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HYMN XII.

[The sinners how blest, Who pardon receive!]

The sinners how blest, Who pardon receive!
In trouble we rest, In dying we live,
In danger secure, Whom Jesus hath loved,
Our footing is sure, Though earth is removed.
The hairs of our head Are register'd all,
Not one, He hath said, Shall perish, or fall,
Without the permission Of infinite grace,
Whose blessed decision We gladly embrace.
While thus we confide In Jesus's blood,
Whatever betide, Shall turn to our good;
When sorrows surround us, Our joys shall increase,
And earthquakes shall ground us In permanent peace.
Plague, famine, and war But quicken our hope,
And bid us prepare, And bid us look up;
Assured by each warning, His kingdom is near,
The Lord is returning, And soon shall appear.

48

Appear in the skies, Thou Saviour of men,
Our bodies shall rise To meet Thee again,
Entomb'd in the centre, We shall be restored,
And gloriously enter The joy of our Lord.