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HYMN 21. Fifth Part. L.M.
Forgiveness of sins. (cont.)

3	The seas of so v 'reign grace expand; The seas of sov'reign grace arise.
4	For this stupendous love of heav'n, What grateful honours shall we show! Where much transgression is forgiven, Love should with fervent ardor glow.

HYMN 21. Sixth Part. L.M.
Seeking pardon.

1	LORD, at thy feet I prostrate fall, Opprest with fears, to thee I call: Reveal thy pard'ning love to me, And set my captive spirit free.
2	Hast thou not said, "Seek ye my face:" The invitation I embrace; I'll seek thy face; thy Spirit give! O! let me see thy face, and live.
3	I'll seek thy face with cries and tears, With secret sighs and fervent prayers; And, if not heard, I'll waiting sit, And perish at my Saviour's feet.
4	But canst thou, Lord, behold my pain, And bid me seek thy face in vain! Thou wilt not, canst not me deceive, The soul that seeks thy face shall live.

HYMN 22. First Part. L.M.
Resurrection of the dead.

1	BLEST Jesus, source of ev'ry grace, From far to view thy smiling face, While absent thus by faith we live, Exceeds all joys that earth can give.
2	But O! what extacy unknown Fills the wide circle round thy throne, Where ev'ry rapt'rous hour appears Nobler than millions of our years!

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HYMN 22. First Part. L.M.
Resurrection of the dead. (cont.)

3	Millions by millions multiplied, Shall ne'er thy saints from thee divide; But the bright legions live and praise Thro' all thy own immortal days.
4	O happy dead, in thee that sleep, Tho' o'er their mould'ring dust we weep! O faithful Saviour, who shall come That dust to ransom from the tomb!
5	While thine unerring word imparts So rich a cordial to our hearts, Thro' tears our triumphs shall be shown, Tho' round their graves, and near our own,

HYMN 22. Second Part. C.M.
A prospect of the resurrection.

1	HOW long shall death, the tyrant, reign,    And triumph o'er the just; While the rich blood of martyrs slain,    Lies mingled with the dust?
2	Faith sees the Lord of glory come,    With flaming guards around; The skies divide to make him room,    The trumpet shakes the ground.
3	Faith hears the voice, "Ye dead arise!"    And Lo! the graves obey; And waking saints with joyful eyes    Salute th' expected day.
4	They leave the dust, and on the wing    Rise to the midway air; In shining garments meet their King,    And low adore him there.
5	O may our humble spirits stand    Among them cloth'd in white! The meanest place at his right hand    Is infinite delight.