1 That awful day will surely come, Th' appointed hour makes haste, When I must stand before my Judge, And pa.s.s the solemn test.

2 Thou lovely chief of all my joys, Thou sovereign of my heart, How could I bear to hear thy voice p.r.o.nounce the sound, "Depart?"

3 [The thunder of that dismal word, Would so torment my ear, 'Twould tear my soul asunder, Lord, With most tormenting fear.]

4 [What, to be banish'd from my life, And yet forbid to die!

To linger in eternal pain, Yet death for ever fly!]

5 O wretched state of deep despair, To see my G.o.d remove, And fix my doleful station where I must not taste his Love.

6 Jesus, I throw my arms around, And hang upon thy breast; Without a gracious smile from thee My spirit cannot rest.

7 O tell me that my worthless name Is graven on thy hands; Shew me some promise in thy book Where my salvation stands!

8 [Give me one kind a.s.suring word, To sink my fears again, And cheerfully my soul shall wait Her threescore years and ten.]

Hymn 2:108.

Access to the throne of grace by a Mediator.

1 Come, let us lift our joyful eyes Up to the courts above, And smile to see our Father there Upon a throne of love.

2 Once 'twas a seat of dreadful wrath, And shot devouring flame; Our G.o.d appear'd consuming fire, And vengeance was his name.

3 Rich were the drops of Jesus' blood, That calm'd his frowning face, That sprinkled o'er the burning throne, And turn'd the wrath to grace.

4 Now we may bow before his feet, And venture near the Lord; No fiery cherub guards his seat, Nor double-flaming sword.

5 The peaceful gates of heavenly bliss Are open'd by the Son; High let us raise our notes of praise, And reach th' Almighty throne.

6 To thee ten thousand thanks we bring Great Advocate on high: And glory to th' eternal King That lays his fury by.

Hymn 2:109.

The darkness of providence.

1 Lord, we adore thy vast designs, Th' obscure abyss of providence, Too deep to sound with mortal lines Too dark to view with feeble sense.

2 Now thou array'st thine awful face In angry frowns, without a smile; We thro' the cloud believe thy grace, Secure of thy compa.s.sion still.

3 Thro' seas and storms of deep distress We sail by faith and not by sight; Faith guides us in the wilderness Through all the briers and the night.

4 Dear Father, if thy lifted rod Resolve to scourge us here below, Still we must lean upon our G.o.d, Thine arm shall bear us safely thro'.

Hymn 2:110.

Triumph over death in hope of the resurrection.

1 And must this body die?

This mortal frame decay?

And must these active limbs of mine Lie mouldering in the clay?

2 Corruption, earth and worms, Shall but refine this flesh, Till my triumphant spirit comes To put it on afresh.

3 G.o.d my Redeemer lives, And often from the skies Looks down, and watches all my dust, Till he shall bid it rise.

4 Array'd in glorious grace Shall these vile bodies shine, And every shape and every face Look heavenly and divine.

5 These lively hopes we owe To Jesus' dying love; We would adore his grace below, And sing his power above.

6 Dear Lord, accept the praise Of these our humble songs, Till tunes of n.o.bler sound we raise With our immortal tongues.

Hymn 2:111.

Thanksgiving for victory; or, G.o.d's dominion and our deliverance.

1 Zion rejoice, and Judah sing; The Lord a.s.sumes his throne; Let Britain own the heavenly King, And make his glories known.

2 The great, the wicked, and the proud, From their high seats are hurl'd; Jehovah rides upon a cloud, And thunders thro' the world.

3 He reigns upon th' eternal hills, Distributes mortal crowns, Empires are fix'd beneath his smiles, And totter at his frowns.

4 Navies, that rule the ocean wide, Are vanquish'd by his breath; And legions arm'd with power and pride Descend to watery death.

5 Let tyrants make no more pretence To vex our happy land; Jehovah's Name is our defence, Our buckler is his hand.

6 [Long may the King our Sovereign live To rule us by his word; And all the honours he can give Be offer'd to the Lord.]

Hymn 2:112.

Angels ministering to Christ and saints.

1 Great G.o.d, to what a glorious height Hast thou advanc'd the Lord thy Son!

Angels, in all their robes of light, Are made the servants of his throne.

2 Before his feet their armies wait, And swift as flames of fire they move, To manage his affairs of state In works of vengeance or of love.

3 His orders run thro' all their hosts, Legions descend at his command To shield and guard the British coasts, When foreign rage invades our land.

4 Now they are sent to guide our feet Up to the gates of thine abode, Thro' all the dangers that we meet In travelling the heavenly road.

5 Lord, when I leave this mortal ground, And thou shall bid me rise and come, Send a beloved angel down Safe to conduct my spirit home.

Hymn 2:113.

The same.

1 The majesty of Solomon!