

399

Isaac Watts, 1709. ab. H,

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Proclaim, saith Christ, my wondrous grace,
To all the sons of men;
He that believes, and is baptized,
Salvation shall obtain.

Let plenteous grace descend on those,
Who, hoping in thy word,
This day have solemnly declared
That Jesus is their Lord.

With cheerful feet may they advance,
And run the Christian race,
And, through the troubles of the way,
Find all-sufficient grace.

James Newton, 1787.

Woman, behold thy son. John xix. 26.

398-402

C. M.

O Thou, whose filmed and failing eye,
Ere yet it closed in death,
Beheld thy mother's agony,

The shameful cross beneath!
Remember those, like her, thro' whom
The sword of grief is driven,
And Oh, to cheer their cheerless gloom,
Be thy dear mercy given.

Let thine own word of tenderness
Drop on them from above;
Its music shall the lone heart bless,
Its touch shall heal with love.
O Son of Mary, Son of God,
The way of mortal ill,
By thy blest feet in triumph trod,
Our feet are treading still.

But not with strength like thine, we go
This dark and dreadful way;
As thou wert strengthened in thy woe,
So strengthen us, we pray.

Alexander Ramsay Thompson, 1869.

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C. M. D.

Arr. H., 1880.

Fine

- ers of Re-deem-ing love I see before me lie; the pinions of a dove, I'd to those riv-ers fly. bold Jor-dan's stormy main, And leave the world behind.

**

perior to my pain, With joy out-strip the wind; .

D.C.

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Oh, tune our tongues, and set in frame
Each heart that pants for thee,
To sing, "Hosanna to the Lamb,
The Lamb that died for me!"
Joseph Hart, 1719-1768

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