Hymn 155
Christ our passover.
Lo, the destroying angel flies
To Pharaoh's stubborn land;
The pride and flower of Egypt dies
By his vindictive hand.
He passed the tents of Jacob o'er,
Nor poured the wrath divine;
He saw the blood on every door,
And blessed the peaceful sign.
Thus the appointed Lamb must bleed,
To break the Egyptian yoke;
Thus Isr'el is from bondage freed,
And 'scapes the angel's stroke.
Lord, if my heart were sprinkled too
With blood so rich as thine,
Justice no longer would pursue
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poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 24
The rich sinner dying.
Psa. 49:6,9; Eccl. 8:8; Job 3:14,15.
In vain the wealthy mortals toil,
And heap their shining dust in vain,
Look down and scorn the humble poor,
And boast their lofty hills of gain.
Their golden cordials cannot ease
Their pained hearts or aching heads,
Nor fright nor bribe approaching death
From glitt'ring roofs and downy beds.
The ling'ring, the unwilling soul
The dismal summons must obey,
And bid a long, a sad farewell
To the pale lump of lifeless clay.
Thence they are huddled to the grave,
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poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 91
Advice to youth; or, Old age and death in an unconverted state.
Eccl. 12:1,7; Isa. 45:20.
Now in the heat of youthful blood
Remember your Creator God:
Behold, the months come hast'ning on,
When you shall say, "My joys are gone!"
Behold, the aged sinner goes,
Laden with guilt and heavy woes,
Down to the regions of the dead,
With endless curses on his head.
The dust returns to dust again;
The soul, in agonies of pain,
Ascends to God, not there to dwell,
But hears her doom, and sinks to hell.
Eternal King! I fear thy name;
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poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 6
Triumph over death.
Job 19:25-27.
Great God, I own thy sentence just,
And nature must decay;
I yield my body to the dust,
To dwell with fellow clay.
Yet faith may triumph o'er the grave,
And trample on the tombs
My Jesus, my Redeemer, lives;
My God, my Savior, comes.
The mighty Conqueror shall appear
High on a royal seat,
And death, the last of all his foes,
Lie vanquished at his feet.
Though greedy worms devour my skin,
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Hymn 158
Few saved; or, The almost Christian, the hypocrite, and apostate.
Broad is the road that leads to death,
And thousands walk together there;
But wisdom shows a narrower path,
With here and there a traveller.
"Deny thyself, and take thy cross,"
Is the Redeemer's great command;
Nature must count her gold but dross,
If she would gain this heav'nly land.
The fearful soul that tires and faints,
And walks the ways of God no more,
Is but esteemed almost a saint,
And makes his own destruction sure.
Lord, let not all my hopes be vain
Create my heart entirely new;
Which hypocrites could ne'er attain,
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poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 127
Christ's invitation to sinners, or, Humility and pride.
Mt. 11:28-30.
"Come hither, all ye weary souls,
Ye heavy-laden sinners, come;
I'll give you rest from all your toils,
And raise you to my heav'nly home.
"They shall find rest that learn of me;
I'm of a meek and lowly mind;
But passion rages like the sea,
And pride is restless as the wind.
"Blest is the man whose shoulders take
My yoke, and bear it with delight;
My yoke is easy to his neck
My grace shall make the burden light."
Jesus, we come at thy command;
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poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 15
Characters of a saint.
Who shall inhabit in thy hill,
O God of holiness?
Whom will the Lord admit to dwell
So near his throne of grace?
The man that walks in pious ways,
And works with righteous hands;
That trusts his Maker's promises,
And follows his commands.
He speaks the meaning of his heart,
Nor slanders with his tongue;
Will scarce believe an ill report,
Nor do his neighbor wrong.
The wealthy sinner he contemns,
Loves all that fear the Lord;
And though to his own hurt he swears,
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Psalm 125
The saint's trial and safety.
Unshaken as the sacred hill,
And firm as mountains be,
Firm as a rock the soul shall rest
That leans, O Lord, on thee.
Not walls nor hills could guard so well
Old Salem's happy ground,
As those eternal arms of love
That every saint surround.
While tyrants are a smarting scourge
To drive them near to God,
Divine compassion does allay
The fury of the rod.
Deal gently, Lord, with souls sincere,
And lead them safely on
To the bright gates of Paradise,
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Psalm 141
v.2-5
L. M.
Watchfulness and brotherly reproof.
A morning or evening Psalm.
My God, accept my early vows,
Like morning incense in thine house;
And let my nightly worship rise
Sweet as the evening sacrifice.
Watch o'er my lips, and guard them, Lord,
From every rash and heedless word;
Nor let my feet incline to tread
The guilty path where sinners lead.
O may the righteous, when I stray,
Smite, and reprove my wand'ring way!
Their gentle words, like ointment shed,
Shall never bruise, but cheer my head.
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poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 31 part 1
Condescending grace.
Psa. 138:6.
When the Eternal bows the skies
To visit earthly things,
With scorn divine he turns his eyes
From towers of haughty kings.
He bids his aweful chariot roll
Far downward from the skies,
To visit every humble soul
With pleasure in his eyes.
Why should the Lord that reigns above
Disdain so lofty kings?
Say, Lord, and why such looks of love
Upon such worthless things?
Mortals, be dumb; what creature dares
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