But this with boldness I proclaim,

Nor care if thousands hear :
Sweet is the ointment of His name,

Nor life is half so dear.
And can you frown, my former friends,

Who knew what once I was ;
And blame the song that thus commends

The Man who bore the cross ?
Trust me, I draw the likeness true,

And not as fancy paints ;
Such honour may He give to you,

For such have all His saints.


[Tune_“Windsor.” What, tho' I trace each herb and flower

That drinks the morning dew,
Did I not know Jehovah's power,

How vain were all I knew !
Say what's the rest but empty boast,

The pedant's idle claim,
Who having all the substance lost,

Attempts to grasp a name.

WORTHY THE LAMB. Dr. Isaac Watts.]

[Tune—“ Bristol,” COME, let us join our cheerful songs

With angels round the Throne;
Ten thousand thousand are their tongues,

But all their joys are one.
6 Worthy the Lamb that died,” they cry,

To be exalted thus !”
“Worthy the Lamb !" our lips reply,

“For He was slain for us.”

Jesus is worthy to receive

Honour and power divine,
And blessings, more than we oan give,

Be, Lord, for ever Thine.
Let all that dwell above the sky,

And air, and earth, and seas,
Conspire to lift Thy glories high,

And speak Tbine endless praise.
The whole Creation join in one

To bless the sacred Name
Of Him, that sits upon the Throne,

And to adore the Lamb !


[A. C. COXE.] In the silent midnight watches,

List-thy bosom door!
How it knocketh, knocketh, knocketh,

Knocketh evermore !
Say not 'tis thy pulse's beating ;

'Tis thy heart of sin :
'Tis thy Saviour knocks, and crieth,

Rise, and let me in ! Death comes down with reckless footstep

To the hall and hut;
Think you death will stand a-knocking

Where the door is shut ?
Jesus waiteth, waiteth, waiteth ;

But thy door is fast!
Grieved, away thy Saviour goeth ;

Death breaks in at last.
Then 'tis thine to stand entreating

Christ to let thee in ;
At the gate of heaven beating

Wailing for thy sin.

Nay, alas ! thou foolish virgin,

Hast thou then forgot,
Jesus waited long to know thee,

But He knows thee not.


[Tune-"Lincoln.” SHEPHERD of Israel, from above

Thy feeble flock behold ,
And let us never lose Thy love,

Nor wander from Thy fold.

Thou wilt not cast Thy lambs away ;

Thy hand is ever near,
To guide them lest they go astray,

And keep them safe from fear.

Thy tender care supports the weak,

And will not let them fall;
Then teach us, Lord, Thy praise to speak,

And on Thy name to call !

We want Thy help, for we are frail ;

Thy light, for we are blind ;
Let grace o'er all our doubts prevail,

To prove that Thou art kind.

Teach us the things we ought to know;

And may we find them true;
And still, in stature as we grow,

Increase in wisdom too.
Guide us through life ; and when at last

We enter into rest,
Thy tender arms around us cast,

And fold us to Thy breast!


O HOUSE of Jacob, come,
And walk with us in light:
No more bewildered roam

Like wanderers in the night;
The hope of Israel calls you near,
And Abraham's shield, and Isaac's fear.

O thou by tempests toss'd,
Reviled, distress’d, trod down,
In every region cross'd,

With grief familiar grown,
Scattered and abject, peel’d, forlorn,
Thy name a taunt, thyself a scorn ;

Though thou art fillid, alas !
And drunk with misery,
That cup begins to pass,

To them that hated thee;
But know, we honour Israel's name,
Our God and Abraham's is the same.

Rise, Jacob, from thy woes,
And thy Messiah see ;
He who thy fathers chose

Has not forgotten thee ;
At His command, we bid you come ;
Her Israel Zion welcomes home.


On God the race of man depends,
Far as the earth's remotest ends,
Where the Creator's name is known
By nature's feeble light alune.

He bids the noisy tempests cease;
He calms the raging crowd to peace,
When a tumultuous nation ravés
Wild as the winds, and loud as waves.

Whole kingdoms, shaken by the storm,
He settles in a peaceful form ;
Mountains, establish'd by His hand,
Firm on their old foundations stand.

Behold His ensigns sweep the sky;
New comets blaze, and lightnings fly!
The heathen lands, with swift surprise,
From the bright horrors turn their eyes.

At His command the morning ray
Smiles in the east, and leads the day ;
He guides the sun's declining wheels
Over the tops of western hills.

Seasons and times obey His voice;
The evening and the morn rejoice
To see the earth made soft with showers,
Laden with fruit, and drest in flowers.

'Tis from His watery stores on high
He gives the thirsty ground supply ;
He walks upon the clouds, and thence
Doth His enriching drops dispense.

The desert grows a fruitful field,
Abundant food the valleys yield;

The valleys shout with cheerful voice,
* And neighbouring hills repeat their joys.

Thy works pronounce Thy power divine ;
O'er every field Thy glories shine;
Through every month Thy gifts appear ;
Great God I Thy goodness crowns the year!

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