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HYMN XXXVIII.

W H en Christ, at Simon's table plac'd,
His sacred doctrine taught;
A penitent behind him stood,
Whom love had thither brought.

She with devotion kiss'd his feet,
Bath'd'em with flowing eyes;
Then drys 'em with her spreading locks,
And fragrant oil applies.

'Twas love these funeral tears prepar'd
Before her Lord was dead;

HYMN XXXVII.

O T hers may tell of famous things
Done by their heroes and their kings;
The Lord we serve, them all exceeds
For mighty sufferings, mighty deeds.

The torments he has undergone,
The glorious trophies he has won,
Armies of wondring angels cause
To fill the heavens with loud applause.

Deep in our breasts let us record
The story of our dying Lord:
As we his kind memorials view,
Our wonder, and our songs renew.

From heaven the Lord of glory came,

HYMN XXXVI.

What mighty conqueror do we see
Whose garments are distain'd with blood,

Whose rich apparel seems to be
All tinctur'd in a crimson flood?

Like one who has the wine-press trod,
Whose clothes the grape has purpl'd o'er?
'Tis the eternal Son of God,
All full of wounds, all stain'd with gore.

A mighty conqueror indeed,
Who conquers by receiving blows;
To give wounds, is content to bleed;
And by his death subdues his foes.

HYMN XXXV.

H A ppy are they our Lord has chose
In his blest courts to dwell;
His praises still their thoughts employ,
Their tongues his glory tell.

There he his loveliness makes known
To all who love his name;
To them he is a glorious crown,
And beauteous diadem.

With a celestial banquet there
His table's richly spread;
The wine's the tincture of his veins,

HYMN XXXIV.

C O me let us all, who here have seen,
And tasted of our Saviour's grace,
From his blest table to his cross,
In thought, his weary footsteps trace.

Let's trace him up to Calvary ,
Not leave him as his followers did,
Who having at his table sup'd,
Forsook their suffering Lord, and fled.

Into the garden first he goes,
Where mortal fears beset him round;
Sin's pressing weight o'erwhelms his soul,
And sinks his body to the ground.

HYMN XXXIII.

W H at wond'rous things we now behold
At this mysterious board!
What copious matter for a song
Of praises they afford!

Extended on a cross we see
The Lord whom we adore,
Both giving and receiving wounds,
Bath'd in triumphant gore.

No victor's robe so rich a dye
Before did ever stain,
No champion such a victory

HYMN XXXII.

Let all who love our Saviour's name,
That name so full of heav'nly grace,
In songs of triumph spread his fame
Thro ev'ry age, and ev'ry place.

He kindly laid aside his crown,
And robes of awful majesty;
And in a servant's form came down
To bear a cross, and on it die.

With tears, and sweat, and blood imbru'd,
This holy lamb was sacrific'd;
Jeer'd by the barbarous multitude,
And by profaner priests despis'd.

But dying thus, he pluck'd the sting

HYMN XXXI.

Lord, thou hast treated us
With true and living bread;
Thy body, as upon the cross,
The painful cross, it bled.

Thy blood's a precious wine,
The heart of God it chears;
With heav'nly sweets, and joys divine,
It calms our guilty fears.

A living spring thy side,

HYMN XXIX.

Eternal father, how divine,
How noble is this gift of thine!
That thou should'st send thy only son,
That holy, lov'd, and lovely one;

The noblest object of thy love,
To leave his throne and crown above,
To dwell with mortals here below,
And death for them to undergo!

And thou, blest saviour, who didst come
So freely from thy heav'nly home,
To make thyself a sacrifice
For criminals and enemies:

How full of wonder is that love

HYMN XXVIII.

O Lord, thou dost a broken heart
And contrite mind approve,
Wilt humble penitents receive
With pity, joy, and love.

Teach us o'er all our sins to weep,
And in thy grace rejoice;
To mix confessions of our guilt
With a thanksgiving voice.

O let thy spirit's convincing power
Dispose us to repent;
That holy oil will soften rocks,