HYMN XLI.

The sun of righteousness has shin'd,
And God's new cov'nant has reveal'd;
Christ's hand the sacred bond has sign'd,
His blood the sacred bond has seal'd.

His numerous promises assure
Salvation on his father's part:
Salvation can't but be secure,
When purchas'd with his bleeding heart.

The kind testator freely dies,
To ratify this testament:
The sacred dove from glory flies,
To gain the sinners free consent.

The table of the Lord displays
The dear memorials of his love:

HYMN XL.

Let all, who enter Sion's gate,
And in God's sacred courts attend,
Praise him before his holy seat,
Whose mercy knows no bounds or end.

To the soul's inward harmony
Join the sweet musick of the tongue;
No jarring thought admitted be,
No mind untun'd, no heart unstrung.

Praise him, who did not spare to send
From heaven his own eternal son,
To veil himself in flesh, and end
That life in blood which tears begun.

Praise that redeemer, who forsook

HYMN XXXIX.

Come , let us go and die with him,
Who was content to die for us;
Let's wound and crucify those sins
That nail'd our Saviour to his cross.

May holy indignation raise
A just revenge in every breast!
May every soul, that J ESUS loves,
The very thoughts of sin detest!

Hence all ye viprous brood of vice,
That bring a train of endless woes;
O how I loath and hate you now,
As mine, and as my Saviour's foes!

Yours are the bloody hands that seiz'd,

HYMN XXXVIII.

W H en Christ, at Simon's table plac'd,
His sacred doctrine taught;
A penitent behind him stood,
Whom love had thither brought.

She with devotion kiss'd his feet,
Bath'd'em with flowing eyes;
Then drys 'em with her spreading locks,
And fragrant oil applies.

'Twas love these funeral tears prepar'd
Before her Lord was dead;
Officious love supply'd the balm

HYMN XXXVII.

O T hers may tell of famous things
Done by their heroes and their kings;
The Lord we serve, them all exceeds
For mighty sufferings, mighty deeds.

The torments he has undergone,
The glorious trophies he has won,
Armies of wondring angels cause
To fill the heavens with loud applause.

Deep in our breasts let us record
The story of our dying Lord:
As we his kind memorials view,
Our wonder, and our songs renew.

From heaven the Lord of glory came,

HYMN XXXVI.

What mighty conqueror do we see
Whose garments are distain'd with blood,

Whose rich apparel seems to be
All tinctur'd in a crimson flood?

Like one who has the wine-press trod,
Whose clothes the grape has purpl'd o'er?
'Tis the eternal Son of God,
All full of wounds, all stain'd with gore.

A mighty conqueror indeed,
Who conquers by receiving blows;
To give wounds, is content to bleed;
And by his death subdues his foes.

He treads 'em down, tho all alone,

HYMN XXXV.

H A ppy are they our Lord has chose
In his blest courts to dwell;
His praises still their thoughts employ,
Their tongues his glory tell.

There he his loveliness makes known
To all who love his name;
To them he is a glorious crown,
And beauteous diadem.

With a celestial banquet there
His table's richly spread;
The wine's the tincture of his veins,

HYMN XXXIV.

C O me let us all, who here have seen,
And tasted of our Saviour's grace,
From his blest table to his cross,
In thought, his weary footsteps trace.

Let's trace him up to Calvary ,
Not leave him as his followers did,
Who having at his table sup'd,
Forsook their suffering Lord, and fled.

Into the garden first he goes,
Where mortal fears beset him round;
Sin's pressing weight o'erwhelms his soul,
And sinks his body to the ground.

Here, prostrate as he lies, he groans,

HYMN XXXIII.

W H at wond'rous things we now behold
At this mysterious board!
What copious matter for a song
Of praises they afford!

Extended on a cross we see
The Lord whom we adore,
Both giving and receiving wounds,
Bath'd in triumphant gore.

No victor's robe so rich a dye
Before did ever stain,
No champion such a victory
Before did ever gain.

HYMN XXXII.

Let all who love our Saviour's name,
That name so full of heav'nly grace,
In songs of triumph spread his fame
Thro ev'ry age, and ev'ry place.

He kindly laid aside his crown,
And robes of awful majesty;
And in a servant's form came down
To bear a cross, and on it die.

With tears, and sweat, and blood imbru'd,
This holy lamb was sacrific'd;
Jeer'd by the barbarous multitude,
And by profaner priests despis'd.

But dying thus, he pluck'd the sting