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C. M. Enfield. The Same. 1 Behold, where, in a mortal form, Appears each grace divine; The virtues, all in Jesus met, With mildest radiance shine. 2 To spread the rays of heavenly light, To give the mourner joy, To preach glad tidings to the poor, Was his divine employ. 3 'Midst keen reproach and cruel scorn, Patient and meek he stood; His foes, ungrateful, sought his life; He labored for their good. 4 In the last hour of deep distress, Before his Father's throne, With soul resigned, he bowed, and said, "Thy will, not mine, be done!" 5 Be Christ our pattern and our guide! His image may we bear! O, may we tread his holy steps, His joy and glory share! 240. C. P. M. Medley. Excellency of Christ. 1 O, could we speak the matchless worth, O, could we sound the glories forth, Which in our Saviour shine, We'd soar, and touch the heavenly strings, And vie with Gabriel, while he sings, In notes almost divine. 2 We'd sing the characters he bears, And all the forms of love he wears, Exalted on his throne: In loftiest songs of sweetest praise, We would, to everlasting days, Make all his glories known. 3 O, the delightful day will come, When Christ our Lord will bring us home And we shall see his face; Then, with our Saviour, Brother, Friend, A blest eternity we'll spend, Triumphant in his grace. 241. L. M. Doddridge. Christ's Submission to his Father's Will. 1 "Father divine," the Saviour cried, While horrors pressed on every side, And prostrate on the ground he lay, "Remove this bitter cup away. 2 "But if these pangs must still be borne Or helpless man be left forlorn, I bow my soul before thy throne, And say, Thy will, not mine, be done." 3 Thus our submissive souls would bow, And, taught by Jesus, lie as low; Our hearts, and not our lips alone, Would say, Thy will, not ours, be done. 4 Then, though like him in dust we lie, We'll view the blissful moment nigh, Which, from our portion in his pains, Calls to the joy in which he reigns. 242. L. M. Bache. "Greater love hath no man than this." 1 "See how he loved!"
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