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Friday Lauds.

Hymn XXII.

[Tune now your selvs, my hart strings high]

Tune now your selvs, my hart strings high;
Let us aloft our voyces raise:
That our loud song may reach the Sky;
And there present to Thee our praise.
To thee, blest JESU, who cam'st down,
From those bright sphears of joy above;
To purchase us a dear bought Crown,
And woo our Souls to 'espouse thy love.
Long had the World in darknes sate;
Til Thou and thy all-glorious light
Began to dawn from heav'ns fair gate,
And with thy beams dispel their night:

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We too, alas! stil there had stood,
As common slaves in the same shade;
But mercy came, and with his blood,
Our general ransom freely paid.
Not all the spite of all the Jews,
Nor death it self could him remove:
Stil He his blest design pursues;
And gives his life, to take our love.
And now, my Lord, my God, my all!
What shal I most in Thee admire?
That pow'r which made the world and shal
The world again dissolve with fire?
O no, thy strange humility;
Thy wounds, thy pains, thy cross, thy death:
These shal alone my wonder be,
My helth, my joy, my staff, my breath.
To Thee, great God! to Thee alone,
Three Persons in one Deity;
As former ages stil have done,
All glory now, and ever be.