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My heart with loads of guilt oppress'd,
The seat of ev'ry sin.

2 What crowds of evil thoughts,
What vile affections there!
Distrust, presumption, artful guile,
Pride, envy, slavish fear.

3 Almighty King of saints,
These tyrant lusts subdue;
Expel the darkness of my mind,
And all my pow'rs renew.

4 This done, my cheerful voice
Shall loud hosannas raise;
My soul shall glow with gratitude,
My lips proclaim thy praise.
HYMN 346. L. M.

Carthage. Darwent.

1 OH, that my load of sin were gone!
Oh, that I could at last submit!
At Jesus' feet to lay me down-
To lay my soul at Jesus' feet.

2 Rest for my soul I long to find-
Saviour, if mine indeed thou art,
Give me thy meek and lowly mind,
And stamp thine image on my heart.
3 Break off the yoke of inbred sin,
And fully set my spirit free;

I cannot rest till pure within-
Till I am wholly lost in thee.

HYMN 347.

S. M.

Guilford. Little Marlboro'.

Newton.

1 O LORD, how vile am I,
Unholy and unclean!

How can I dare to venture nigh
With such a load of sin!

2 Is this polluted heart
A dwelling fit for thee?
Swarming, alas! in ev'ry part,
What evils do I see!

3 If I attempt to pray,
And raise my soul on high,
My thoughts are hurried fast away,
For sin is ever nigh.

4 If in thy word I look,

Such darkness fills my mind,
I only read a sealed book,
But no relief can find.

5 Thy gospel oft I hear,

But hear it still in vain: Without desire, or love, or fear, Harden'd I still remain.

6 And must I then indeed

Sink in despair and die?

Fain would I hope that thou didst bleed For such a wretch as I.

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1 BEHOLD the tears that Mary shed—
Her many sins forgiv'n!

Her doubts and darkness all are fled
In peaceful hope of heav'n.

2 When o'er the Saviour's feet in pray'r
She pour'd a flood of grief,

And dried them with her flowing hair,
How soon she found relief!

3 Say, burden'd soul, whose num'rous sins In dark array are set;

What canst thou do to mitigate

The terrors of thy debt?

4 Canst thou not love the friend, who died That burden to assume?

Who shrunk not from the crown of thorns, The scourge the cross-the tomb?

5 If heavy is thy weight of guilt,

Thy love must greater be

Then He, whose blood for man was spilt, Will shed his peace on thee.

HYMN 349.

C. M.

St. Ann's. Tempest.

Haweis.

God our hiding-place. Ps. xxxii. 7. 1 WHEN low'ring clouds deform the sky, And darkness thickens round, Sudden the forked lightnings fly, Loud thunders rock the ground:

2 The howling blasts, impetuous, sweep The desolated plain;

The frighted beasts to covert creep;
Home flies the trembling swain!
3 But louder thunders o'er my head,
My heart with terror fill;

And storms of wrath divine I dread,
Which soul and body kill!

4 See, on the whirlwind's rapid wing,
The King of terrors ride,
And with him desolation bring!
Myself where can I hide?

5 "Haste, sinner! haste," the Saviour cried, "Behold my wounded form! The cleft of my deep-pierced side Shall hide thee from the storm."

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Magdalen. Pastoral Duet,
Matt. xi. 28.

1 COME, ye weary sinners, come,
All, who feel your heavy load;
Jesus calls the wand'rers home;
Hasten to your pard'ning God,
Come, ye guilty souls oppress'd,
Answer to the Saviour's call:
"Come, and I will give you rest;
Come, and I will save you all.”

2 Jesus,-full of truth and love,
We thy kindest call obey,

Faithful let thy mercies prove,
Take our load of guilt away,
Weary of this war within,
Weary of this endless strife,
Weary of ourselves and sin,
Weary of a wretched life.

3 Burden'd with a world of grief,
Burden'd with our sinful load,
Burden'd with this unbelief,
Burden'd with the wrath of God,
Lo, we come to thee for ease,
True and gracious as thou art;
Now our weary souls release,
Write forgiveness on our heart.

HYMN 351.

7s.

Middleton. Hotham.

Sin bewailed.

Newton.

1 COME, my soul, thy suit prepare,
Jesus loves to answer pray'r;
He himself has bid thee pray,
Rise and ask without delay.

2 With my burden I begin;
Lord! remove this load of sin!
Let thy blood for sinners spilt,
Set my conscience free from guilt.
3 Lord! I come to thee for rest,

Take possession of my breast;
There thy sov'reign right maintain,
And without a rival reign.

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