5. To my poor heart the death and fmart

Of God my Lord

Does peace and joy afford.

A finner e'er fo poor

All o'er,

Quite full of fin, is well within,
Soon as his God

Appears to him in Blood.

Thy Churches dear,
Whofe hearts are melted down,
And flow

With longing thee to know..
3. Behold us ev'n now,
How thy People fink down,

And Childlike bow

With fhame before thy Throne :
May thy

6. Blood, Blood, ah! Blood, the Flesh our Hearts purify!

only Good,

My Ranfom-Price,

For my heart does fuffice.

O may the flaughter'd Lamb,
Who came

To fave the loft to th’uttermost,
Draw thee and me,

And thousands to his Tree.

7. Stand in your place, heralds of grace,

With holy fhame,

And thus the Cross proclaim!

"Souls! tafte, and have his Flesh

66

Quite fresh,

4. O moft lovely Cross!
Draws us into his Death,

And kill our Drofs
By the power of Faith,
And all

That brings us into Thrall.

5. We now thy Blood drink
With poor, but thirsty souls;
And thus we fink
Into thy pierc'd wound-holes,
Where we

So fure a Shelt'ring fee.

6. Communion divine!

“And drink the Blood, for you fo Hence is our Happiness,

good."

Then, preach with Power,

"That Blood does Sin devour."

+ 53.

Wir wollen lernen Chrißi creuz verfehn

E with from our heart

"WE

To feel we're Thine,
And that for thee thro' grace
We live,

And our Hearts to thee give.

7. A Pattern most fair

We have receiv'd from thee,
That whofoe'er
Defires, may plainly fee;
How Thine

In mutual Love should join.

To know Ghrift's Crofs 8. O then thyself gird! indeed,

Ev'n th' inmoft part, What bleffings there lie hid : Surely,

It is a Mystery!

2. This knowledge is clear Unto thy friends alone,

+ Precatio.

And wash our Feet quite clean;

We are thy Herd,

In whom thy grace is feen,
And who

Long fince thy Mercy know.

9. Flow down, blood divine!
On heart, head, hands and feet;
Grace! gird our loin,
And make us quite compleat;

And

1

Around us fprings, by Gospel light,
A face of things more fair and bright.
3. Paffions no more torment
Our fouls with bitter ftrife;
To us, in Love,. is fent

Whate'er we meet in life:
'Tis Chrift we ferve, and His fure

That in thy Wounds I now may find 'Will us preferve where'er we are.

Sinners from endless pain, That they might know no other theme,

But that a Lamb was flain.

6. Imprefs then deeply on my breaft

This truth, That thou haft died, That in thy wounds with confidence I ever may abide.

6. Are we uncertain what's the cafe, | 8. Which teaches me what is thy

But feel we are not right?
We need but lay our Heart 'fore

Will,

it, Lamb,

This mortal frame,

2. Cleanfe me and wash me in thy This mind fo frail,

blood,

Then only Thine I'll be ;

Create me Thine, and I will have

No other Lord but Thee.

Where fins did long prevail,

Should ever run a Race

Of Grace?

The cause is, fure, Immanuel's pow'r,
Who Flesh now made,

3. Take my poor heart juft as it is, Does yield the mildeft Aid.

Set up therein thy throne;

So fhall I love thee above all,

And live to thee alone.

2. Who but believes, and once perceives,

In depth of heart,

4. Remember, Lord, when thou That he in thee has part;

didit hang

And die upon the Tree,

Can always to this Seal

Appeal,

For whom were all thy wounds and Can there forget each load or Let,

pains,

But for the world and me?

And fimply trust,

The Lamb's death conquer muft.

5. There thou didst purchase life for 3. And tho' tis true, the best we do,

And rous'd me out of fin's deep fleep, 4. This then to me permitted be,

59.

1. I Thirt, thou wounded Lamb of

To wash me in thy cleansing blood; To dwell within thy wounds; then pain

Is fweet, and life or death is gain. 2. Take my poor Heart, and let it be For ever clos'd to all but thee: Seal thou my Breast, and let me wear That pledge of love for ever there. 3. How bleft are they, who still abide Close shelter'd in thy bleeding Side! Who life and strength from thence derive,

And by thee move, and in thee live. 4. What are our works but fin and

death,

Till thou thy quick'ning Spirit

8. First-born of many brethren thou, To thee, lo! all our fouls we bow; To thee our hearts and hands we give,

Thine may we die, thine may we live.

The way to peace and happiness,
Before 'tis on their minds imprefs'd,
That Chrift's the finner's only Rest!
2. His wounds ftand open to receive
Such helpless Sinners as believe;
Thither I fly with eager hafte,
And kifs his Cross, and hold it fast.
3. His wounds to me are very sweet;
When I fink down before his Feet,
As poor and helpless, then my foul
Melts, and his Blood runs thro' the

4.

whole.

I can't ev'n make my own felf
poor!

I get much pain, but nothing more:
Strive I in comforts to be great?
Inftead of joy I mis'ry meet.
5. But when he fhews me how I rove,
And court my Neighbour's praile

and love;

How Self-will raifes difcontent Against my Saviour's Government; 6. When Satan tempts, how foon I ftart;

Pafs by Convictions in

my heart; beft Love and Zeal abate; Fall, and my very Falls forget: 7. When I fee This, I can't exprefs What melting fhame, and yet what

8. Thofe fouls who ftray not from 15. Ah keep us ever so:

their Hearts,
Nor from the grace the Lamb imparts,
They feel how far extends his Death,
And live the happy life of Faith.
9. Thou know'ft, for this I thirft,
my Lamb!

To live this Life is all my aim;
And tho' too oft Self creeps between,
Yet felf and all things elfe are pain.
10. Compleat thy work, my gracious

King,

My Heart into that Order bring,
Which thou wouldst have, that all

A

61.

Ein armes (under-herz.

True poor finner's heart,
Straitned with grief and
{mart,

Which knows no where to fly
From Satan's tyranny;
In Jefu's Wounds may meet
A fweet and fafe retreat.

2. Scarce is the Lamb but view'd,
The Heart is quite renew'd;
The cold heart burns and glows,
Soon as the Lamb it knows;
As foon as the fide's rent
Itself to th' Soul prefents.
3. One finks with bowedness;
Then the whole mind imprefs
His Nail prints beauteous gleams,
And their fo bloody beams,
Which ravishingly chear,
When to the heart they're near.
4. That felf-fame Spirit dwells
In us, who Thomas tells
Chrift's Godhead true to draw
Out of the Wounds he faw,
Of him, whom he no more
Than Mafter call'd before.

For joy we never know,
But when we thee embrace,
And fweetly feel thy Grace;
Let us each hour be found

Looking in ev'ry wound.

62.

Solche leute will der Koenig kulfen.
O fuch the King will give a
Kifs of Love,

T°

Who, at a lofs which way to turn or