HYMN 59.

(c. M.) 1 HOW oft, alas! this wretched heart

Has wander'd from the Lord ! How oft my roving thoughts depart,

Forgetful of his word? 2 Yet sovereign mercy calls, “Return;"

Dear Lord, and may I come ? My vile ingratitude I mourn;

0, take the wand'rer home. 3 And canst thou, wilt thou yet forgive,

And bid my crimes remove? And shall a pardon'd rebel live

To speak thy wondrous love? 4 Almighty grace, thy healing power,

How glorious, how divine! That can to life and bliss restore

So vile a heart as mine.
5 Thy pard' ning love, so free, so sweet,

Dear Saviour, I adore;
O keep me at thy sacred feet,
And let me rove no more.

HYMN 60. (L. M.) 10 THOU, to whose all searching sight

The darkness shineth as the light, Search, prove my heart; it looks to thee,

O burst its bonds, and set it free! 2 Wash out its stains, remove its dross, Bind

my

affections to the cross; Hallow each thought, let all within

Be clean, as thou, my Lord, art clean.. 3 If in this darksome wild I stray,

Be thou my light, be thou my way;
No foes, no violence I fear,

No harm, while thou, my God, art near. 4 When rising floods my soul o'erflow,

When sinks my heart in waves of wo,
Jesus, thy timely aid impart,

And raise my head, and cheer my heart. 5 Saviour! where'er thy steps I see,

Dauntless, untir'd, I follow thee:

O let thy hand support me still,
And lead me to thy holy hill.

See Hymns on Repentance.

PASSION WEEK, AND GOOD FRIDAY.

HYMN 61. (III. 4.)

Isaiah lxiii. 1-4. 1 WHO

HO is this that comes from Edom,

All his raiment stain'd with blood, To the captive speaking freedom,

Bringing and bestowing good; Glorious in the garb he wears,

Glorious in the spoil he bears? 2 'Tis the Saviour, now victorious,

Trav’lling onward in his might; 'Tis the Saviour, O how glorious

To his people is the sight! Satan conquer'd, and the grave,

Jesus now is strong to save. 3 Why that blood his raiment staining?

'Tis the blood of many slain; Of his foes there's none remaining,

None, the contest to maintain: Fall’n they are, no more to rise,

All their glory prostrate lies. 4 Mighty Victor, reign for ever,

Wear the crown so dearly won!
Never shall thy people, never,

Cease to sing what thou hast done!
Thou hast fought thy, people's foes;
Thou hast heal'd thy people's woes!

HYMN 62. (L. M.) 1 WHEN I survey the wondrous cross,

On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour

contempt on all my pride. 2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,

Save in the cross of Christ, my God: All the vain things that charm me most,

I sacrifice them to thy blood.

3 See, from his head, his hands, his feet,

Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did ere such love and sorrow meet?

Or thorns compose a Saviour's crown? 4 Were the whole realm of nature mine,

That were a tribute far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my life, my soul, my all.
HYMN 63.

(C. M.) 1 BEHOLD the Saviour of mankind

Nail'd to the shameful tree;
How vast the love that him inclin'd

To bleed and die for me! 2 Hark, how he groans! while nature shakes,

And earth's strong pillars bend !
The temple's veil in sunder breaks,

The solid marbles rend.
3 'Tis done! the precious ransom's paid,

6 Receive my soul!” he cries;
See where he bows his sacred head!

He bows his head and dies! 4 But soon he'll break death's envious chain,

And in full glory shine;
O Lamb of God! was ever pain,
Was ever love like thine!

HYMN 64. (c. M.) 1 My Saviour hanging on the tree,

In agonies and blood,
Methought once turn'd his eyes on me,

As near his cross I stood.
2 Sure, never till my latest breath

Can I forget that look;
It seem'd to charge me with his death,

Though not a word he spoke.
3 My conscience felt and own’d the guilt,

And plung'd me in despair;
I saw my sins his blood had spilt,

And help'd to nail him there. 4 Alas! I knew not what I did;

But now my tears are vain;
Where shall my trembling soul be hid ?

For I the Lord have slain.

5 A second look he

gave,

which said,
6 I freely all forgive:
“ This blood is for thy ransom paid,

“I die, that thou may'st live.
6 Thus, while his death my sin displays

In all its blackest hue,
(Such is the mystery of grace,)
It seals my pardon too.
HYMN 65.

(c. m.)
1 FROM whence these direful omens round,

Which heaven and earth amaze?
Wherefore do earthquakes cleave the ground ?

Why hides the sun his rays?
2 Well may the earth astonish'd shake,

And nature sympathize!
The sun as darkest night be black!

Their Maker, Jesus, dies!
3 Eenold, fast streaming from the tree,

His all-atoning blood!
Is this the Infinite? 'tis he,

My Saviour and my God! !
4 For me these pangs his soul assail, ,

For me this death is borne;
My sins gave sharpness to the nail,

And pointed ev'ry thorn.
5 Let sin no more my soul enslave,

Break, Lord, its tyrant chain;
O save me, whom thou cam'st to save,
Nor bleed, nor die in vain!

HYMN 66. (L. M.)

St. John xix. 30.
1
TIS

IS finish'd-so the Saviour cried,

And meekly bow'd his head and died; 'Tis finish'd-yes, the work is done,

The battle fought, the vict'ry won.
2 'Tis finish'd-all that heaven decreed,

And all the ancient prophets said,
Is now fulfill'd, as long design'd,

In me, the Saviour of mankind.
3 'Tis finishd-Aaron now no more
Must stain his robes with purple gore;

The sacred veil is rent in twain,

And Jewish rites no more remain.
4 'Tis finish'd—this, my dying groan,

Shall sins of every kind atone:
Millions shall be redeem'd from death,

By this, my last expiring breath.
5 'Tis finish'd heaven is reconcil'd,

And all the powers of darkness spoil'd:
Peace, love, and happiness, again

Return and dwell with sinful men. 6 'Tis finish’d-let the joyful sound

Be heard through all the nations round; 'Tis finish'd let the echo fly Through heaven and hell, through earth and sky

HYMN 67. (L. M.)

For the Jews. 1 HIGH on the bending willows hung,

Israel, still sleeps the tuneful string ? Still mute remains the sullen tongue,

And Zion's song denies to sing?
2 Awake! thy loudest raptures raise;

Let harp and voice unite their strains:
Thy promisd King his sceptre sways;

Behold, thy own Messiah reigns.
3 By foreign streams no longer roam,

And, weeping, think on Jordan's flood;
In
every

elime behold a home;
In ev'ry temple see thy God.
4 No taunting foes the song require;

No strangers mock thy captive chain;
Thy friends provoke the silent lyre,

And brethren ask the holy strain.
5 Then why on bending willows hung,

Israel, still sleeps the tuneful string ?
Why mute remains the sullen tongue,
And Zion's song delays to sing?

EASTER.

HYMN 68. (c. m.) 1 Cor. v. 8. Rom. vi. 9, 10, 11. SINCE Christ our Passover is slain,

A sacrifice for all,