39. WINCHESTER NEW. D. C. M. Th’ Almighty Saviour comes ; And feeble flesh assumes. Upon the cross he pays ; 'Midst shouts of loftiest praise. Before his Father's throne; And pours salvation down. Thy justice and thy grace, Our firm dependence place. 40. FROGMORE. P. M. (4-7's.) EUPHRATES. D. L. M. FATHER of mercies, bow thine ear, Attentive to our earnest prayer; We plead for those who plead for thee; Successful pleaders may they be! How great their work, how vast their charge ! Do thou their anxious souls enlarge ; Their best acquirements are our gain ; We share the blessings they attain. Clothe then with energy divine Their words, and let those words be thine ; To them thy sacred truth reveal; Suppress their fear, inflame their zeal. Teach them to sow the precious seed; Teach them thy chosen flock to feed; Teach them immortal souls to gain, Souls that will well reward their pain. Let thronging multitudes around Hear from their lips the joyful sound; In humble strains thy grace implore, And feel thy new-creating pow'r. Let sinners break their massy chains, And souls distress'd forget their pains : Let light through distant realms be spread, And Zion rear her drooping head! MANCHESTER. FATHER of mercies, in thy word What endless glory shines ; For these celestial lines. To cheer the fainting mind; And rest the weary find. Be thou for ever near; And view our Saviour there. 43. L. M. Have join'd thy family above. 44. BISHOPTHORPE. C. M. Thy sov'reign will denies, My humble pray’r arise. From ev'ry murmur free; And make me live to thee. In ev'ry pain I bear, Or seek relief in pray'r. My life and death attend, 45. WARWICK. C. M. 46. M. Which daily I receive, My soul, what canst thou give ? What can I bring him forth! My all is nothing worth. So wretched and so poor, 8. Where death and darkness reign, Hallelujah! And every conflict o'er, Hallelujah! Enraptur'd myriads sing; Hallelujah! And soon their pleasures share; Hallelujah! TRICHINOPOLY. P. M. (7's & 6's, double.) FROM Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand; From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error's chain. What, though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle; And only man is vile! The gifts of God are strown; Bows down to wood and stone. Shall we, whose souls are lighted With wisdom from on high, Shall we to man benighted, The lamp of life deny ? Salvation ! O salvation ! The joyful sound proclaim, Till each remotest nation Hath learnt Messiah's name. Waft, waft, ye winds, His story; And you, ye waters, roll, Till like a sea of glory, It spread from pole to pole : Till o'er our ransom'd nature, The Lamb for sinners slain, Redeemer, King, Creator, In bliss returns to reign. |