Hymns and Songs of Praise for Public and Social Worship

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Roswell Dwight Hitchcock, Zachary Eddy, Philip Schaff
Anson D.F. Randolph, 1874 - Church music - 603 pages

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Page 24 - The Lord, ye know, is God indeed ; Without our aid He did us make ; We are his flock, He doth us feed, And for his sheep He doth us take.
Page 415 - He comes with succor speedy To those who suffer wrong, To help the poor and needy, And bid the weak be strong; To give them songs for sighing, Their darkness turn to light, Whose souls, condemned and dying, Were precious in His sight.
Page 519 - Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood Stand dressed in living green : So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between.
Page 256 - I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou Shouldst lead me, on. I loved to choose and see my path ; but now Lead Thou me on ! I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Pride ruled my will : remember not past years.
Page 361 - CHRIST, whose glory fills the skies, Christ, the true, the only Light, Sun of righteousness, arise, Triumph o'er the shades of night : Dayspring from on high, be near; Daystar, in my heart appear.
Page 240 - Strong in the Lord of Hosts, And in his mighty power : Who in the strength of Jesus trusts Is more than conqueror.
Page 25 - From all that dwell below the skies, Let the Creator's praise arise ; Let the Redeemer's name be sung, Through every land, by every tongue. 2. Eternal are thy mercies, Lord ; Eternal truth attends thy word : Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more.
Page 9 - I'll praise him while he lends me breath, And when my voice is lost in death, Praise shall employ my nobler powers ; My days of praise shall ne'er be past, While life, and thought, and being last, Or immortality endures.
Page 97 - 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. 3 See from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down ; Did e'er such love and sorrow meet ? Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Page 194 - Dear dying Lamb ! thy precious blood Shall never lose its power, Till all the ransomed church of God Be saved to sin no more.

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