The Primary Hymn and Tune Book: Being the Family Singing Book Enlarged and Improved : for Use in Families, Social Circles, Conference Meetings, and Congregational Singing

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Cobb, 1861 - 163 páginas

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Página 11 - What though in solemn silence all Move round this dark terrestrial ball ; What though no real voice nor sound Amidst their radiant orbs be found; In reason's ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a/ glorious voice; For ever singing, as they shine, " The Hand that made us is divine.
Página 40 - 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. 4 Dear Lord, and shall we ever live At this poor, dying rate ! Our love so faint, so cold to Thee, And Thine to us so great ! 5 Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove, With all Thy quickening powers ! Come, shed abroad a Saviour's love, And that shall kindle ours.
Página 7 - 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.
Página 61 - Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread, Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head.
Página 71 - Sweet fields, beyond the swelling flood, Stand dressed in living green ; So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between.
Página 71 - Could we but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o'er, Not Jordan's stream, nor death's cold flood, Should fright us from the shore.
Página 155 - Jesus' throne shall rest : There your seat is now prepared — There your kingdom and reward.
Página 105 - It can bring with it nothing, But he will bear us through ; Who gives the lilies clothing, Will clothe his people too: Beneath the spreading heavens, No creature but is fed ; And he who feeds the ravens, Will give his children bread.
Página 19 - Sun of my soul ! thou Saviour dear ! It is not night if thou be near : O may no earth-born cloud arise To hide thee from thy servant's eyes.
Página 119 - BLOW ye the trumpet, blow ; The gladly solemn sound Let all the nations know, To earth's remotest bound ; The year of jubilee is come ; Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.

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