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3 All med'cines act by thy decree,

Receive commission all from thee;
And not a plant which spreads the plains,

But teems with health, when heav'n ordains, 4 Clay and Siloam's pool, we find,

At heav'n's command restord the blind;
And Jordan's waters hence were seen

To wash a Syrian leper clean.
5 But grant me nobler favours still,

Grant me to know and do thy will;
Purge my foul soul from ev'ry stain,

And save me from eternal pain.
6 Can such a wretch for pardon sue?

My crimes, my crimes arise in view,
Arrest my trembling tongue in pray'r,

And pour the horrors of despair.
7 But thou, regard my contrite sighs,

My tortur'd breast, my streaming eyes;
To me thy boundless love extend,

My God, my Father, and my friend.
8 These lovely names I ne'er could plead,

Had not thy Son vouchsaf'd to bleed;
His blood procures our fallen race

Admittance to the throne of grace. 9 When sin has shot its poison'd dart,

And conscious guilt corrodes the heart,
His blood is all-sufficient found

To draw the shaft and heal the wound. 10 What arrows pierce so deep as sin ?

What venom gives such pain within ?
Thou great Physician of the soul,

Rebuke my pangs, and make me whole. 11 O! if I trust thy sov'reign skill,

And bow submissive to thy will,
Sickness and death shall both agree
To bring me, Lord, at last to thee.

(C. M.)

HYMN 122.

On Recovery from Sickness. 1 WHEN we are rais'd from deep distress,

Our God deserves our song; We take the pattern of our praise

From Hezekiah's tongue. 2 The gates of the devouring grave

Are open'd wide in vain,

If he that holds the keys of death

Command them fast again. 3 When he but speaks the healing word,

Then no disease withstands; Fevers and plagues obey the Lord,

And fly, as he commands.
4 If half the strings of life should break,

He can our frame restore,
And cast our sins behind his back,

And they are found no more.
5 To him I cried, “ Thy servant save,

“ Thou ever good and just;
Thy pow'r can rescue from the grave,

Thy pow'r is all my trust!"
6 He heard, and sav'd my soul from death,

And dried my falling tears ;
Now to his praise I'll spend my breath,

Through my remaining years.

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1 MY God, since thou hast rais’d me up,

Thee I'll extol with thankful voice; Restor’d by thine almighty pow'r,

With fear before thee I'll rejoice. 2 With troubles worn, with pain oppressid,

To thee I cry'd, and thou didst save; Thou didst support my sinking hopes,

My life didst rescue from the grave. 3 Wherefore, ye saints, rejoice with me,

With me sing praises to the Lord; Call all his goodness to your mind,

And all his faithfulness record. 4 His anger is but short: his love,

Which is our life, hath certain stay; Grief may continue for a night,

But joy returns with rising day. 5 Then, what I vow'd in my distress,

In happier hours I now will give, And strive that in my grateful verse,

His praises may forever live. 6 To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

The blest and undivided three; The one sole giver of all life,

Glory and praise for ever be.

FUNERALS.
HYMN 124.

(C. M.) 1 HEAR what the voice from heav'n declares

To those in Christ who die! " Releas'd from all their earthly cares,

“ They'll reign with him on high.” 2 Then why lament departed friends,

Or shake at death's alarms ? Death's but the servant Jesus sends

To call us to his arms.
3 If sin be pardon'd, we're secure,

Death hath no sting beside;
The law gave sin its strength and pow'r;

But Christ, our ransom, died !
4 The graves of all his saints he bless'd,

When in the grave he lay;
And, rising thence, their hopes he rais'd

To everlasting day!
5 Then, joyfully, while life we have,

To Christ, our life, we'll sing, “ Where is thy victory, 0 grave ? " And where O death, thy sting ?" HYMN 125.

(C. M.) 1 WHEN those we love are are snatch'd away

By death's resistless hand,
Our hearts the mournful tribute pay

That friendship must demand.
2 While pity prompts the rising sigh,

With awful pow'r imprest;
May this dread truth, “I too must die,”

Sink deep in ev'ry breast.
3 Let this vain world allure no more;

Behold the op'ning tomb;
It bids us use the present hour,

To-morrow death may come.
4 The voice of this instructive scene

May ev'ry heart obey !
Nor be the faithful warning vain

Which calls to watch and pray. 5 O let us to that Saviour fly,

Whose arm alone can save;
Then shall our hopes ascend on high,

And triumph o’er the grave.

HYMN 126.

(C. M.)
Death of a Young Person.
1 HOW short the race our friend has run,

Cut down in all his bloom!
The course but yesterday begun

Now finish'd in the tomb !
2 Thou joyous youth ! hence learn how soon

Thy years may end their flight:
Long, long before life's brilliant noon

May come death's gloomy night. 3 To serve thy God no longer wait,

To-day his voice regard ;
To-morrow, mercy's open gate

May be for ever barrd.
4 And thus the Lord reveals his grace,

Thy youthful love to gain ;
The soul that early seeks my face

Shall never seek in vain.

(L. M.)

HYMN 127.

Death of an Infant.
1 AS the sweet flow'r that scents the morn,

But withers in the rising day;
Thus lovely was this infant's dawn

Thus swiftly fled its life away. 2 It died ere its expanding soul

Had ever burnt with wrong desires,
Had ever spurn'd at heav'n's control,

Or ever quench'd its sacred fires. 3 It died to sin, it died to cares,

But for a moment felt the rod :
O mourner! such, the Lord declares,

Such are the children of our God!

VIII. INVITATION AND WARNING.
HYMN 128.

(III. 1.)
1 SINNERS, turn, why will ye die?
God, your Maker, asks you why?
God, who did your being give,
Made you with himself to live;
He the fatal cause demands,
Asks the work of his own hands;
Why, ye thankless creatures, why
Will ye cross his love, and die ?

2 Sinners, turn, why will ye die?

God, your Saviour, asks you why?
He, who did your souls retrieve,
Died himself that ye might live.
Will you let him die in vain ?
Crucify your Lord again?
Why, ye ransom'd sinners, why

Will ye slight his grace, and die? 3 Sinners, turn, why will ye die ?

God, the Spirit, asks you why?
He who all your lives hath strove,
Woo'd you to embrace his love:
Will ye not his grace receive ?
Will ye still refuse to live ?
0, ye dying sinners, why,
Why will ye for ever die ?
HYMN 129.

(IIL L.) 1 HASTEN, sinner, to be wise ;

Stay not for the morrow's sun: Wisdom, if you still despise,

Harder is it to be won. 2 Hasten, mercy to implore;

Stay not for the morrow's sun; Lest thy season should be o’er,

Ere this ev'ning's stage be run. 3 Hasten, sinner, to return;

Stay not for the morrow's sun; Lest thy lamp should cease to burn,

Ere salvation's work is done. 4 Hasten, sinner, to be blest ;

Stay not for the morrow's sun;
Lest perdition thee arrest,
Ere the morrow is begun.
HYMN 130.

(IL 3.) 1 PEACE, troubled soul, whose plaintive moan

Hath taught each scene the note of wo; Cease thy complaint, suppress thy groan,

And let thy tears forget to flow: Behold, the precious balm is found,

To lull thy pain, and heal thy wound. 2 Come, freely come, by sin opprest,

On Jesus cast thy weighty load;
In him thy refuge find, thy rest,

Safe in the mercy of thy God:
Thy God's thy Saviour! glorious word !
O hear, believe, and bless the Lord !

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