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All would be friends, without a foe,
And form a paradise below.
Jesus, forgive us that we keep
Thy sacred law of love asleep,
And take our envy, wrath and pride,
Those savage passions, for our guide.


The atonement of Christ.

Common Metre.


OW is our nature spoil'd by sin !

Yet nature ne'er hath found The way to make the conscience clean,

Or heal the painful wound.
In vain we seek for peace with God

By methods of our own:
Jesus, there's nothing but thy blood

Can bring us near the throne.
The threatenings of thy broken law

Impress our souls with dread: If God his sword of vengeance draw,

It strikes our spirits dead. But thine illustrious sacrifice

Hath answer'd these demands: And peace and pardon from the skies

Come down by Jesus' hands. Here all the ancient types agree,

The Altar and the Lamb: And prophets in their visions see

Salvation through his name. 'Tis by thy death we live, O Lord;

'Tis on thy cross we rest : For ever be thy love ador'd;

Thy name for ever blest.

For SERMON XXXV. Faith and repentance encouraged by the Sacrifice of



Common Metre.
THERE shall the guilty conscience go,

To find a sure relief?
Can bleeding bulls or goats bestow

A balm to ease my grief? Will popish rites and penances

Release my soul from sin ?
What insufficient things are these,

To calm the wrath divine!
God, the great God, who rules the skies,

The gracious and the just,
Makes his own Son our sacrifice :

And there lies all our trust.
O never let my thoughts renounce

The gospel of my God,
Where vilest crimes are cleans'd at once,

In Christ's atoning blood.
Here rest my faith, and ne'er remove;

Here let repentance rise,
While I behold his bleeding love,

His dying agonies.
With shame and sorrow here I own

How great my guilt has been:
This is my way t approach the throne,
And God forgives my sin.

Christ's Propitiation improved.

Long Metre.
ORD, didst thou send thy Son to die

For such a guilty wretch as I?
And shall thy mercy not impart
Thy Spirit to renew my heart?


And pay

Lord, hast thou wash'd my garments clean
In Jesus' blood, from shame and sin?
Shall I not strive with all my pow'r,
That sin pollute my soul no more?
Shall I not bear my Father's rod,
The kind corrections of my God;
When Christ upon the cursed tree
Sustain'd a heavier Load for me?
Why should I dread my dying day,
Since Christ has ta'en the curse away,
· And taught me with my latest breath
To triumph o'er thy terrors, Death?
O rather let me wish and cry,
“ When shall my soul get loose and fly
To upper worlds? When shall I see
“ The God, the man that dy'd for me?"
I shall behold his glories there,


my eternal share Of praise, and gratitude, and love, Among ten thousand saints above.


A Christian's Treasure. All things are yours, whether Paul, or Apollos, or Ce

phas, &c.

Long Metre.
Ow vast the treasure we possess !

How rich thy bounty, King of grace!
This world is ours, and worlds to come!
Earth is our lodge, and heav'n our home.
Paul is our teacher: while he speaks,
The shadows flee, the morning breaks;
His words like beams of knowledge shine,
And fill our souls with light divine.
Cephas is ours : he makes us feel
The kindling of celestial zeal:


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While sweet Apollos' charming voice,
Gives us a taste of heav'nly joys.
The springing corn, the stately wood,
Grow to provide us house and food :
Fire, air, earth, water, join their force;
All nature serves us in her course.
The sun rolls round to make our day,
The moon directs our nightly way;
While angels bear us in their arms,
And shield us from ten thousand harms.
O glorious portion of the saints !
Let faith suppress our sore complaints,
And tune our hearts and tongues to sing
Our bounteous God, our sovereign King.

All things working for Good.

Long Metre.
Y soul, survey thy happiness,
If thou art found a child of

How richly is the gospel stor'd!
What joy the promises afford !
All things are yours; the gift of God,
And purchas'd with our Saviour's blood :
While the good Spirit shews us how
To use, and to enjoy them too.
If peace and plenty crown my days,
They help me, Lord, to speak thy praise :
If bread of sorrows be my food,
Those sorrows work my real good.
I would not change my blest estate,
With all that flesh calls Rich, or Great,
And while my faith can keep her hold,
I envy not the sinner's gold's
Father, I wait thy daily will,
Thou shalt divide my portion still :
Grant me on earth what seems Thee best, as
Till death and heav'n reveal the rest.


The true improvement of Life.

Common Metre.
ND is this life prolong'd to me?

Are days and seasons giv'n?
Shall I not then prepare to be

A fitter heir for heav'n?
I'll never let these moments pass,

These golden hours be gone:
Lord, I accept thy offered grace,

I bow before thy throne.
Now cleanse my soul from ev'ry sin,

By my Redeemer's blood:
Now let my flesh and heart begin

The honours of my God. Let me no more my soul defile

With sin's deceitful toys :
Let chearful hope, increasing still,

Approach to heav'nly joys :
My thankful lips shall loud proclaim

The wonders of thy praise,
And spread the savour of thy name, ,

Where'er I spend my days.
On earth let my example shine :

And when I leave this state,
May heav'n receive this soul of mine,
To bliss divinely great.

The privilege of the Living above the Dead.

Long Metre.

A ,

And serve my Saviour here below, In works which all the saints above, Which holy angels cannot do."

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