The Universalists' hymn-book: a new collection of Psalms and hymns, for the use of Universalist societies (Google eBook)

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Munroe & Francis, 1821 - Hymns, English - 396 pages
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Page 291 - Hark! they whisper; Angels say, Sister Spirit, come away. What is this absorbs me quite? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Page 15 - JOY to the world ! the Lord is come ; Let earth receive her King : Let every heart prepare him room, And Heaven and nature sing.
Page 37 - Thou art, O God, the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see ; Its glow by day, its smile by night, Are but reflections caught from thee. Where'er we turn, thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are thine.
Page 14 - Fear not," said he, for mighty dread Had seized their troubled mind; "Glad tidings of great joy I bring To you and all mankind.
Page 59 - THE Lord my pasture shall prepare, And feed me with a shepherd's care ; His presence shall my wants supply, And guard me with a watchful eye ; My noonday walks he shall attend, And all my midnight hours defend.
Page 109 - BLEST are the sons of peace, Whose hearts and hopes are one ; Whose kind designs to serve and please Through all their actions run. 2 Blest is the pious house Where zeal and friendship meet ; Their songs of praise, their mingled vows, Make their communion sweet.
Page 10 - From all that dwell below the skies, Let the Creator's praise arise ; Let the Redeemer's name be sung, Through every land, by every tongue. 2. Eternal are thy mercies, Lord ; Eternal truth attends thy word : Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more.
Page 69 - COME Thou Fount of every blessing ! Tune my heart to sing Thy grace, Streams of mercy, never ceasing, Call for songs of loudest praise : Teach me some melodious sonnet, Sung by flaming tongues aboveó Praise the mount!
Page 27 - SWEET is the work, my God, my King, To praise thy name, give thanks and sing ; To show thy love by morning light, And talk of all thy truth at night.
Page 53 - So pilgrims on the scorching sand, Beneath a burning sky, Long for a cooling stream at hand, And they must drink, or die.

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