WILLIAMS. L. M.

Arranged from Templi Carmina.

ry died,

my pride.

236. 8s & 7s.

1. JEWS were wrought to cruel madness,
Christians fled in fear and sadness, |
Mary stood the cross beside; |
At its foot, her foot she planted,
By the dreadful scene undaunted, |
Till the gentle Suff'rer died. |
Poets oft have sung her story,
Painters decked her brow with glory,
Priests her name have | dei | fied. |

2. But no worship, song, or glory,
Touches like the simple story,

Mary stood the cross beside.
And when under fierce oppression,
Goodness suffers like transgression, |
Christ again is crucified. |
But if love be there, true-hearted,
By no grief or terror parted, |

Mary stands the | cross be side. |

237. Ss & 7s.

1. AT the cross her station keeping, I
Stood the mournful mother weeping, |
Close to Jesus to the last: |
Through her heart, His sorrow sharing, |
All His bitter anguish bearing,

Now at length the | sword had | pass'd.

2. Oh, how sad and sore distress'd, | Was that mother highly blest,

Of the sole-begotten | One! Christ above in torment hangs, She beneath beholds the pangs Of her dying, glorious | Son.

3. Let me mingle tears with thee, [
Mourning Him who mourned for me, I
All the days that I may live; |
By the cross with Him to stay, |
There with thee to weep and pray,
Is all I ask of Christ to give.

4. Christ, when Thou shalt call me hence, | Be Thou only my defence, |

Bo Thy cross my victo | ry; |
While my body here decays, |
May my soul Thy goodness praise,
Safe in Paradise with | Thee. [
238. Ss & 7s.

1. SEE the Lord of glory dying,
See Him gasping, hear Him crying, |
See His burthened bosom | heave;
Look, ye sinners, ye that hung Him,
See how deep your sins have stung Him,
Dying sinners, look and | live. |

2. See the rocks and mountains shaking, | Earth unto her center quaking, |

Nature's groans awake the dead. |
Veiled the sun in awful wonder, |
While the veil is rent asunder,

And the victim | bows His | head. | 3. Heaven's bright melodious legions, | Chanting thro' those lofty regions, |

Cease to thrill the quivering string; |
Songs seraphic all suspended, |
Till the tragic woe is ended,

By the all a toning | King. |

4. Hell and all the powers infernal, | Rage against the Lamb Eternal, [

While He pours the vital | flood; | And their empire's deep foundation- | Rocks in frightful consternation,

As earth feels that | warm life- | blood. 5. Shout, ye saints, with exultation, | Fill with song the wide creation, [

See! He rises from the | tomb! |
Vain the bars of Death's dominion! |
Marble bond, and midnight pinion,

Part for aye your | reign of doom.
6. Lo! the heavens are bursting o'er us, I
Hark, the wide out-rushing chorus |
Everlasting numbers | rise- |
Songs immortal sweetly sounding,
Myriad lyres and harps resounding,

As the Conqueror | mounts the skies!

GETHSEMANE. L. M.

Arranged by CH. BEECHER.

239. L. M.

2. 'Tis midnight-and, from all removed, Immanuel wrestles lone, with fears; E'en the disciple that he loved

Heeds not his Master's grief and tears.
3. T is midnight-and, for others' guilt,
The Man of sorrows weeps in blood;
Yet He, who hath in anguish knelt,
Is not forsaken by His God.

4. T is midnight-and, from ether-plains,
Is borne the song that angels know;
Unheard by mortals are the strains
That sweetly soothe the Saviour's woe.

240. L. M.

1. BEHOLD the Man! how glorious He!
Before His foes He stands unaw'd,
And, without wrong or blasphemy,
He claims equality with God.

2. Behold the Man! by all condemn'd,
Assaulted by a host of foes;
His person and His claims contemn'd,
A Man of sufferings and of woes.

3. Behold the Man! He stands alone,
His foes are ready to devour;
Not one of all His friends will own
Their Master in this trying hour.

4. Behold the Man! though scorn'd below,
He bears the greatest name above;
The angels at His footstool bow,
And all His royal claims approve.

CHRISTIAN PSALMIST.

241. L. M.

FROM Calvary a cry was heard-
A bitter and heart-rending cry:
My Saviour! every mournful word
Bespeaks Thy soul's deep agony.
2. A horror of great darkness fell

On Thee, Thou spotless, holy One!
And all the swarming hosts of hell
Conspired to tempt God's only Son.

3. The scourge, the Thorns, the deep disgrace-
These Thou could'st bear, nor once repine;
But when Jehovah veiled His face,
Unutterable pangs were Thine

4. Let the dumb world its silence break;
Let pealing anthems rend the sky;
Awake, my sluggish soul, awake!
He died, that we might never die.
5. Lord! on Thy cross I fix mine eye;
If e'er I lose its strong control,
Oh! let that dying, piercing cry,
Melt and reclaim my wandering soul.

ד

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་ ་ ་ ་ ་

LEIPZIG. L. M.

From the Psalmodist.

1.

4

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- ny:

The Lord of

9:23

d

92

to death.