Ye fons of men, in vain ye try.
To turn my glory into fhaine:
How long will fcoffers love to lie,
And dare reproach my Saviour's name?
3 Know that the Lord divides his faints
From all the tribes of men befides;
He hears the cry of penitents
For the dear fake of Chrift, who dy'd,
4 When our obedient hands have done
A thousand works of righteoufnels,
We put our truft in God alone,
And glory in his pard'ning grace.
I Let the unthinking many fay,
Who will beftow fome earthly good ?
But, Lord, thy light and love we pray :
Our foul's de fire this heav'nly food.
-6 Then shall my cheerful pow'rs rejoice, At grace and favor fo divine;
Nor will I change my happy choice
For all their corn, and all their wine.
LORD, thou wilt hear me, when I pray ;
am forever thine:
I fear before thee all the day,
Nor would I dare to fin.
2 And while I reft my weary head,
From cares and bus'nefa free,
'Tis fweet converfing on my bed
With my own heart and Thee.
I pay this ev'ning, facrifice :
And when my work is done,
Great God, my faith and hope relics
Upon my grace alone.
4 Thus, with my thoughts compos'd to peace, I'll give mine eyes to fleep;
Thy hand in fafety keeps my days,
And will my flumbers keep.
For the Lord's day morning.
ORD, in the morning thou fhalt hear
My voice afcending high;
To Thee will I direct my pray❜r,
To thee lift up mine eye.
2 Up to the hills, where Chrift is gone,
To plead for all his faints,
Prefenting at His Father's throne
Our fongs and our complaints.
3 Thou art a God, before whose sight,
The wicked fhall not ftand;
Sinners fhall ne'er be thy delight,
Nor dwell at thy right hand.
4 But to thy house will I refort,
To tafte thy mercies there :
I will frequent thy holy court,
And worship in thy fear.
5 Omay thy Spirit guide my feet,
In ways of rightecufnefs!
Make ev'ry path of duty ftrait,
And plain before my face.
6 My watchful enemies combine
To tempt my tee: aftray:
They flatter with a bale defign,
To make my foul their prey.
Lord. crush the ferpent into duft,
And all his plots destroy;
While thofe who in thy mercy truft,
For ever fhout for joy.
The men who love and fear thy name,
Shall fee theirhopes fulfill'd;
The mighty God will compaís them
With favor as a fhield.
PSALM VI. Common metre. Complaint in pekuefs-or, dijcofes healeda FN anger, Lord, rebuke me not; Withdraw the dreadful ftorm;
Nor let thy fury grow fo hot,
Against a feebic worm.
My foul bows down viti, henvy cares ;1
My fleh with pain oppreis'd;
My couch is witness to my tears;
My tears forbid my rest.
Sorrow and pain wear out my days,;"
I wafte the night with cries,
Counting the minutes as they pais,
'Till the flow morning rise.
4 Shall I be ftill tormented more?
Mine eye confum'd with grief?
How long my Ged how long before.
Thy hand afford relief?
5 He hears when duft and afhes fpcak;
He pities all our groans;
He faves us for his mercy's fake,
And heals our broken bones.
6 The virtue of his fovreign word
Restores our faintingbreath;
But filent graves praise not the Lord,
Nor is he known in death.
PSALM VI Long metres
Temptations in ficknels overcome.
ORD I can fuffer thy rebukes
When thou with kindness doft chastise,
But thy fierce wrath I cannot bear !
O let it not againft me rifel
2 Pity my languishing eftate,
Aud cafe the forrows which I feel;
The wounds thy heavy hands hath made,
O let thy geatler touches heat!
3 See how I pafs my weary days
In fighs and groans; and when 'tis night,
My bed is water'd with my tears;
My grief confumes and dims my fight.
4 Look how the pow'rs of nature mourn
How long, Almighty God how long?
When fhall thine hour of grace return?
When thall I make thy grace my fong?
5 I feel my flesh fo rear the grave.
My thoughts are tempted to despair;
But graves can never praise the Lord,
For all is duft and filence there.
6 Depart ye tempters, from my foul;
And all despairing thoughts depart;
My God, who bears my humble moan,
Will eafe my pain and cheer
my heart.
PSALM VII. Common metre.
God's care of his people, and purishment of perfecutors
MY My hope in thee, my God,
Y truft is in my heav'nly Friend,
Rife and my bleffed life defend
From thofe who feel my blood.
2 With infolence and fury, they
My foul in pieces tear,
As hungry lions rerd the prey
When no deliv'rer's near.`
3 IfI have e'er provok'd them firft,
Or once abuf'd my foe,
Then let him tread my life to duft,
And lay mine honor lo w.
4 If there be malice hid in me,
I know thy piercing eyes;
I fhould not dare appeal to thee,
Nor ask my God to rife.
Arife, my God, lik up thy hand,
Their pride and power controul
Awake to judgment and command
Deliv'rance for my foul.
6 Let finners and their wicked rage
Be humbled to the duft:
Shall nottle Cod of truth engage
To vindicate the juft.
He knows the heart, he tries the reigns,
He will defend the upright:
His harp ft arrows he ordains
Against the fons of spite.
8 For me their malice digg'd a pit,
But there themselves are caft
My God makes all their mifchief light
On their own heads at laft.
9 That cruel perfecuting race
Muft feti his dreadful fword;
Awake, my foul, and praife the grace
And juftice of the Lord.
PSALM VIII. Skort metre.
God's Sov'reignty and Goodness; and man's do
minion over the creatures.
LORD, our heav'nly king,
Thy name is all divine;
Thy glories round the earth are spread,
And o'er the heav'ns they shine!
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