A selection of hymns, from the best authors, including a number of originals, by W. Williams

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William Williams, 1819 - 248 psl.

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200 psl. - BLOW ye the trumpet, blow ! The gladly solemn sound, Let all the nations know, To earth's remotest bound, The year of jubilee is come : Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.
367 psl. - Before our Father's throne We pour our ardent prayers: Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one, Our comforts and our cares. 3 We share our mutual woes, Our mutual burdens bear, And often for each other flows The sympathizing tear.
181 psl. - COME, let us join our cheerful songs With angels round the throne; Ten thousand thousand are their tongues, But all their joys are one. 2 ' ' Worthy the Lamb that died," they cry, "To be exalted thus!
170 psl. - The men of grace have found Glory begun below : Celestial fruits on earthly ground From faith and hope may grow. 1 Watts's expression. Sermon 12. The hill of Zion yields A thousand sacred sweets, Before we reach the heavenly fields, Or walk the golden streets.
131 psl. - GUIDE me, O Thou Great Jehovah, Pilgrim through this barren land ; I am weak, but Thou art mighty ; Hold me with Thy powerful hand ; Bread of Heaven ! Feed me till I want no more.
187 psl. - I'm fixed upon it, Mount of God's unchanging love. 2. Here I raise my Ebenezer, Hither by Thy help I'm come; And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, Safely to arrive at home.
139 psl. - GOD of my life, to thee I call, Afflicted at thy feet I fall, When the great water-floods prevail, Leave not my trembling heart to fail ! 2 Friend of the friendless, and the faint ! Where should I lodge my deep complaint, Where but with thee, whose open door Invites the helpless and the poor...
262 psl. - How sweet the name of Jesus sounds In a believer's ear ! It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, And drives away his fear.
141 psl. - With my burden I begin: Lord, remove this load of sin! Let Thy blood, for sinners spilt, Set my conscience free from guilt. 4 Lord, I come to Thee for rest; Take possession of my breast; There Thy "blood-bought right maintain, And without a rival reign.
205 psl. - Let not conscience make you linger, Nor of fitness fondly dream ; All the fitness he requireth, Is to feel your need of him ; This he gives you ; 'Tis the Spirit's rising beam.

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