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4 Worthy the Lamb for sinners slain,
Cry the redeemed above, Blessing and honor to obtain,
And everlasting love. 5 Worthy the Lamb, on earth we sing,
Who died our souls to save; Henceforth, O Death! where is thy sting!
Thy victory, O Grave !
To God in Christ be given;
Renew the song in heaven.
268. C. M. C. WESLEY.
The Communion of Saints.
But one communion make;
All of his grace partake.
One church above, beneath ; Though now divided by the stream,
The narrow stream of death. 3 One army of the living God,
To his command we bow;
And part are crossing now.
Then, when the word is given,
And land us safe in heaven.
L. M. BUTCHER. Final Acceptance of all the Righteous. 1 FROM north and south, from east and west,
Advance the myriads of the blest:
2 In one immortal throng we view
Pagan and Christian, Greek and Jew;
3 Howe'er divided here below,
One bliss, one spirit now they know; Though some ne'er heard of Jesus' name Yet God admits their honest claim.
4 On earth, according to their light,
They aimed to practise what was right;
THE CHRISTIAN LIFE.
270. C. M.
To new commencing strife:
Behold the Christian's life!
How can our warfare close ? Lonely we tread a foreign soil
How can we hope repose?
Revealed in sacred lore;
Where soldiers war no more;' 4 Where grief shall never wound, nor death,
Beneath the Saviour's reign; Nor sin, with pestilential breath,
His holy realm profane; 5 The land where, suns and moons unknown
And night's alternate sway, Jehovah's ever-burning throne
Upholds unbroken day;
Where grace achieves its plan;
271. C. M. DODDRIDGE.
The Christian Race.
And press with vigor on:
And an immortal crown.
survey: Forget the steps already trod,
And onward urge thy way. 3 'Tis God's all-animating voice
That calls thee from on high; 'Tis his own hand presents the prize
To thine aspiring eye; 4 That prize with peerless glories bright,
Which shall new lustre boast, When victors' wreaths and monarchs’ gems
Shall blend in common dust.
The Christian Race.
1 AWAKE, our souls, away, our fears,
Let every trembling thought be gone
And put a cheerful courage on.
And mortal spirits tire and faint;
3 The mighty God, whose matchless power
Is ever new and ever young,
Their everlasting circles run.
Our souls shall drink a fresh supply, While such as trust their native strength
Shall melt away, and droop, and die. 5 Swift as an eagle cuts the air,
We'll mount aloft to thine abode;
See where thy foes against thee rise,
Awake, my soul ! or thou art lost.
Mustering his pale, terrific bands;
And willing souls are captive led. 3 See where rebellious passions rage,
And fierce desires and lusts engage ;
Has thousands and ten thousands slain. 4 Thou tread'st upon enchanted ground;
Perils and snares beset thee round;