e, my soul, awake, my voice,
And tunes of pleasure sing,
Loud hallelujahs shall address
My Saviour and my King.

Hymn 2:83.
The passion and exaltation of Christ.

1 Thus saith the Ruler of the skies,
"Awake, my dreadful sword;
"Awake, my wrath and smite the man,
"My fellow," saith the Lord.

2 Vengeance receiv'd the dread command,
And armed down she flies,
Jesus submits t' his Father's hand,
And bows his head and dies.

3 But O! the wisdom and the grace
That join with vengeance now!
He dies to save our guilty race,
And yet he rises too.

4 A person so divine was he
Who yielded to be slain,
That he could give his soul away,
And take his life again.

5 Live, glorious Lord, and reign on high,
Let every nation sing,
And angels sound with endless joy
The Saviour and the King.

Hymn 2:84.
The same.

1 Come, all harmonious tongues,
Your noblest music bring,
'Tis Christ the everlasting God,
And Christ the man we sing.

2 Tell how he took our flesh
To take away our guilt,
Sing the dear drops of sacred blood
That hellish monsters spilt.

3 [Alas, the cruel spear
Went deep into his side,
And the rich flood of purple gore
Their murderous weapons dy'd.]

4 [The waves of swelling grief
Did o'er his bosom roll,
And mountains of almighty wrath
Lay heavy on his soul.]

5 Down to the shades of death
He bow'd his awful head,
Yet he arose to live and reign
When death itself is dead.

6 No more the bloody spear,
The cross and nails no more;
For hell itself shakes at his Name,
And all the heavens adore.

7 There the Redeemer sits
High on the Father's throne;
The Father lays his vengeance by,
And smiles upon his Son.

8 There his full glories shine
With uncreated rays,
And bless his saints' and angels' eyes
To everlasting days.

Hymn 2:85.
Sufficiency of pardon.

1 Why does your face, ye humble souls,
Those mournful colours wear?
What doubts are these that waste your faith,
And nourish your despair?

2 What tho' your numerous sins exceed
The stars that fill the skies,
And aiming at th' eternal throne,
Like pointed mountains rise?

3 What tho' your mighty guilt beyond
The wide creation swell,
And has its curs'd foundations laid
Low as the deeps of hell?

4 See here an endless ocean flows
Of never-failing grace,
Behold a dying Saviour's veins
The sacred flood increase:

5 It rises high and drowns the hills,
'T has neither shore nor bound:
Nor if we search to find our sins,
O