4 In vain the stone, the watch, the seal, Forbid an early rise To him, who breaks the gates of hell, And opens paradise. HYMN 110. P. M. ALL is hush'd, the battle's o'er! Trembling waits the great event. Here I'll stay, nor wander hence, 2 ; See, a gleam of light appears! 3 Heav'nly laurels crown his head ! Thou my new creation art : Hail! my flesh, and bone and blood; Hail! myself, redeem'd to God. I in him, and he in me, With him, where, and as he is, Here I enter perfect rest: The Father's praise, his King and Priest. HYMN 1. P. M. CHRIST the Lord is ris'n to day, Raise your joys and triumphs high, 2 Love's redeeming work is done, 3 Vain the stone, the watch, the seal, 4 Lives again our glorious King; "Where, O death, is now thy sting?” Once he dy'd our souls to save; "Where's thy vict'ry, boasting grave?" 5 Soar we now where Christ has led, Made like him, like him we rise, 6 What though once we perish'd all, Second life we now receive, 7 Hail the Lord of earth and heav'n ! HYMN 112. C. M. PART FIRST. AGAIN the Lord of life and light 2 O what a night was that which wrapp'd 3 This day be grateful homage paid, 4 Ten thousand diff'ring lips shall join 5 Jesus, the Friend of human kind, 6 The pow'rs of darkness leagu❜d in vain He shook their kingdom when he fell, PART SECOND. 7 Our Saviour's conqu❜ring chariot wheels Ascend the lofty skies; While broke, beneath his pow'rful cross, Death's iron sceptre lies. 8 Exalted high at God's right hand, Through him is pard'ning love dispens❜d, And still for erring, guilty man, And still his bleeding heart is touch'd 10 To thee, my Saviour, and my King, HYMN 113. L. M. IN Jesus who was crucify'd Alone we glory and confide; Let ev'ry tongue with joy confess, The Lord our strength and righteousness. 2 For us redemption to obtain, The spotless Lamb of God was slain ; Saints triumph in his glorious name, 3 To banish all our griefs and fears, 4 Behold, enthron'd at God's right hand, Our joyful souls with rapture trace. HYMN 114. C. M. HOSANNA to the Prince of light, That cloth'd himself in clay; Enter'd the iron gates of death, And tore the bars away. 2 Death is no more the king of dread, 3 Raise your devotion, mortal tongues, 4 Bright angels, strike your loudest strings, Your sweetest voices raise; Let heav'n, and all created things, Sound our Immanuel's praise. |