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4 In tender memory of his grave
The mystic bread we take,

And muse upon the life he gave
So freely for our sake.

5 A boundless love he bore mankind;
Oh, may at least a part

Of that strong love descend and find
A place in every heart!

L

ORD! at thy table I behold
The wonders of thy grace;
But most of all admire that I

Should find a welcome place.

2 What strange surprising grace is this,
That such a soul has room!
My Saviour takes me by the hand,
My Jesus bids me come.

3 Ye saints below, and hosts of heaven,
Join all your praising powers;
No theme is like redeeming love,
No Saviour is like ours.

4 Had I ten thousand hearts, dear Lord!
I'd give them all to thee;
Had I ten thousand tongues, they all
Should join the harmony.

L

AMB of God! whose bleeding love
We now recall to mind,

Send the answer from above,
And let us mercy find:

Think on us, who think on thee,

Every burdened soul release;

Oh, remember Calvary,

And bid us go in peace!

C.M.

7's & 6s.

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2 By thine agonizing pain,

And bloody sweat, we pray-
By thy dying love to man,
Take all our sins away:
Burst our bonds, and set us free,
From all sin do thou release;
Oh, remember Calvary,

And bid us go in peace!

3 Let thy blood, by faith applied,
The sinner's pardon seal;
Own us freely justified,

And all our sickness heal:
By thy passion on the tree,

Let our griefs and troubles cease;
Oh, remember Calvary,

And bid us go in peace!

Matt. 26: 29.

ERE, O my Lord, I see thee face to face;

HER

10s.

Here would I touch and handle things unseen;

Here grasp with firmer hand the eternal grace,
And all my weariness upon thee lean.

2 Here would I feed upon the bread of God;

Here drink with thee the royal wine of heaven;
Here would I lay aside each earthly load,
Here taste afresh the calm of sin forgiven.

3 Too soon we rise; the symbols disappear;

The feast, though not the love, is passed and gone; The bread and wine remove, but thou art hereNearer than ever-still my Shield and Sun.

4 Feast after feast thus comes and passes by;
Yet, passing, points to the glad feast above,-
Giving sweet foretaste of the festal joy,

The Lamb's great bridal feast of bliss and love.

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FOR

ORGET thyself! Christ bade thee come
To think upon his love,

Which could reverse the sinner's doom,

And write his name above;
Bid the returning rebel live,
And freely all his sins forgive.

2 Forget thyself! and think what pain,
What agony he bore,

To wash away each guilty stain,
To bless thee evermore:

To fit thee for his high abode,
The temple of the living God.

3 Forget thyself! but let thy soul
With memories o'erflow,
Rejoice in his supreme control,
And seek his will to know:

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With thankful heart approach the feast,
And thou wilt be a welcome guest.

DE

John 19:25.

EAR Lord, amid the throng that pressed
Around thee on the curséd tree,
Some loyal, loving hearts were there,
Some pitying eyes that wept for thee.

2 Like them may we rejoice to own

C. L.M.

Our dying Lord, though crowned with thorn;
Like thee, thy blesséd self, endure

The cross with all its cruel scorn.

3 Thy cross, thy lonely path below,

Show what thy brethren all should be;

Pilgrims on earth, disowned by those

Who see no beauty, Lord, in thee.

L.M.

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GARDEN of Olives, thou dear honored spot,
The fame of thy wonders shall ne'er be forgot;
The theme most transporting to seraphs above;
The triumph of sorrow,-the triumph of love!

2 Come, saints, and adore him; come, bow at his feet:
Oh, give him the glory, the praise that is meet;
Let joyful hosannas unceasing arise,

And join the full chorus that gladdens the skies!

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W

Psalm 137.

HEN we, our wearied limbs to rest,

Sat down by proud Euphrates' stream,
We wept, with doleful thoughts oppressed,
And Zion was 'our mournful theme.

2 Our harps that, when with joy we sung,
Were wont their tuneful parts to bear,
With silent strings neglected hung

On willow trees that withered there.
3 How shall we tune our voice to sing,

Or touch our harps with skillful hands?
Shall hymns of joy, to God our King,

Be sung by slaves in foreign lands?
4 O Salem! our once happy seat,-

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When I of thee forgetful prove,
Let then my trembling hand forget
The tuneful strings with art to move.

G

Psalm 80.

REAT Shepherd of thine Israel,

Who didst between the cherubs dwell,

And lead the tribes, thy chosen sheep,
Safe through the desert and the deep!

2 Thy church is in the desert now:

Shine from on high, and guide us through;
Turn us to thee, thy love restore:

We shall be saved, and sigh no more.

L.M.

L.M.

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3 Hast thou not planted with thy hand
A lovely vine in this our land?

Did not thy power defend it round,
And heavenly dew enrich the ground?
4 How did the spreading branches shoot,
And bless the nations with their fruit?
But now, O Lord, look down and see
Thy mourning vine, that lovely tree.
5 Return, almighty God, return,
Nor let thy bleeding vineyard mourn:
Turn us to thee, thy love restore,
We shall be saved, and sigh no more.

WH

HY, on the bending willows hung,
Israel still sleeps thy tuneful string?—
Still mute remains thy sullen tongue,
And Zion's song denies to sing?

2 Awake! thy sweetest raptures raise!
Let harp and voice unite their strains:
Thy promised King his sceptre sways;
Jesus, thine own Messiah, reigns!

3 No taunting foes the song require;

No strangers mock thy captive chain;
But friends provoke the silent lyre,
And brethren ask the holy strain.

4 Nor fear thy Salem's hill to wrong,
If other lands thy triumph share:
A heavenly city claims thy song;
A brighter Salem rises there.

5 By foreign streams no longer roam;

Nor, weeping, think of Jordan's flood:

In every clime behold a home,
In every temple see thy God.