Llyfr hymnau y Methodistiaid Calfinaidd: cyhoeddedig trwy awdurdod cymanfa gyffredinol y cyfundeb yn nghymru

Portada
C. Hughes, 1872 - 769 pàgines
 

Pàgines seleccionades

Altres edicions - Mostra-ho tot

Frases i termes més freqüents

Passatges populars

Pàgina 707 - HOW sweet the Name of Jesus sounds In a believer's ear ! It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, And drives away his fear. 2 It makes the wounded spirit whole, And calms the troubled breast ; 'Tis manna to the hungry soul, And to the weary rest.
Pàgina 718 - Come, Thou Fount of every blessing, Tune my heart to sing Thy grace; Streams of mercy, never ceasing, Call for songs of loudest praise.
Pàgina 699 - We'll crowd thy gates with thankful songs, High as the heavens our voices raise; And earth, with her ten thousand tongues, Shall fill thy courts with sounding praise. 5 Wide as the world is thy command; Vast as eternity thy love; Firm as a rock thy truth shall stand, When rolling years shall cease to move.
Pàgina 707 - Nothing in my hand I bring; Simply to thy cross I cling ; Naked, come to thee for dress ; Helpless, look to thee for grace ; Foul, I to the fountain fly ; Wash me, Saviour, or I die.
Pàgina 714 - JUST as I am, without one plea. But that thy blood was shed for me, And that thou bid'st me come to thee, O Lamb of God ! I come...
Pàgina 719 - O GOD, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home...
Pàgina 700 - For thou, within no walls confined, Inhabitest the humble mind ; Such ever bring thee where they come, And going take thee to their home.
Pàgina 704 - Christ, by highest heaven adored, Christ, the everlasting Lord, Late in time behold him come, Offspring of a virgin's womb.
Pàgina 725 - From all that dwell below the skies, Let the Creator's praise arise ; Let the Redeemer's name be sung, Through every land, by every tongue. 2. Eternal are thy mercies, Lord ; Eternal truth attends thy word : Thy praise shall sound from shore to shore, Till suns shall rise and set no more.
Pàgina 726 - What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle, Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile? In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strown; The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone.

Informació bibliogràfica