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HYMN 93. S. M. Bingham. Newton. [*] GOD all and in all," Psalm lxxii, 25.

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MY God, my life, my love,

To thee, to thee I call;

I cannot live, if thou remove,

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2 Thy shining grace can cheer This dungeon where I dwell; 'Tis paradise, when thou art here;, If thou depart, 'tis hell.

3 [The smilings of thy face,
How amiable they are!

'Tis heav'n to rest in thine embrace;
And no where else but there.
4 To thee, and thee alone,
The angels owe their bliss;
They sit around thy gracious throne,
And dwell where Jesus is.]
5 Not all the harps above
Can make a heav'nly place;
If God his residence remove,
Or but conceal his face.
6 Nor earth, nor all the sky,
Can one delight afford;
No not a drop of real joy,

Without thy presence, Lord.
7 Thou art the sea of love,
Where all my pleasures roll;
The circle where my passions move,
And centre of my soul.

8 [To thee my spirits fly,

With infinite desire;

And yet, how far from thee I lie!

Dear Jesus, raise me higher.]

HYMN 94. C. M. St. Ann's. Abridge. [*] GOD my only Happiness. Ps. lxxiii, 25.

1 MY God, my portion, and my love,
My everlasting All,

I've none but thee in heav'n above,
Or on this earthly ball.

2 What empty things are all the skies!
And this inferior clod

There's nothing here deserves my joys,
There's nothing like my God.

3 [In vain the bright, the burning sun
Scatters his feeble light:

'Tis thy sweet beams create my noon; If thou withdraw, 'tis night.

4 And whilst upon my restless bed, Amongst the shades I roll;

If my Redeemer shews his head, 'Tis morning to my soul.]

5 To thee we owe our wealth and friends,
And health and safe abode;
Thanks to thy Name for meaner things,
But they are not my God.

6 How vain a toy is glitt'ring wealth,
If once compar'd to thee?
Or what's my safety or my health,
Or all my friends to me?

7 Were I possessor of the earth,
And call'd the stars my own;
Without thy graces and Thyself,
I were a wretch undone.

8 Let others stretch their arms like seas,
And grasp in all the shore;
Grant me the visits of thy face,

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And I desire no more.

HYMN 95. C. M. Bishopsgate. [b]
Looking on Him whom we pierced.

INFINITE grief! amazing woe!--
Behold my bleeding Lord!-

-Hell and the Jews conspir'd his death,
And us'd the Roman sword.

p 2 Oh, the sharp pangs of smarting pain, My dear Redeemer bore

When knotty whips, and ragged thorns,
His sacred body tore.

-3 But knotty whips, and ragged thorns,
In vain do I accuse;

In vain I blame the Roman bands,
And the more spiteful Jews.

e 4 'Twere you, my sins, my cruel sins,
His chief tormenters were;

Each of my crimes became a nail,
And unbelief a spear.

5 'Twere you that pull'd the vengeance down,' Upon his guiltless head:

o Break, break, my heart, oh burst mine eyes, And let my sorrows bleed.

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o 6 Strike, mighty grace, my flinty soul,
'Till melting waters flow!

And deep repentance drown mine eyes,
In undissembled woe.

HYMN 96. C. M. Isle of Wight. [b*]
Angels punished, and Man saved.

1 D The rebel angels fell;

OWN headlong from their native skies,

• And thunder-bolts of flaming wrath
Pursu'd them deep to hell.

2 Down from the top of earthly bliss,
Rebellious man was hurl'd;

e And Jesus stoop'd beneath the grave,
To reach a sinking world.

o 3 Oh, love of infinite degree! Unmeasurable grace!

e Must heav'n's eternal Darling die,
To save a trait'rous race?

p 4 Must angels sink for ever down,
And burn in quenchless fire—
-While God forsakes his shining throne,
To raise us wretches higher.

s 5 Oh, for this love, let earth and skies
With hallelujahs ring;

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And the full choir of human tongues
All hallelujahs sing.

HYMN 97. L. M. Psalm 97th. [b*]

The Same.

FROM heav'n the sinning angels fell,

And wrath and darkness chain'd them down; e But man, vile man, forsook his blisso And mercy lifts him to a crown. g 2 Amazing work of sov'reign grace, That could distinguish rebels so;

e Our guilty treason call'd aloud For everlasting fetters too.

o 3 To thee, to thee, almighty Love,
Our souls, ourselves, our all we pay;
s Millions of tongues shall sound thy praise,
On the bright hills of heav'nly day.
HYMN 98. C. M. Windsor.

Wantage. [b]
Hardness of Heart complained of.

Y heart how dreadful hard it is!
How heavy here it lies!

Heavy and cold within my breast,
Just like a rock of ice!

2 Sin, like a raging tyrant, sits
Upon this flinty throne;
And ev'ry grace lies bury'd deep,
Beneath this heart of stone.

3 How seldom do I rise to God,
Or taste the joys above?

This mountain presses down my faith,
And chills my flaming love.

4 When smiling mercy courts my soul,
With all its heav'nly charms;
This stubborn, this relentless thing,
Would thrust it from my arms.

5 Against the thunders of thy word,
Rebellious I have stood;

My heart-it shakes not at the wrath,
And terreurs, of a God.

6 Dear Saviour, steep this rock of mine,
In thine own crimson sea!
None but a bath of blood divine,
Can melt the flint away.

HYMN 99. C.M. [b*]

The Book of God's Decrees.

p 1 [ ET the whole race of creatures lie,
Abas'd before their God:

-Whate'er his sov'reign voice has form'd,
He governs with a nod.

e 2 (Ten thousand ages ere the skies
Were into motion brought,-

All the long years and worlds to come
Stood present to his thought.

3 There's not a sparrow, nor a worm,
But's found in his decrees;

o He raises monarchs to their thrones, And sinks them as he please.)

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o 4 If light attends the course I run, 'Tis he provides those rays!

e And 'tis his hand that hides my sun, If darkness clouds my days.

→5 Yet I could not be much concern'd,
Nor vainly long to see

The volumes of his deep decrees,
What months are writ for me.

e 6 When he reveals the book of life,
Oh, may I read my name

o Amongst the chosen of his love, The foll'wers of the Lamb.]

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[b]

HYMN 100. L. M.
Presence of CHRIST the Life of my Soul.
OW. full of anguish is the thought,-
How it distracts and tears my heart,-
If God at last, my sov'reign Judge,
Should frown, and bid my soul-depart!
2 Lord, when I quit this earthly stage,
Where shall I fly-but to thy breast?
For I have sought no other home:
For I have learnt no other rest.

3 I cannot live contented here,
Without some glimpses of thy face;
And heav'n, without thy presence there,
Will be a dark and tiresome place.
4 When earthly cares engross the day,
And hold my thoughts aside from thee,
The shining hours of cheerful light,
Are long and tedious years to me.
5 And if no evening visit's paid
Between my Saviour and my soul,
How dull the night! how sad the shade!
How mournfully the minutes roll!

6 This flesh of mine might learn as soon
To live, yet part with all my blood;
To breathe, when vital air is gone,
Or thrive and grow without my food.
7 (Christ is my light, my life, my care,
My blessed hope, my heav'nly prize;
Dearer than all my passions are,
My limbs, my bowels, or my eyes,

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