Composed on Divine Subjecs.
HYMN I. Long Metre.
A Song of Praife to God.
NATURE, with all her pow'rs, fhall fing
God the Creator, and the King;
Nor air, nor earth, nor fkies, nor feas,
Deny the tribute of their praise.
2 Begin to make his glories known,
Ye feraphs, that fit near his throne;
Tune your harps high, and spread the found
To the creation's utmoft bound.
3 [All mortal things, of meaner frame,
Exert your force, and own his name;
Whilft with our fouls, and with our voice,
We fing his honours and our joys.]
4 [To him be facred all we have,
From the young cradle to the grave:
Our lips fhall his loud wonders tell,
And ev'ry word a miracle.]
our native land, Lie fafe in the Almighty's hand :
is god of love demando our trust,
protects the kind and
6 Raife monumental praises high
To him who thunders through the sky,
And with an awful nod or frown
Shakes an aspiring tyrant down.
7 [Pillars of lafting brafs proclaim
The triumphs of th' eternal name;
While trembling nations stafete
8 mus let our flaming zeal employ
Our loftieft thoughts and loudeft fongs;
lumbians houtwith warmeft joy,
Hofannas from ten thousand tongues.
9 [Yet, mighty God, our feeble frame
Attempts in vain to reach thy name;
The ftrongeft notes that angels raise,
Faint in the worship and the praise.]
HYMN II. Common Metre.
The Death of a Sinner.
Manuation and the dead;
Y thoughts on awful fubjects roll,
What horrors feize the guilty foul
Upon a dying bed!
2 Ling'ring about thefe mortal fhores,
She makes a long delay;
Till, like a flood with rapid force,
Death fweeps the wretch away.
3 Then swift and dreadful fhe defcenda
Down to the fiery coaft,
Amongst abominable fiends;
Herfelf a frighted ghoft.
4 There endlefs crouds of finners lie,"
And darkness makes their chains;
Tortur'd with keen despair, they cry,
Yet wait for fiercer pains.
5 Not all their anguish and their blood
For their old guilt atones
Columbians shout
x prostrate fall. Before the
Nor the compaffion of a God
Shall hearken to their groans.
6 Amazing grace, that kept my breath,
Nor bid my foul remove,
Till I had learn'd my Saviour's death,
And well infur'd his love!
The Death and Burial of a Saint
HY do we mourn departing friends?
Or hake at deathinalam
'Tis but the voice that Jefus fends
To call them to his arms.
2 Are we not tending upward too,
As faft as time can move?
Nor would we with the hours more flow,
To keep us from our love.
Why fhould we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb ?
There the dear flesh of Jefus lay,
And left a long perfume.
4 The graves of all the faints he bless'd,
And foften'd ev'ry bed:
Where fhould the dying members reft,
7 But with their dying head?
Thence he arofe, afcended high,
And fhew'd our feet the way:
Up to the Lord our fouls fhall fly,
At the great rising-day.
6 Then let the laft loud trumpet found,
And bid our kindred rise :
Ayake, ye nations under ground;
Ye faints, afcend the fkies.
HYMN IV. Long Metre.
Salvation in the Crofs.
TERE at thy crofs, my dying,
I lay my foul beneath thy love,,
Beneath the droppings of thy blood,
Jefus nor fhall it e'er remove.
2. Not all that tyrants think or fay,
With rage and lightning in their eyes,
Nor hell, fhall fright my foul away,
Should hell with all its legions rife.
Should worlds confpire to drive me hence,
elefs and firm this heart thould lie :
Refolv'd (for that's my laft defence)
If I must perish-here to die.
But fpeak, my Lord, and calm my fear;
Am I not fafe beneath thy fhade?
Thy vengeance will not ftrike me here;
Nor fatan dare my foul invade,
5 Yes, I'm fecure beneath thy blood,
And all my foes fhall lofe their aim:
Hofanna to my dying
And my best honours to his name.
HYMN V. Long Metre.
Longing to praife Chrift better.
LORD, when my thoughts with wonder roll
O'er the sharp forrows of thy foul,
And read my Maker's broken laws Repair'd and honour'd by thy cross; 2 When I behold death, hell, and fin, anquifh'd by that dear blood of thine, And fee the Man, that groan'd and dy'd, Sit glorious by his Father's fide;
3 My paffions rife and foar above
I'm wing'd with faith, and fir'd with love; Fain would I reach eternal things,
And learn the notes that Gabriel fings.
4 But my heart fails, my tongue complains,
For want of their immortal ftrains;
And in fuch humble notes as these
Falls far below thy victories.
5 Well, the kind minute muft appear,
When we fhall leave thefe bodies here,
These clogs of clay-and mount on high,
To join the fongs above the sky.
HYMN VI. Common Metre.
A Morning Song.
I NCE more, my foul, the ring day
Salutes thy waking eyes
Once more, my voice, thy tribute pay
To Him who rules the fkies.
2 Night unto night his name repeats ;
The day renews the found,
Wide as the heav'n, on which he fits
To turn the seafons round.
3 'Tis he fupports my mortal frame;
My tongue fhall fpeak his praise ;
My fins would roue his wrath to flame,
And yet his wrath delays.
4 [On a poor worm thy pow'r might tread,
And I could ne'er withstand :
Thy juftice might have crush'd me dead,
But mercy held thy hand.
5 A thousand wretched fouls are fled
Since the last setting fun,
And yet thou length'neft out my thread,
And yet my moments run.]
6 Dear God, let all my hours be thine,
Whilft I enjoy the light;
Then fhall my fun in fmiles decline,
And bring a pleasant night.
HYMN VII. Common Metre.
DREAD Sov'reign, let my ev'ning fong
Like holy incense rise:
Affift the off'rings of my tongue
To reach the lofty skies.
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