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Page 71 - To be exalted thus :" — " Worthy the Lamb," our lips reply,
Page 112 - NO more, my God — I boast no more Of all the duties I have done ; I quit the hopes I held before, To trust the merits of thy Son. 2 Now, for the love I bear his name, What was my gain. I count my loss ; My former pride I call my shame, And nail my glory to his cross. 3 Yes — and I must and will esteem All things but loss for Jesus' sake ; Oh ! may my soul be found in him, And of his righteousness partake.
Page 64 - Tis his almighty love, His counsel and his care, Preserves us safe from sin and death, And every hurtful snare. 3 He will present our souls, Unblemished and complete, Before the glory of his face, With joys divinely great. 4 Then all the chosen seed Shall meet around the throne, Shall bless the conduct of his grace, And make his wonders known.
Page 112 - Not with our mortal eyes Have we beheld the Lord, Yet we rejoice to hear his Name, And love him in his word. 2 On earth we want the sight Of our Redeemer's face, Yet, Lord, our inmost thoughts delight To dwell upon thy grace. 3 And when we taste thy love, Our joys divinely grow Unspeakable, like those above, And heaven begins below.
Page 165 - Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death of Christ, my. God; All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood.
Page 131 - While like a penitent I stand And there confess my sin. 4 My soul looks back to see The burdens thou didst bear When hanging on the cursed tree, And hopes her guilt was there.
Page 91 - MY God, how endless is thy love ! Thy gifts are every evening new ; And morning mercies from above Gently distil like early dew. 2 Thou spread'st the curtains of the night, Great Guardian of my sleeping hours ; Thy sovereign word restores the light, And quickens all my drowsy powers.
Page 71 - Come, let us join our cheerful songs With angels round the throne; Ten thousand thousand are their tongues, But all their joys are one. 2 "Worthy the Lamb that died," they cry, "To be exalted thus.
Page 60 - From thee, the overflowing spring, Our souls shall drink a fresh supply ; While such as trust their native strength Shall melt away, and droop, and die.