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Teach me fome melodious fonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above,
Where the ranfom'd all unite in
Praife of God's unchanging love.
Here I raise my Ebenezer,

Hither by thy help I'm come,
Trufting, Lord, by thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.
Jefus fought me when a ftranger,
Wand'ring from the fold of God;
He, to refcue me from danger,
Interpos'd his precious blood.
Oh! to grace, how great a debtor
Daily I'm constrain'd to be!
Let that grace, Lord, like a fetter,
Bind my wand'ring heart to thee:
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it ;
Prone to leave the God I love!
Here's my heart, Lord, take and feal it,
Seal it from thy courts above.

L

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ORD, when my thoughts with wonder roll,
O'er the fharp forrows of thy foul,

And fee my Maker's broken laws
Repair'd and honor'd by thy cross;
When I behold death, hell, and fin,
Vanquish'd by that dear blood of thine;
And fee the Man, that groan'd and dy'd, '
Sit glorious by his Father's fide;

My foul would rife and foar above,
Be wing'd with faith, and fir'd with love!
Fain would I reach eternal things,
And learn the notes that Gabriel fings.

But my heart faints, my tongue complains,
For want of those immortal strains ;
And, in fuch humble notes as these,
Muft fall below thy victories.

The glorious time will foon appear,
When I shall leave my prison here;
This house of clay; and mount on high,
To join in fongs beyond the iky.

237. L. M. WATTS'S H.

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Thanksgiving.

TOW to the Lord, that makes us know
The wonders of his dying love,

Be humble honors paid below,

And strains of nobler praise above.

'Twas he alone that cleans'd our fins,

And wash'd us in his richest blood;
'Tis he that makes us priefts and kings,
And brings us rebels back to God.

To Jefus, our atoning Prieft,
To Jefus, our Superior King,
Be everlasting praise addreft,
And ev'ry tongue his glory fing!

238. C. M. COWPER.

Obedience.

No ftrength of nature can fuffice

To serve the Lord aright;

And what she has, the mifapplies,
For want of clearer light.

Long time beneath the law I lay,
In bondage and distress ;
I toil'd the precept to obey,
But toil'd without fuccefs:

Then-to abftain from outward fin
Was more than I could do ;
Now-though I feel its pow'r within,
I feel deliv'rance too :

Then-all my fervile works were done
A righteousness to raise ;
Now-freely chofen in the Son,

I freely choose his ways:

"What fhall I do," was then the word, "That I might worthier grow? "What fhall I render to the Lord ?" Is my inquiry now.

To fee the law by Chrift fulfill'd,

To hear his pard'ning voice,

Changes a flave into a child,
And duty into choice.

GRACES OF THE HOLY SPIRIT.

SING

239. C. M.

Conformity to Jefus.

INCE Chrift has borne
And fuffer'd to atone,

my

fin and curfe,

Why am I then afflicted thus ?
Why must I figh and groan ?
Why yet does rebel nature live?'
And why this war within ?
Why do the flesh and spirit ftrive?
Why do I yet feel fin?

What! muft temptations still prevail,
And Satan fift my heart;

Whilft inbred lufts my mind affail,
And caufe me grievous smart?

What! muft my worldly aims be cross'd?

Denied my heart's defire ?

What! muft my character be loft,

And fenfual joys expire?

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Is there no way to glorify

Chrift's death and honor'd name,

Unless unto myfelf I die,

And bear reproach and fhame ?—

Whene'er these thoughts opprefs my heart,

I'm ready then to faint;

But, when I view my Savior's smart,

That ftops each sad complaint.

Be ftill, my foul; this is the path;
This is the Chriftian race;
Conform'd to Jefus in his death,
We only live by grace.

THE CHRISTIAN.

240. 8, 7. SWAIN, altered.
The Converfion of a Sinner.

O

N the brink of fiery ruin,

Juftice, with a flaming fword

Was my guilty foul purfuing,

When I first beheld my Lord.

"Sinner," he exclaim'd, "I've lov'd thee "With an everlasting love;

"Juftice has in me approv'd thee,

"Thou fhalt dwell with me above."

Sweet as angels' notes in heaven,,

When to golden harps they found;
Is the voice of fins forgiven

To the foul by fatan bound:
Sweet as angels harps in glory
Was that heav'nly voice to me,
When I faw my Lord, before me,
Bleed and die to fet me free !—
Now, dear Lord, again difcover
To my foul, that thou art mine;
Tell me, O thou heav'nly lover,
That I am for ever thine.

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JESUS, and didnt thon condescend

When veil'd in human Clay,

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