72.

C. M. TOPLADY'S Col.

Converting Grace.

TAIL, mighty Jefus; how divine
Is thy victorious sword!

The ftouteft rebel muft refign,

At thy commanding word.

Deep are the wounds thy arrows give:
They pierce the hardest heart:
Thy fmiles of grace the flain revive,
And joy fucceeds the smart.

Still gird thy fword upon thy thigh,
Ride with majestic sway :

Go forth, great Prince, triumphantly,
And make thy foes obey.

And when thy vict'ries are complete; When all the chofen race

Shall round the throne of glory meet, To fing thy conqu'ring grace;

O may my

humble foul be found

Among that favor'd band!

And I with them, thy praise will found Throughout Inimanuel's land.

73. C. M.

The Atonement.

OW is our nature marr'd by fin!
Nor can it ever find

HOW

A way to make the conscience clean,

Or heal the wounded mind.

Come, all ye pining, hungry poor,

The Savior's bounty tafte ;
Behold a never-failing ftore
For ev'ry willing gueft.

Here fhall your num'rous wants receive
A free, a full fupply;
He has unmeafur'd blifs to give,
And joys that never die.

Can those who hear the Savior's voice,
Prefer earth's empty toys,

(Ah, wretched fouls! ah, fatal choice!) To everlasting joys?

Lord, bring unwilling fouls to thee,
With fweet refiftless pow'r;
Thy boundless grace, let rebels fee,
And at thy feet adore.

TH

76. L. M.

WATTS'S M.

Redemption.

HE mighty frame of glorious grace, That brightest monument of praise, That e'er the God of Love defign'd, Employs and fills my lab'ring mind. Begin my foul, the heav'nly fong, A burden for an Angel's tongue: When Gabriel founds thefe awful things, He tunes and fummons all his ftrings.

Proclaim inimitable love,

Jefus, the Lord of worlds above,
Puts off his robes of bright array,
And veils the God in mortal clay.

He that distributes crowns and thrones'
Hangs on a tree, and bleeds and groans:
The Prince of life refigns his breath,
The King of Glory bows to death.
But see the wonders of his pow'r,
He triumphs in his dying hour,
And, while by Satan's rage he fell,
He dafh'd the rifing hopes of hell.
Thus were the hofts of death fubdu'd,
And fin was drown'd in Jesus, blood :
Then he aröfe, and reigns above,
And conquers finners by his love.

Who fhall fulfil this boundlefs fong?
The theme furmounts an angel's tongue:
How low, how vain are mortal airs,
When Gabriel's nobler harp defpairs!

77.

Sevens. MADAN'S Col.
Redeeming Love.

N sing aloud in Jefüs' name;

TOW begin the heav'nly theme,

Ye, who Jefus kindness prove,
Ye, who
Triumph in redeeming love.

fee the Father's grace,

Ye, who fe

Beaming in the Savior's face,"
As to Canaan on ye move,
Praise and blefs redeeming love.

Welcome all by fin oppreft,
Welcome to your Savior's breaft;
Nothing brought him from above,
Nothing but redeeming love.

E

Tho', alas! ye long have been
Serving divers lufts and fin,
Jefas did the curfe remove,
Cancell'd by redeeming love.

He fubda'd th' infernal pow'rs, ...
His tremendous foes and ours,
From their cursed empire drove,
Mighty in redeeming love.

We will therefore praise the Lord,
Blefs his name with one accord;
Ye, who Jefus' kindness prove,
Praise him for redeeming love.

MER

ERCY is welcome news indeed,
To thofe that guilty ftand:

Wretches, who feel the help they need,
Will blefs the helping hand.

Who rightly would his alms dispose,
Muft give them to the poor :
None, but the wounded patient, knows
The comforts of a cure.

God;

We all have finn'd against our Go
Exception none can boaft:

But he, that feels the heavieft load,
Will prize forgiveness moft.

No reck'ning can we rightly keep; "
For who the fum can know?
Some fouls are fifty talents deep,
And fome five hundred owe.

But, let our debts be what they may,
However great, or fmall;
As foon as we have nought to pay,
Our Lord forgives us all.

'Tis perfect poverty, alone,

That fets the foul at large:

While we can call one mite our own,

We have no full discharge,

79. L. M.

GIBBONS and WATTS.

Forgiveness.

ORGIVENESS 'tis a joyful found

Flo malefactors doom'd to die

Publifh the blifs the, world around;
Ye Seraphs, fhout it from the tky!
"Tis the rich gift of love divine;
'Tis full, out-meas'ring ev'ry crime;
Unclouded fhall its glories fhine,

And feel no change by changing time.
O'er fins unnumber'd as the fand,
And like the mountains for their fize,
The feas of fov'reign grace expand,
The feas of fov reign grace arife.-

Great God! what poor returns we pay
For love fo infinite as thine!

す

Words are but air, and tongues but clay;
But thy forgiveness is divine.

O could our thankful hearts devise
A tribute equal to thy grace,

To the third heav'n our fongs fhould rife,
And teach the golden harps thy praise.