Oft abus'd thee to thy face, Trampled on thy richest grace! 3 Justly might thy vengeful dart Pierce this bleeding, broken heart; Justly might thy kindled ire Blast me in eternal fire.
4 But with thee there's mercy found, Balm to heal my every wound; Sooth, oh, sooth the troubled breast, Give the weary wanderer rest.
HYMN 96. S. M.
Orange. Bridgeport.
1 LORD, help me to repent-
With sin for ever part;
And to thy gracious eye present
An humble, contrite heart-
2 A heart with grief oppress'd,
For having griev'd thy love;
A troubled heart that cannot rest,
Till cleansed from above.
3 Jesus, on me bestow The penitent desire; With true sincerity of wo,
My aching breast inspire; 4 With soft'ning pity look,
And melt my hardness down; Strike, with thy love's resistless stroke, And break this heart of stone.
1 TREMBLING before thine awful throne,
O Lord, in dust, my sins I own:
Justice and Mercy for my life
Content!-Oh, smile and heal the strife.
2 The Saviour smiles! upon my soul
New tides of hope tumultuous roll-
His voice proclaims my pardon found-
Seraphic transport wings the sound.
3 Earth has a joy unknown in heaven-
The new-born joy of sin forgiven!
Tears of such pure and deep delight,
Ye angels! never dimm'd your sight.—
HMYN 98. L. M.
1 FRIEND of the friendless and the faint!
Where can I lodge my deep complaint?
Where, but with thee, whose open door
Invites the helpless sinner, poor!
2 Did ever mourner plead with thee,
And thou refuse that mourner's plea?
Does not the word still fix'd remain,
That none shall seek thy face in vain?
3 That were a grief I could not bear,
Didst thou not hear and answer prayer:
O thou, prayer-hearing, answering God,
Take from my heart this painful load.
Surry. Kingsbridge. Carthage.
1 WITH conscious guilt and bleeding heart, Near to thy throne of grace 1 fly; O! friend of friendless sinners, deign To hear my penitential cry.
2 My first, my only cry shall be,
Thy sanctifying grace impart,
And form my soul alike to thee,
And dwell for ever in my heart."
HYMN 100. L. M.
Truro. Kent. Bath.
Hosea xiv. 1, 2.
10 JESUS, full of truth and grace,
More full of grace than I of sin;
1 now would flee to thine embrace;
Open thine arms and take me in!
2 The stone to flesh do thou convert;
And all my guilt and sin remove;
Sprinkle thy blood upon my heart,
And melt it by thy dying love.
3 Give to mine eyes refreshing tears,
And kindle my relentings now;
Fill all my soul with filial fears:
To thy sweet yoke my spirit bow.
4 O, give me, Lord, the tender heart,
That trembles at th' approach of sin;
A godly fear of sin impart;
Implant and root it deep within!
HYMN 101. L. P. M.
Harlington. Eaton.
1 FATHER of mercies, God of love.
Oh, hear an humble suppliant's cry;
Bend from thy lofty seat above,
Thy throne of glorious majesty:
Oh, deign to listen to my voice,
And bid this drooping heart rejoice.
2 I urge no merits of my own,
For I, alas, am all that's vile;
No-when I bow before thy throne,
Dare to converse with God awhile,
Thy name, blest Jesus, is my plea,
That dearest, sweetest name to me!
3 Within this heart of mine, I feel
The weight of sin's oppressive load :
Oh, help! or else I sink to hell,
Crush'd by thine arm, avenging God!
Entomb'd within that dread abyss,
And exil'd from the realms of bliss!
4 But ah! the thought alone is hell—
That prospect drives me to despair;
For who can 'mid those horrors dwell?
Or who those dreadful torments bea
Where not a ray of hope appears,
Or beam of joy the bosom cheers!
5 Yet, mighty God! thy powerful arm
Can snatch me from that dread abode;
Can shield me from th' impending harm,
And ease me of my heavy load:
One pard'ning word can make me whole
And sooth the anguish of my soul!
6 Father of Mercies, God of Love
Then hear thy humble suppliant's cry
Bend from thy lofty seat above,
Thy throne of glorious majesty :
Oh! listen to a sufferer's voice,
Then shall this bleeding heart rejoice!
Braintree. Colchester.
His Nativity.
1 MORTALS, awake, with angels join,
And chant the solemn lay:
Joy, love, and gratitude, combine
To hail th' auspicious day.
2 In heaven the rapt'rous song began,
And sweet seraphic fire
Through all the shining legions ran,
And strung and tun'd the lyre.
3 Swift, through the vast expanse, it flew, And loud the echo roll'd;
The theme, the song, the joy was new, 'Twas more than heaven could hold. 4 Down through the portals of the sky Th' impetuous torrent ran; And angels flew with eager joy, To bear the news to man.
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