Hymns and Tunes for Vestry and Conference Meetings

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W. Crosby, 1844 - 95 pages
 

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Page 60 - Come, holy Spirit, heavenly Dove, With all thy quickening powers, Kindle a flame of sacred love, In these cold hearts of ours. 2 Look, how we grovel here below, Fond of these trifling toys; Our souls can neither fly nor go To reach eternal joys. 3 In vain we tune our formal songs, In vain we strive to rise; Hosannas languish on our tongues, And our devotion dies.
Page 59 - COME, let us join our cheerful songs, With angels round the throne ; Ten thousand thousand are their tongues, But all their joys are one. 2 "Worthy the Lamb that died"— they cry, "To be exalted thus :"— "Worthy the Lamb"— our lips reply,
Page 78 - Ashamed of Jesus ! that dear Friend On whom my hopes of heaven depend ! No ; when I blush, be this my shame, That I no more revere His Name.
Page 71 - HARK ! the voice of love and mercy Sounds aloud from Calvary ; See, it rends the rocks asunder, Shakes the earth and veils the sky. " It is finished !
Page 80 - From all that dwell below the skies, Let the Creator's praise arise ; Let the Redeemer's name be sung, Through every land, by every tongue. 2. Eternal are thy mercies, Lord ; Eternal truth attends thy word : Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more.
Page 91 - Forgive, me, LORD, for Thy dear SON, The ill that I this day have done ; That with the world, myself, and Thee, I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.
Page 20 - YE servants of the Lord, Each in his office wait, Observant of his heavenly word, And watchful at his gate. 2 Let all your lamps be bright, And trim the golden flame; Gird up your loins as in his sight, For awful is his name.
Page 58 - Ye chosen seed of Israel's race, Ye ransomed from the fall ; Hail him, who saves you by his grace, And crown him Lord of all. 4 Sinners, whose love can ne'er forget The wormwood and the gall, Go, spread your trophies at his feet, And crown him Lord of all, 5 Let every kindred, every tribe, On this terrestrial ball.
Page 90 - My God, permit me not to be A stranger to myself and thee; Amidst a thousand thoughts I rove Forgetful of my highest love. 2 Why should my passions mix with earth, And thus debase my heavenly birth? Why should I cleave to things below, And let my God, my Saviour go?
Page 57 - Thou, O Christ, art all I want; More than all in thee I find ; Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, Heal the sick, and lead the blind.

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