8 Here let our hearts begin to melt,
While we his death record,
And with our joy for pardon’d guilt
Mourn that we pierc’d the Lord.

Hymn 3:5. 
Christ the bread of life, John 6. 31 35 39.

1 Let us adore th’ eternal Word,
’Tis he our souls hath fed;
Thou art our living stream, O Lord,
And thou th’ immortal bread.

2 [The manna came from lower skies,
But Jesus from above,
Where the fresh springs of pleasure rise
And rivers flow with love.

3 The Jews the fathers dy’d at last,
Who ate that heavenly bread;
But these provisions which we taste
Can raise us from the dead.]

4 Bless’d be the Lord that gives his flesh
To nourish dying men;
And often spreads his table fresh,
Lest we should faint again.

5 Our souls shall draw their heavenly breath
While Jesus finds supplies;
Nor shall our graces sink to death,
For Jesus never dies.

6 [Daily our mortal flesh decays,
But Christ our life shall come;
His unresisted power shall raise
Our bodies from the tomb.]

Hymn 3:6. 
The memorial of our absent Lord,
John 16. 16.  Luke 22. 19.  John 14. 3.

1 Jesus is gone above the skies,
Where our weak senses reach him not
And carnal objects court our eyes
To thrust our Saviour from our thought.

2 He knows what wandering hearts we have,
Apt to forget his lovely face;
And to refresh our minds he gave
These kind memorials of his grace.

3 The Lord of life this table spread
With his own flesh and dying blood;
We on the rich provision feed,
And taste the wine, and bless the God.

4 Let sinful sweets be all forgot,
And earth grow less in our esteem;
Christ and his love fill every thought,
And faith and hope be fix’d on him.

5 While he is absent from our sight
’Tis to prepare our souls a place,
That we may dwell in heavenly light,
And live for ever near his face.

6 Our eyes look upwards to the hills
Whence our returning Lord shall come;
We wait thy chariot’s awful wheels
To fetch our longing spirits home.]

Hymn 3:7. 
Crucifixion to the world by the
cross of Christ, Gal. 6. 14.

1 When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory dy’d,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God;
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.

3 See from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet? 
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

4 [His dying crimson like a robe
Spreads o’er his body on the tree;
Then am I dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.]