I've seen thy glory and thy power
Through all thy temple shine;
My God, repeat that heavenly hour,
That vision so divine.

Not all the blessings of a feast,
Can please my soul so well,
As when thy richer grace I taste,
And in thy presence dwell.

Not life itself, with all its joys,

Can

my

best passions move;

Or raise so high my cheerful voice

As thy forgiving love.

WATTS.

HYMN CXII.

THOU hidden love of God, whose height,
Whose depth unfathomed no man knows,
I see from far thy beauteous light,
And inly sigh for thy repose:
My heart is pained, nor can it be
At rest, till it finds rest in thee.

Is there a thing beneath the sun

That strives with thee my heart to share? Ah! tear it thence, and reign alone,

The Lord of every motion there! Then shall my heart from earth be free, When it has found repose in thee.

Each moment draw from earth away
My heart, that lowly waits thy call;
Speak to my inmost soul and say,

"I am thy love, thy God, thy all!" To feel thy power, to hear thy voice, To taste thy love, be all

my choice.

FROM THE GERMAN.

HYMN CXIII.

WHEN I survey the wondrous cross,
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,

And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death of Christ my God; All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to his blood.

See from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small,
Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands my soul, my life, my all!

WATTS.

HYMN CXIV.

HEAR What the voice from heaven proclaims

For all the pious dead;

Sweet is the savour of their names,

And soft their sleeping bed.

They die in Jesus, and are blessed;
How calm their slumbers are!
From sufferings and from sins released,
And freed from every snare.

Far from this world of toil and strife,
They're present with the Lord;
The labours of their mortal life

End in a large reward.

WATTS.

HYMN CXV.

Up to the fields where angels lie,
And living waters gently roll,
Fain would my ardent spirit fly,
But sin hangs heavy on my soul.

Thy wondrous blood, dear dying Christ! Can make this load of guilt remove; And thou canst bear me where thou fly'st, On thy kind wings, celestial Dove!

Oh! might I once mount up and see
The glories of th' eternal skies,
What little things these worlds would be!
How despicable to my eyes!

Had I a glance of thee, my God,

Kingdoms and men would vanish soon, Vanish, as though I saw them not, As a dim candle dies at noon.