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3d calm my fear; by shade i strike me here, ud invade,
ath thy blood
FOR PRIVATE VERANCE.
s'll render, O my God, all thy kindness shown! .'l visit thine abode, -35 adr is thy throne. che faints that fill thy house, Fr’ings Thall be paid, you
thall my zeal perform the vows :: loul in anguish made.
such is mercy thy deligh,
2 Yours is a fad, a dangerous case;
Mercy, you'll find, tho' e'er lo bafe,
How vile foe'ér they be;
And gifts are always free.
Which any man has done;
HYMN 193 SA AFETY UNDER THE CROSS,
ERE at thy crofs, my dying God,
I lay my soul beneath thy love, Beneath the droppings of thy blood,
Jesus, nor fhall it e'er remove. 2 Not all the tyrants think or fay,
With rage and lightning in their eyes, Nor hell fall fright my heart away,
Shou'd hell, with all its legions rise. 3 Shou'd worlds conspire to drive me hence,
Moveless and firm this heart shou'd lie;
4 But spaek, my LORD, and calm my fear ;
Am I nor fate beneath thy shade
s Yes; I'm fecure beneath thy blood .
And all my foes shall lofe their aim :
H Y M N
PUBLIC. THANKS FOR PRIVATE
THAT sha'l I render, O my God,
For all thy kindness fhown!
My Songs across thy throne.
My offrings Thall be paid,
My foul in anguish made.
Thou ever blefled Gop!
And warble to che Gilent night. Ich HYMN
4 How happy all thy servants are ! Haw
great thy grace to me! My life, which thou hast made thy care, LORD, I devote to thee.
OF OUR EXISTENCE.
greateful pow’rs fhall found the
2 When anxious cares would break my reít
, > *And grief wou'd tearmy throbbing breaft
, Thy tuneful praise I'll raise on high
And check the murmur, and the figh. 3. When death o'er nature Niall prevail
, And all the pow'rs of language fail;
Joy thro' my swimming eyes shall break, And nean.che thanks I cannot speak.. 4 But or when thac laft conflict's o'er,
And I am chiainid to fiefh no more,
Soon Shall-l learn th’exalted strains,
Which echo thro the heav'nly pla nas, And epulate, with jog unknown,
The glowing seraphs round thy 'throne.
ow by the bowels of my Gon,
Hisibarpdistref, his fore complaines, In! By bis dat grones, his dying blood,
9 I charge my foul to love his fainis. i Clanaut and wrath and war be gante,
Envy and spite for ever ceaic,
Les bitter words noinore be know
Flesfro so the realms of no fe and itrife;
il Wha feals our fouls to heav'nly lite? 4 Tender and kind be all our thoughts ;
Thro' all our lives let mercy'run;