1 I thirst, thou wounded Lamb of God,
To wash me in thy cleansing blood;
To dwell within thy wounds; then pain
Is sweet, and life or death is gain.

2 Take my poor heart, and let it be
Forever closed to all but thee:
Seal thou my breast, and let me wear
That pledge of love forever there.

3 How blest are they who still abide
Close sheltered in thy bleeding side!
Who thence their life and strength derive,
And by thee move, and in thee live.

-SAMUEL DAVIES.

L. M.

4 What are our works but sin and death,
Till thou thy quickening Spirit breathe?
Thou giv'st the power thy grace to move;
O wondrous grace! O wondrous love!
5 How can it be, thou heavenly King,
That thou shouldst us to glory bring?
Make slaves the partners of thy throne,
Decked with a never-fading crown?

6 Hence our hearts melt,our eyeso'erflow,
Our words are lost, nor will we know,
Nor will we think of aught beside,
My Lord, my Love is crucified."

66

-NICOLAUS L. ZINZENDORF

290

While Life Prolongs.

I While life prolongs its precious light Mercy is found, and peace is given, But soon, ah! soon, approaching night Shall blot out every hope of heaven. 2 While God invites, how blest the day, How sweet the Gospel's charming sound;

Come, sinners, haste, oh, haste away, While yet a pardoning God is found.

3 Soon, borne on time's most rapid wing, Shall death command you to the grave:

Before his bar your spirits bring,
And none be found to hear or save.

4 In that lone land of deep despair,

No Sabbath's heavenly light shall

rise-

1 Jesus, my Saviour, look on me,
For I am weary and oppressed;
I come to cast myself on thee:
Thou art my Rest.

2 Look down on me, for I am weak;
I feel the toilsome journey's length;
Thine aid omnipotent I seek;

Thou art my Strength.

3 I am bewildered on my way,

Dark and tempestous the night; O send thou forth some cheering ray, Thou art my Light.

4 I hear the storms around me rise,

But when I dread th' impending shock, My spirit to the refuge flies; Thou art my Rock.

5 Standing alone on Jordan's brink, In that tremendous latest strife,

I When I survey the wondrous cross,
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ, my God;
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.

3 See, from his head, his hands, his feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down; Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns compose so rich a crown? 4 His dying crimson, like a robe,

Spreads o'er his body on the tree,
Then am I dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

5 Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small; Love so amazing, so divine,

Demands my soul, my life, my all