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Our old companions in distress

We haste again to see,

And eager long for our release

And full felicity:

Even now by faith we join our hands
With those that went before,
And greet the blood-besprinkled bands
On the eternal shore.

Our spirits too shall quickly join,
Like theirs with glory crown'd,
And shout to see our Captain's sign,

To hear His trumpet sound.

Oh! that we now might grasp our Guide!
Oh! that the word were given !

Come, Lord of hosts! the waves divide,

And land us all in Heaven!


Charles Wesley. 1759.

Hosanna to the Living Lord!
Hosanna to the Incarnate Word!
To Christ, Creator, Saviour, King,
Let earth, let Heaven, Hosanna sing.

Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest!

"Hosanna," Lord, Thine angels cry ;


Hosanna,” Lord, Thy saints reply : Above, beneath us, and around,

The dead and living swell the sound.

Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest !

O Saviour, with protecting care

Return to this Thy house of prayer,

Assembled in Thy sacred Name,

Where we Thy parting promise claim.

Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest!

But, chiefest, in our cleansèd breast,
Eternal, bid Thy Spirit rest;

And make our secret soul to be

A temple pure, and worthy Thee.

Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest!

So, in the last and dreadful day,

When earth and Heaven shall melt away,
Thy flock, redeem'd from sinful stain,

Shall swell the sound of praise again.

Hosanna! Lord! Hosanna in the highest!
Bishop Reginald Heber. 1811.



"I acknowledge one Baptism for the Remission of Sins"



My soul, repeat His praise
Whose mercies are so great,
Whose anger is so slow to rise,
So ready to abate.

High as the heavens are raised
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of His grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.

His power subdues our sins;
And His forgiving love,
Far as the east is from the west,
Doth all our guilt remove.

The pity of the Lord

To those that fear His Name, Is such as tender parents feel; He knows our feeble frame.

Our days are as the grass,
Or like the morning flower;

If one sharp blast sweep o'er the field,
It withers in an hour.

But Thy compassions, Lord,
To endless years endure,

And children's children ever find

Thy words of promise sure.

Isaac Watts. 1719


There is a fountain fill'd with blood
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins ;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there have I, as vile as he,
Wash'd all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb! Thy precious Blood
Shall never lose its power,

Till all the ransom'd Church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing Thy power to save,

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue Lies silent in the grave.

Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared,
Unworthy though I be,

For me a blood-bought free reward,
A golden harp for me:

'Tis strung, and tuned for endless years, And form'd by power divine,

To sound in God the Father's ears,

No other Name but Thine.

William Cowper. 1779.


Jesu, Thou art my Righteousness,

For all my sins were Thine; Thy death hath bought of God my peace, Thy life hath made Him mine.

Spotless and just in Thee I am ;
I feel my sins forgiven;
I taste salvation in Thy Name,
And antedate my heaven.

For ever here my rest shall be,
Close to Thy bleeding side;
This all my hope, and all my plea,
For me the Saviour died!

My dying Saviour and my God,
Fountain for guilt and sin,
Sprinkle me ever with Thy Blood,

And cleanse and keep me clean!

Wash me, and make me thus Thine own;

Wash me, and mine Thou art ! Wash me, but not my feet alone : My hands, my head, my heart!

Th' atonement of Thy Blood apply,
Till faith to sight improve;

Till hope in full fruition die,

And all my soul be love.

Charles Wesley. 1740.


Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in Thee!
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy riven side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,

Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

Not the labours of my hands
Can fulfil Thy law's demands;
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears for ever flow,
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone.

Nothing in my hand I bring ;
Simply to Thy Cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the Fountain fly;
Wash me, Saviour, or I die!

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