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O Haupt voll Blut und Wünden. 7, 6.

0 s AcRED Head, now wounded,
With grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, Thy only crown'
0 sacred Head, what glory,
What bliss, till now, was Thine!
Yet, though despised and gory,
Ijoy to call Thee mine.

How art Thou pale with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn 1
How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn!
What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,
Was all for sinners’ gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.

Lo, here I fall, my Saviour !
'Tis I deserve Thy place
Look on me with Thy favor,
Vouchsafe to me Thy graee.
Reeeive me, my Redeemer;
My Shepherd, make me Thine!
Of every good the Fountain,
Thou art the Spring of mine!

What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end
O make me. Thine for ever,
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love to Thee.

5 Forbid that I should leave Thee;
O Jesus, leave not me;
In faith may I receive Thee,
When death shall set one free.
When strength and comfort languish,
And I must hence depart,
Release me then from anguish
By Thine own wounded heart.
James W. Alexander. 1849. a.
Tr. Paul Gerhardt. 1659.
From Bernard of Clairvaux. 1153.

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Fierce and deadly was the anguish
Which on yonder Cross He bore;
How did soul and body languish
Till the toil of death was o'er:
But that toil, so fierce and dread,
Bruised and crushed the serpent's head. -

Close and still the cell that holds Him,
While in brief repose He lies;
Deep the slumber that enfolds Him,
eiled awhile from mortal eyes;
Slumber such as needs must be
After hard-won yictory.

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4 We this night with plaintive voicing
Chant His requiem soft and low;
* ~ *** - strains of Innd rainiain or
179 S. M.
1 BEhold the amazing sight,
The Savior lifted high
Behold the Son of God's delight
Expire in agonyl 133

2 For whom, for whom, my heart,
Were all these sorrows borne?
Why did He feel that piercing smart,
And meet that various scorn?
3 For love of us He bled,
And all in torture died;
'Twas Love that bowed His fainting head,
And oped His gushing side.
4. Drawn by such cords as these,
Let all the world combine,
With cheerful ardor, to confess
The energy divine.

How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,
Was all for sinners' gain;

Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.

3 Lo, here I fall, my Saviour !

'Tis I deserve Thy place

Look on me with Thy favor,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

Receive me, my Redeemer;
My Shepherd, make me Thine!

Of every good the Fountain,
Thou art the Spring of mine!

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For man the creasuro's sin .
4 Thus might I hide my blushing face,
While His dear cross appears;
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt my eyes in tears.

5 But drops of grief can ne'er repay
- The debt of love I owe.
Here, Lord, I give myself away:
'Tis all that I can do. [ Watts. 1709.

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EASTER, EVE. 184 8, 7, 7. 1 ALL is o'er, the pain, the sorrow, . Human taunts and Satan's spite; Death shall be despoiled to-morrow Of the prey he grasps to-night; Yet once more, to seas his doom, Christ must sleep within the tomb.

2 Fierce and deadly was the anguish
Which on yonder Cross He bore;
How did soul and body languish
Till the toil of death was o'er |
But that toil, so fierce and dread,
Bruised and crushed the serpent's head.

3 Close and still the cell that holds Him, While in brief repose He lies: Deep the slumber that enfolds Him, Weiled awhile from mortal eyes; * Slumber such as needs must be After hard-won yictory. 4 We this night with plaintive voicing Chant His requiem soft and low; Loftier strains of loud rejoicing From to-morrow's harps shall flow: Death and hell at length are slain, Christ hath triumphed, Christ doth reign. John Moultrie. 1858.

4. Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a tribute far too small; == Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.

And all in torture died;
'Twas Love that bowed His fainting head,
And oped His gushing side.
; 4 Drawn by such cords as these,
Let all the world combine,
With cheerful ardor, to confess
The energy divine.

How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered,
Was all for sinners' gain;

Mine, mine was the transgression,
But Thine the deadly pain.

3 Lo, here I fall, my Saviour !

'Tis I deserve Thy place

Look on me with Thy favor,
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

Receive me, my Redeemer;
My Shepherd, make me Thine!

Of every good the Fountain,
Thou art the Spring of mine!

4 What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest Friend,
For man the creaturo's sin .
4 Thus might I hide my blushing face,
While His dear cross appears;
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt my eyes in tears.

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