English

HYMN XLVIII.

Thou hast o'ercome: Lord, who can prove
Invincible to heav'nly love?
My conquer'd soul I must resign
To that victorious arm of thine.

Thy grace, whose wond'rous pow'r imparts
The tend'rest sense to flinty hearts,
My inmost soul with love inspires,
And mixes joy with pure desires.

For who, my Lord, can love like thee?
Whose love was e'er so great, so free?
Angels may well admire the flame:
But they have never felt the same:

HYMN XLVII.

Jesus! O word divinely sweet!
How charming is the sound!
What joyful news! what heavenly sense
In that dear name is found!

Our souls were guilty, and condemn'd
In hopeless fetters lay;
Our souls with numerous sins deprav'd,
To death and hell a prey.

Jesus, to purge away this guilt,
A willing victim fell;
And on his cross triumphant broke

HYMN XLVI.

Y E happy guests, who meet around
This table, your oblations bring:
Here every one's a priest, who has
A heart to love, and tongue to sing.

Our Saviour's bleeding sacrifice
His boundless love and grace displays:
As a just homage, he demands
Our sacrifice of love and praise.

'Twas love expos'd him to reproach,
To unexampled grief and pain:
Less power than that of love divine,
Nor would nor could his cross sustain.

See him abandon'd by his friends;

HYMN XLV.

How glorious is this holy place,
Where bread of life is giv'n!
This surely is the house of God!
This is the gate of heav'n!

Jesus, the master of the feast,
Vouchsafes his presence here;
The cup of blessing passes round,
The pious guests to chear.

Dainties that royal tables bear,
And bowls of ruddy wine,
Can't with this nobler board compare,

HYMN XLIV.

While thy love's pledges we receive
In this blest supper, Lord, we see
What grateful tribute, what returns
Of love and praise we owe to thee.

O may thy altar's holy fire
Inflame our hearts, refine our tongues!
May love divine our breasts inspire
With heav'nly thoughts, and heav'nly songs!

Tho to extol thy wondrous grace
Our thoughts and words too low will prove;
Thou, Lord, wilt ne'er refuse a song
From any heart that's tun'd with love.

HYMN XLIII.

Behold the Saviour of the world
Embru'd with sweat and gore,
Expiring on that shameful cross,
Where he our sorrows bore!

Compassion for lost human race
Brought down heav'n's only son,
To veil in flesh his radiant face,
And for their sins atone.

Who can to love his name forbear,
That of his sufferings hears,
And finds the ransom of his soul

HYMN XLII.

Come, let us bless the glorious name
Of our great prince Immanuel ;
Who from heav'ns highest regions came,
To save us from the lowest hell.

Nor did this prince of life disdain
A mortal body to assume;
To live in sorrow, die in pain,
And be interr'd within a tomb.

That men, by guilt of life bereav'd,
Might have their num'rous crimes forgiven;
Rebels might be to grace receiv'd,
T' inlarge the family of heaven.

Th' angelick host this grace admire,

HYMN XLI.

The sun of righteousness has shin'd,
And God's new cov'nant has reveal'd;
Christ's hand the sacred bond has sign'd,
His blood the sacred bond has seal'd.

His numerous promises assure
Salvation on his father's part:
Salvation can't but be secure,
When purchas'd with his bleeding heart.

The kind testator freely dies,
To ratify this testament:
The sacred dove from glory flies,
To gain the sinners free consent.

The table of the Lord displays

HYMN XL.

Let all, who enter Sion's gate,
And in God's sacred courts attend,
Praise him before his holy seat,
Whose mercy knows no bounds or end.

To the soul's inward harmony
Join the sweet musick of the tongue;
No jarring thought admitted be,
No mind untun'd, no heart unstrung.

Praise him, who did not spare to send
From heaven his own eternal son,
To veil himself in flesh, and end
That life in blood which tears begun.

Praise that redeemer, who forsook

HYMN XXXIX.

Come , let us go and die with him,
Who was content to die for us;
Let's wound and crucify those sins
That nail'd our Saviour to his cross.

May holy indignation raise
A just revenge in every breast!
May every soul, that J ESUS loves,
The very thoughts of sin detest!

Hence all ye viprous brood of vice,
That bring a train of endless woes;
O how I loath and hate you now,
As mine, and as my Saviour's foes!

Yours are the bloody hands that seiz'd,