The Lesson of the Cross.

CH

REV. CHARLES WESLEY.

'HRIST, my hidden Life, appear,
Soul of my inmost soul!
Light of life, the mourner cheer,
And make the sinner whole !
Now in me Thyself display:
Surely Thou in all things art ;
I from all things turn away
To seek Thee in my heart!

Open, Lord, my inward ear,
And bid my heart rejoice!

Bid my quiet spirit hear

Thy comfortable voice; Never in the whirlwind found,

Or where earthquakes rock the place;

Still and silent is the sound,

The whisper of Thy grace!

From the world of sin, and noise,
And hurry, I withdraw ;

For the small and inward Voice

I wait with humble awe :

Silent am I now and still;

Dare not in Thy presence move:

To my waiting soul reveal

The secret of Thy love!

Thou hast undertook for me;

For me to death wast sold;

Wisdom in a mystery

Of bleeding love unfold!

Man Honoured above Angels.

Teach the lesson of Thy cross;

Let me die, with Thee to reign! All things let me count but loss, So I may Thee regain !

Show me, as my soul can bear,

The depth of inbred sin ; All the unbelief declare,

The pride that lurks within:

Take me, whom Thyself hast bought!
Bring into captivity

Every high aspiring thought,

That would not stoop to Thee!

Lord, my time is in Thy hand;
My soul to Thee convert !
Thou canst make me understand,
Though I am slow of heart.

Thine, in whom I live and move,

Thine the work, the power is Thine! Thou art Wisdom, Power, and Love; And all Thou art is mine!

Man Honoured above Angels.

No

REV. JOHN NEWTON.

OW let us join with hearts and tongues,
And emulate the angels' songs;

Yea, sinners may address their King

In songs that angels cannot sing!

They praise the Lamb who once was slain,
But we can add a higher strain ;

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Not only say,

"He suffer'd thus," But that" He suffer'd all for us!"

When angels by transgression fell,
Justice consign'd them all to hell;
But Mercy form'd a wondrous plan
To save and honour fallen man.

Jesus, who pass'd the angels by,
Assumed our flesh to bleed and die ;
And still He makes it His abode;
As man He fills the throne of God.

Our Next of kin-our Brother now-
Is He to whom the angels bow;
They join with us to praise His name,
But we the nearest interest claim.

But ah! how faint our praises rise!
Sure 'tis the wonder of the skies,
That we, who share His richest love,
So cold and unconcern'd should prove.

Oh glorious hour, it comes with speed!
When we, from sin and darkness freed,
Shall see the God who died for man,
And praise Him more than angels can.

THE

God Incarnate.

HENRY MOORE.

HE Holy Son of God most high, For love of Adam's lapsèd race, Left the sweet pleasure of the sky, To bring us to that happy place.

Litany to the Saviour.

The robes of light He laid aside,

Which did His majesty adorn, And the frail state of mortal tried, In human flesh and figure born.

The Son of God thus man became,
That man the Son of God might be,
And by his second birth proclaim
A likeness to His deity.

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Litany to the Saviour.

DEAN HENRY HART MILMAN.

HEN our heads are bow'd with woe,

WHE

When our bitter tears o'erflow, When we mourn the lost, the dear, Gracious Son of Mary, hear.

Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn,
Thou our mortal griefs hast borne,
Thou hast shed the human tear;
Gracious Son of Mary, hear.

When the solemn death-bell tolls
For our own departing souls;
When our final doom is near,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear.

Thou hast bow'd the dying head,
Thou the blood of life hast shed,
Thou hast fill'd a mortal bier;
Gracious Son of Mary, hear.

When the heart is sad within

With the thought of all its sin;
When the spirit shrinks with fear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear.

Thou the shame, the grief hast known;
Though the sins were not Thine own,
Thou hast deign'd their load to bear;
Gracious Son of Mary, hear. Amen.

There is a Fountain Filled with Blood.

WILLIAM COWPER.

THERE is a fountain fill'd with blood,

Drawn from Immanuel's veins ;

And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see

That fountain in his day;

And there would I, though vile as he,

Wash all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb! Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power,

Till all the ransom'd church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.

E'er since by faith I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.