Part 43 (1/2)

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?