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Our services are:
Sundays 10.30am & 2.15pm
Words to hymns are put below before the services
Hymns for Sunday morning worship 18.4.21:
Hymn 1- 440
How sweet and awful is the place,
With Christ within the doors,
While everlasting love displays
The choicest of her stores.
Here every bowel of our God
With soft compassion rolls;
Here peace and pardon, love and blood,
Is food for dying souls.
[While all our hearts and all our songs
Join to admire the feast,
Each of us cry, with thankful tongues,
“Lord, why was I a guest?”
“Why was I made to hear thy voice,
And enter while there’s room;
When thousands make a wretched choice,
And rather starve than come?”]
’Twas the same love that spread the feast
That sweetly forced us in;
Else we had still refused to taste,
And perished in our sin.
Hymn 2- 893
If guilt pursue thee with its cry,
And would to prison hale;
To Jesus Christ, the Surety, fly,
And he will give in bail.
If hope, that used thy soul to cheer,
Now leaves thee dark as night,
And neither sun nor stars appear,
Yet wait for morning light.
Still look to Christ with longing eyes,
Though both begin to fail;
Still follow with thy feeble cries,
For mercy will prevail.
What if he drops no gracious smile,
Or bid thee leave his door?
Yet still knock on, and wait awhile;
He must relieve the poor.
He tarries oft till men are faint,
And comes at evening late;
He hears and will relieve complaint:
’Tis ours to pray and wait.
Hymn 3 -949
There’s not a name beneath the skies,
Nor is there one in heaven above,
But that of Jesus, can suffice
The sinner’s burden to remove.
Sweet name, when once its virtue’s known,
How weak all other helps appear!
The sinner trusts to it alone,
And finds the grand specific there.
’Twas long before I knew this truth,
And learned to trust the Saviour’s name;
In vanity I spent my youth;
The thought now fills my heart with shame.
But since I’ve known the life and power
With which his name is richly stored,
The world can keep my heart no more,
Nor can its joys content afford.
The things I once esteemed the most
I now account as worthless dross;
Thy name, dear Saviour, is my boast,
For which the world appears but loss.