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XXI. L. M.

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WESLEY'S COLLEC. Altered.

Sin a Burden.

THAT my load of sin were gone!
O that I could at last submit,
At Jesus' feet to lay it down,
To lay my soul at Jesus' feet!

2 When shall my eyes behold the Lamb?
The God of my salvation see!
Weary, O Lord, thou know'st I am,
Yet still I cannot come to thee.

3 Rest for my soul I long to find;

Saviour, if mine indeed thou art;
Give me thy meek and lowly mind,
And stamp thine image on my heart.
4 Fain would I learn of thee, my God,
Thy light and easy burden prove:

The cross all stain'd with hallow'd blood,
The labour of thy dying love.

5 I would, but thou must give the pow'r,
My heart from ev'ry sin release;

Bring near, bring near the happy hour,
And fill my soul with heavenly peace.
6 Come, Lord, the drooping sinner cheer,
Nor let my Jesus long delay;

Appear, in my poor heart appear,
My God, my Saviour, come away.

XXII. L. M. BROADDUS'S COLLEC

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Desiring Repentance.

H! give me, Lord, my sins to mourn;
My sins which have thy body torn!
Give me, with broker beart, to see,
Thy last tremendous agony!

2 Oh! could I gain the mountain's height,
And gaze upon that bleeding sight!
Oh! that with Salem's daughters, I
Could stand and see my Saviour die!
3 I'd smite my breast, and weep, and mourn,
And never from the cross return;
I'd weep o'er an expiring God,
And mix my tears with Jesus' blood.

4 I'd hang around his feet and cry,
"Lord save a soul condemn'd to die !"
O let a wretch come near thy throne,
To plead the merits of thy Son!
5 Father of mercies, drop thy frown,
And give me shelter in thy Son!
And with my broken heart comply:
O! give me Jesus, or I die!

6 O Lord, deny me what thou wilt,
Only relieve my soul from guilt:
Good Lord, in mercy hear my cry,
And give me Jesus, or I die!
7 O save my soul from gaping hell,
Or else with devils I must dwell:
O! might I enter, now I'm come!
Lord Jesus, save me, or I'm gone!

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XXIII. P. M. BALT. COLLEC. altered.
Salvation.

COME

HOME all ye mourning sinners hear,
And joyful news I'll tell;

The Lord hath brought salvation near,
For souls deserving hell:

Lo' angels bear the tidings down
To shepherds in the field,

That God a Saviour hath prepar'd,
That Him he hath reveal'd.

CHORUS.

Sing glory honour to the Lord
Salvation to our King,

Jesus was dead and lives again,
Let saints and angels sing.

2 When weeping Mary came to seek
Her Lord, with a perfume,
She found the napkin and the sheet
Together in the tomb:

The angel said he is not here,

He's risen from the dead;

And streams of grace for sinners flow
As free as did his blood.

Sing glory, honour &c.

3 Come all ye poor-the Saviour calls-Unto the feast repair;

Here each his wondrous grace extols
And you are welcome here:
His glorious presence fills our souls
With songs of loudest praise;
Let all that feel their need of him,
Their hearts and voices raise.
Sing glory, honour &c.

4 A sacred joy runs through my soul
It comes from heaven above,
Which makes me praise my God so bold
And his dear children love,

I'll serve the bleeding Lamb of God
I love his ways so well;

Amazing thought! his blood was spilt
To save iny soul from hell.

Sing glory honour to the Lord,

He's now upon his throne,

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And bringing foreign sinners home,
He claims them for his own.
XXIV. 148th. NEWTON.
The Beggar. Matt. vii. 7, 8.
ENCOURAG'D by thy word
Of promise to the poor,
Behold, a beggar, Lord,

Waits at thy mercy's door!
No hand, no heart, O Lord, but thine,
Can help or pity wants like mine.

The beggar's usual plea,
Relief from men to gain,
If offer'd unto thee,

I know thou would'st disdain ;

And pleas which move thy gracious ear, Are such as men would scorn to hear.

I have no right to say

That, though I now am poor,

Yet once there was a day

When I possessed more :

Thou know'st that from my very birth, I've been the poorest wretch on earth.

Nor can I dare profess

As beggars often do,

Though great is my distress,

My wants have been but few:

If thou should'st leave my soul to starve,
It would be what I well deserve.

Twere folly to pretend
I never begg'd before?
Or if thou now befriend,
I'll trouble thee no more:
Thou often hast reliev'd my pain,
And often I must come again.

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Though crumbs are much too good
For such a dog as I;

No less than children's food

My soul can satisfy;

O! do not frown and bid me go,

I must have all thou canst bestow.

Nor can I willing be

Thy bounty to conceal
From others who, like me,
Their wants and hunger feel:
I'll tell them of thy mercy's store,
And try to send a thousand more.

Thy thoughts, thou only wise!
Our thoughts and ways transcend,
Far as the arched skies

Above the earth extend:*

Such pleas as mine men would not bear,
But God receives a beggar's prayer.

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1 HEARTS of stone relent, relent; Break, by Jesus, cross subdu'd:

See his body mangled, rent,

Cover'd with a gore of blood:
Sinful soul, what hast thou done!
Murder'd God's eternal Son!

2 Yes, your sins have done the deed;

Drove the nails, and fix'd him there; Crown'd with thorns his sacred head, Pierc'd him with a soldier's spear; Made his soul a sacrifice;

For lost sinners Jesus dies.

*Isaiah Iv. 8, 9.

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