The American Sunday-School Hymn-book

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American Sunday-School Union, 1860 - 360 pages

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Page 65 - HAIL to the Lord's Anointed, Great David's greater Son ; Hail, in the time appointed, His reign on earth begun ; He comes to break oppression, To set the captive free, To take away transgression, And rule in equity.
Page 176 - LOVE divine, all love excelling, Joy of heaven, to earth come down, Fix in us Thy humble dwelling, All Thy faithful mercies crown ! Jesus, Thou art all compassion, Pure, unbounded love, Thou art ! Visit us with Thy salvation, Enter every trembling heart.
Page 88 - 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.
Page 195 - For her my tears shall fall, For her my prayers ascend ; To her my cares and toils be given, Till toils and cares shall end.
Page 241 - I would not live alway ; no, welcome the tomb ; Since Jesus hath lain there, I dread not its gloom ; There sweet be my rest, till He bid me arise, To hail Him in triumph descending the skies.
Page 15 - Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear, The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near. 3 Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try; Prayer the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. 4 Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice, Returning from his ways; While angels in their songs rejoice And cry, "Behold, he prays!
Page 186 - RISE my soul, and stretch thy wings, Thy better portion trace ; Rise from transitory things, Towards heaven, thy native place : Sun, and moon, and stars decay, Time shall soon this earth remove ; Rise my soul, and haste away, To seats prepared above.
Page 37 - ALL hail the power of Jesus' name ! Let angels prostrate fall ; Bring forth the royal diadem, And crown him Lord of all.
Page 259 - From India's coral strand, Where Afric's sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand ; From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error's chain.
Page 170 - 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.

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