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Received the holy rite,

In open view thy form came down,
And, dove-like, flew the King to crown.
3 The day was never known,
Since time began its race,

On which such glory shone,

On which was shone such grace,
As that which shed in Jordan's stream,
On Jesus' head the heavenly beam.

4 Continue still to shine,

And fill us with thy fire:
This ordinance is thine,
Do thou our souls inspire!
Thou wilt attend on all thy sons:
'Till time shall end,' thy promise runs.

P. M.

URST, ye emerald gates, and bring
To my raptur'd vision,

All the extatic joys that spring
Round the bright elysian:
Lo! we lift our longing eyes,
Break, ye intervening skies;
Sons of righteousness, arise,
Ope the gates of paradise.

CHORUS.

O how good it is to be blest,
And dwell where loving Jesus is.

2 Floods of everlasting light!
Freely flash before him;

Myriads, with supreme delight,
Instantly adore him;

Angelic trumps resound his fame;
Lutes of lucid gold proclaim
All the music of his name;
Heaven echoing the theme.

O how good, &c.

3 Four and twenty elders rise
From their princely station;
Shout his glorious victories,
Sing the great salvation;
Cast their crowns before his throne,
Cry in reverential tone,
Glory be to God alone!

Holy! Holy! Holy One.

O how good, &c.

4 One broad rainbow round the throne, Pours celestial splendor All within the brilliant zone,

To imperial grandeur;

Heaven's pure arch reflects the blaze,
Seraphs sing, admire and gaze,
Glowing cherubs join the lays,
Martyrs shout responding praise.
O how good, &c.

5 Hark, the thrilling symphonies
Seem, methinks, to seize us;
Join we to the holy lay,

Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!

Sweetest sound on seraph's song,
Sweetest note on mortal's tongue,
Sweetest carol ever sung,

Jesus! Jesus! flow along.

O how good, &c.

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W

L. M.

WHAT various hindrances we meet,
In coming to the mercy seat;

Yet who that knows the worth of prayer,
But wishes to be often there.

2 Prayer makes the darkest cloud withdraw,
Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw;
Gives exercise to faith and love,
Brings every blessing from above.

3 Restraining prayer, we cease to fight,
Prayer makes the Christian's armor bright,
And Satan trembles, when he sees

The weakest saint upon his knees.

4 While Moses stood with arms spread wide,
Success was found on Israel's side;
But when through weariness they fail'd,
That moment Amalek prevail'd.

5 Have you no words? Ah think again,
Words flow apace when you complain,
And fill your fellow creature's ear
With the sad tale of all your care.

6 Were half the breath thus vainly spent,
To Heaven in supplication sent,

Your cheerful song would oftener be,
"Hear what the Lord has done for me."

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P. M.

TELL me no more of this world's vain

store,

The time for such trifles with me now is o'er;

A country I've found, where true joys abound, To dwell I'm determin'd on that happy ground. 2 The souls that believe in paradise live,

And me in that number will Jesus receive:
My soul, don't delay-he calls thee away,
Rise, follow thy Savior, and bless the glad
day.

3 No mortal doth know what he can bestow, What light, strength, and comfort-go after him, go;

Lo, onward I move to a city above,

None guesses how wondrous my journey will prove.

4 Great spoils I shall win, from death, hell and

sin,

'Midst outward affliction, shall feel Christ with

in:

And when I'm to die, receive me, I'll cry, For Jesus hath lov'd me, I cannot tell why. 5 But this I do find, we two are so join'd,

He'll not live in glory, and leave me behind: So this is the race, I'm running through grace, Henceforth till admitted to see my Lord's

face.

6 And now I have care, that my friends too may share

These blessings: to seek them will none of you dare?

In bondage, O why, and death will you lie, When one here assures you, free grace is so nigh?

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H°

P. M.

The good Physician.

OW lost was my condition
Till Jesus made me whole!

There is but one Physician
Can cure the sin-sick soul!
Next door to death he found me,
And snatched me from the grave;
To tell to all around me,

His wondrous power to save

2 The worst of all diseases,
Is light compar'd to sin;
On every part it seizes,
But rages most within.
'Tis palsy, plague and fever,
And madness all combin'd;
And none but a believer,

The least relief can find.

3 From men great skill professing,
I thought a cure to gain;
But this prov'd more distressing,
And added to my pain:
Some said that nothing ail'd me,
Some gave me up for lost;
Thus ev'ry refuge fail'd me,

And all my hopes were cross'd.
4 At length this great Physician,
(How matchless is his grace!)
Accepted my petition,

And undertook my case:
He gave me sight to view him,

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