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3 0 Death! where is thy fatal sting?
Since Christ for all did die,
Their cheerful voices raise,
Should loud be sung,
By ev'ry tongue.
In joyful ranks above,
With thankful tongues
His praise proclaim,
To shout his name.
Wherever they may be,
He dy'd for all,
And to restore
To die no more.
HYMN CCCXXXIX. trcs Leagcane! W HY does my tongue refuse to sing,
My heart so stupid lie,
Do strike my wond'ring eye?
Hangs on his pow'r alone;
His pow'r and glory own.
The tow'ring oak and pine, Bespeak his awful majesty,
And own his arm divine.
With lamps of shining light,
His awful pow'r and might.
Lends to the moon her light, And joins in silent strokes to praise
The Maker day and night.
Of all that own his hand?
HYMN CCCXL. tried beca arcue 1 THY love, O God, my feeble voice
Would fain attempt, would try to speak, But in the boundless ocean lost, My thoughts too scant, my powers too weak."
2 To what can I thy love compare?
How can I set thy goodness forth? Nothing, O Lord! on earth there are,
From east to west, from south to north, 3 If I compare it to a sea,
Without a bottom or a shore,
A sea must end, and be no more.
And should compare it to the moon; 'Tis wrong, the moon does often change,
And here we see the diff'rence soon. 5 If to the sun, whose heav'nly rays
Give life to nature here below;
Thy love first made the sun, we know. 6 If to the num'rous stars of heav'n,
That round the globe in myriads shine, They are but sparks thy love has giv'n, : They only flow from love divine.
HYMN CCCXLI. triedy I TEACH me the measure of my days,
Thou Maker of my frame!
And learn how frail I am..
An inch or two of time;
In all his flow'r and prime.
3 See the vain race of mortals move,
Like shadows o'er the plain; They rage and strive, desire and love,
But all the noise is vain.
Some dig for golden ore;
And straight are seen no more.
From creatures, earth, and dust?
, And disappoint our trust.
My fond desires recal;
HYMN CCCXLII.)ratis. 1 COD of my life, look gently down!
U Behold the pains I feel!
Nor dare dispute thy will.
They come at thy command: '
Against thy chast’ning hand.
Remove thy sharp rebukes; My strength consumes, my spirit dies,
Through thy repeated strokes.
4 Crush'd as a moth beneath thy hand,
We moulder to the dust: Our feeble pow’rs can ne'er withstand, | And all our beauty 's lost.. 75 This mortal life decays apace;
How soon the bubble 's broke! Adam, and all his num'rous race,
Are vanity and smoke.]
As all my fathers were:
When I the summons hear.
Before my last remove,
Give your burnt-offerings o'er:
My soul delights no more.'
"My God, to do thy will;
• Thy Servant shall fulfil.
"I keep it near my heart;
• To what thy lips impart.'