6 We would no longer lie Like slaves beneath the throne; My faith shall Abba, Father, cry, And thou the kindred own. Hymn 1:65. The kingdoms of the world become the kingdoms of our Lord; or, The day of judgment, Rev. 11. 15-18. 1 Let the seventh angel sound on high, Let shouts be heard thro' all the sky; Kings of the earth, with glad accord Give up your kingdoms to the Lord. 2 Almighty God, thy power assume, Who wast, and art, and art to come: Jesus, the Lamb, who once was slain, For ever live, for ever reign. 3 The angry nations fret and roar, That they can slay the saints no more; On wings of vengeance flies our God To pay the long arrears of blood. 4 Now must the rising dead appear, Now the decisive sentence hear; Now the dear martyrs of the Lord Receive an infinite reward. Hymn 1:66. Christ the King at his table, Cant. (Transcriber's Note: Song of Solomon) 1. 2-5 12 13 17. 1 Let him embrace my soul, and prove Mine interest in his heavenly love: The voice that tells me, "Thou art mine," Exceeds the blessings of the vine. 2 On thee th' anointing Spirit came, And spreads the savour of thy name; That oil of gladness and of grace Draws virgin souls to meet thy face. 3 Jesus, allure me by thy charms, My soul shall fly into thine arms, Our wandering feet thy favours bring To the fair chambers of the King. 4 [Wonder and pleasure tune our voice To speak thy praises and our joys: Our memory keeps this love of thine Beyond the taste of richest wine.] 5 Tho' in ourselves deform'd we are, And black as Kedar tent appear, Yet when we put thy beauties on, Fair as the courts of Solomon. 6 While at his table sits the King, He loves to see us smile and sing; Our graces are our best perfume, And breathe like spikenard round the room.] 7 As myrrh new bleeding from the tree, Such is a dying Christ to me; And while he makes my soul his guest, My bosom, Lord, shall be thy rest. 8 [No beams of cedar or of fir Can with thy courts on earth compare; And here we wait until thy love Raise us to nobler seats above.] Hymn 1:67. Seeking the pastures of Christ the Shepherd, Cant. 1.7. 1 Thou whom my soul admires above All earthly joy, and earthly love, Tell me, dear shepherd, let me know, Where doth thy sweetest pasture grow? 2 Where is the shadow of that rock That from the son defends thy flock? Fain would I feed among thy sheep, Among them rest, among them sleep. 3 Why should thy bride appear like one That turns aside to paths unknown? My constant feet would never rove, Would never seek another love. 4 [The footsteps of thy flock I see; Thy sweetest pastures here they be; A wondrous feast thy love prepares, Bought with thy wounds, and groans, and tears. 5 His dearest flesh he makes my food, And bids me drink his richest blood; Here to these hills my soul will come, To my beloved lead me home.] Hymn 1:68. The banquet of love, Cant. 2. 1 2 3 4 6 7.