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No, saith the Lord, with all his faults,
I still remember him.
Yes, dear and pleasant still ;
And he withstood my will.
He seeks my face again ; My pity kindles at his woe,
He shall not seek in vain.
1 THE LORD proclaims his grace abroad!
Behold I change your hearts of stone :
And serve, henceforth, the Lord alone. 2 My grace, a flowing stream proceeds,
To wash your filthiness away ;
And learn my statutes to obey.
I give myself away to you!
Your God unalterably true.
The plenteous grace shall I confer;
No-your whole hearts shall seek the LORD,
I'll put a praying spirit there.
Down to the last expiring hour ;
And spread their wings to shelter them;
This darling object of his care?
The blood of his incarnate Son ;
The sinners whom he calls his own.
Yet much belov'd and guarded well ;
Isaiah, sxxi. 5.
5 Let earth repent, and hell despair,
This city has a sure defence ;
I THERE is a fountain fill'd with blood,
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins ;
Lose all their guilty stains.
2 The dying thief rejoic'd to see
That fountain in his day;
Wash'd all my sins away.
Shall never lose its pow'r,
Be sav'd to sin no more.
. 4 E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
And shall be till I die.
5 Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing thy pow'r to save ;
Lies silent in the grave.
6 LORD, I believe thou hast prepar'd
(Unworthy though I be)
A golden harp for me. 7 'Tis strung, and tun'd, for endless years,
And form’d by pow'r divine,
No other name but thine.
THE SOWER.--MATTHEW, xii. 3. 1 YE sons of earth prepare the plough,
Break up your fallow ground !
And scatter blessings round. 2 The seed that finds a stony soil
Shoots forth a hasty blade ;
Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead. 3 The thorny ground is sure to balk
All hopes of harvest there ;
But not the fruitful ear.
Receive the trust in vain :
And pick up all the grain.
5 But where the LORD of grace and pow'r
Has bless'd the happy field ;
The deep wrought furrows yield. 6 Father of mercies, we have need
Of thy preparing grace ;
Provide a fruitful place.
O Lord, thy dwelling-place secure !
And leave the consecrated door. 2 Devoted as it is to thee,
A thievish swarm frequents the place ;
And rob my Saviour of his praise. ( 3 There too a sharp designing trade
Sin, Satan, and the world maintain ;
To part with ease and purchase pain. 4 I know them, and I hate their din,
Am weary of the bustling crowd,
I cannot serve thee as I would.
What peace shall reign when thou art here!