Yours these blessings without end, "It is finish'd;" On his grace and power depend. HYMN 182. (P. M. HAYDN.) Christ the Rock of Ages. 1 Rock of ages! cleft forme, Save from wrath, and make me pure. 3 While I draw this fleeting breath, HYMN 183. (L. M. CANAAN.) The cross of Christ. 1 WHEN We survey the wondrous cross, On which the Frince of glory died, Our richest gain we count but loss, And pour contempt on all our pride. 2 Forbid it, Lord! that we should boast, Save in the cross of Christ our God! Forbid all other hope or trust, But the atonement of his blood. 3 See from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down; Did e'er such love and sorrow meet? Or thorns compose so rich a crown ? 4 Were the whole realm of nature ours, That were a tribute far too small; "Such love" exceeds our utmost powers, And claims our soul, our life, our all. HYMN 184. (s. M. PECKHAM.) Christ the appointed Lamb of God. 1 Nor all the blood of beasts, On Jewish altars slain, Could give the troubled conscience peace, Or cleanse its guilty stain. 2 But Christ, the heavenly Lamb, A sacrifice of nobler name, 3 Lord! we look back to see 4 Believing, we rejoice To see the curse remove; We praise the Lamb with cheerful voice, And sing his dying love. HYMN 185. (P. M. HOTHAM.) Jesus, the sinner's only Refuge. 1 JESUS! Refuge of the soul! 2 Other Refuge there is none, With the shadow of thy wing. 3 Thou, O Christ! art all we want; We are full of sin and shame; 4 Plenteous grace with Thee is found; Grace to pardon all our sin : Let the healing streams abound, HYMN 186. (L. M. BATH AURICULA.) 1 CAN it, Redeemer! ever be HYMN 187. (L. M. PANCRAS.) The sinner pleading for mercy. 1 O LORD! how merciful art Thou! Although of sinners we are chief, Prostrate before thy throne we bow, 2 Our Saviour! why should we despair? 3 Oh! cleanse the thoughts of each vile heart, Help us to live to Thee alone; Thy gracious Spirit now impart, (L. M. CANAAN.) The sinner pleading for mercy. 1 O LORD! my God! in mercy turn; In mercy hear sinner mourn: To Thee I look, to Thee I cry; To Thee my trembling soul draws nigh. 2 Ah! what are sinful pleasures now, But thorns around my bleeding brow? Spectres that hover round my brain, And aggravate, and mock my pain? 3 For these I gave away my soul Now might thy thunders justly roll, |