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Let not his praises grow

On prosperous heights alone; But in the vales below,

Let his great love be known.

Let no distress

Curb and control
My winged soul,
And praise suppress.

Let not the fear or smart
Of his chastising rod,

Take off my fervent heart

From praising my dear God.
Whate'er I feel,

Still let me bring
This offering,

And to him kneel.

Though I lose friends and wealth,

And bear reproach and shame;

Though I lose ease and health,

Still let me praise God's name.
That fear and pain,

Which would destroy
My thanks and joy,
Do thou restrain.

Though human help depart,

And flesh draw near to dust;

Let faith keep up my heart,

To love God true and just:

And all my days

Let no disease

Cause me to cease
His joyful praise.

Though sin would make me doubt,

And fill my soul with fears,

Though God seems to shut out

My daily cries and tears:

By no such frost
Of sad delays,

Let thy sweet praise
Be nipped and lost.

Away, distrustful care!

I have thy promise, Lord,

To banish all despair,

I have thy oath and word.

And therefore I

Shall see thy face,
And there thy grace
Shall magnify.

Though sin and death conspire,

To rob thee of thy praise,

Still towards thee I'll aspire,

And thou dull hearts canst raise.

Open thy door;

And when grim death

Shall stop this breath,

I'll praise thee more.

With thy triumphant flock

Then I shall numbered be,

Built on th' eternal rock,

His glory we shall see.
The heavens so high,
With praise shall ring,
And all shall sing

In harmony.

The sun is but a spark

From the eternal light:
Its brightest beams are dark

To that most glorious sight:
There the whole choir,

With one accord,
Shall praise the Lord

For evermore.

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Or do they in a dream

Sleep out their season?

Or borne down by lust's stream,
Which conquers reason?

The silly lambs to-day
Pleasantly skip and play,
Whom butchers mean to slay,

Perhaps to-morrow;

In a more brutish sort,
Do careless sinners sport,
Or in dead sleep still snort,

As near to sorrow;
Till life, not well begun,

Be sadly ended,

And the web they have spun,

Can ne'er be mended.

What is the time that's gone,
And what is that to come?
Is it not now as none?

The present stays not.
Time posteth, oh how fast!
Unwelcome death makes haste.
None can call back what's past,
Judgment delays not;
Though God bring in the light,
Sinners awake not,
Because hell's out of sight,

They sin forsake not.

Man walks in a vain show,
They know, yet will not know;
Sit still when they should go;
But run for shadows:

While they might taste and know
The living streams that flow,
And crop the flowers that grow,

In Christ's sweet meadows.

Life's better slept away,
Than as they use it;
In sin and drunken play,
Vain men abuse it.

Malignant world, adieu!

Where no foul vice is new,

Only to Satan true,

God still offended;

Though taught and warned by God,

And his chastising rod,

Keeps still the way that's broad,

Never amended.

Baptismal vows some make,
But ne'er perform them;
If angels from Heaven spake,
"Twould not reform them.

They dig for hell beneath,
They labor hard for death,
Run themselves out of breath

To overtake it.

Hell is not had for naught,
Damnation's dearly bought,
And with great labor sought,
They'll not forsake it.
Their souls are Satan's fee,

He'll not abate it.

Grace is refused that's free,

Mad sinners hate it.

Vile man is so perverse,

It's too rough work for verse
His badness to rehearse,

And show his folly :

He'll die at any rates,

He God and conscience hates,

Yet sin he consecrates,

And calls it holy :

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