HY M N S.

By J. SWAIN,

PASTOR of the BAPTIST CHURCH
meeting there.

come.y

S'ng praife unto our God, for it is pleasant; and praife is Let the children of Zion be joyful in their King. They fhali abundantly utter the memory of thy great goodnefs, and fhall fing of thy righteousness

All thy works fhall praise thee, O Jehovah, and thy faints fall bless thee. Pfalms.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.

Sold by J. MATHEWS, No. 18, Strand; BUTTON, Newington Caufeway; Mrs. GURNEY, Holborn; and at the Veftry of Eaft-street Meeting-houfe, Walworth.

1792.

147.9.

223

BIBL

HYMN S.

HYMN I.

Comfort under Affliction.

NEW JERUSALEM TUNE.

HOW light (while fupported by grace)
Are all the afflictions I fee,

To those the dear Lord of my peace,
My Jefus, has fuffer'd for me!
To him ev'ry comfort I owe,

Above what the fiends have in hell;
And fhall I not fing as I go,

That Jefus does every thing well?

That Jefus, who stoop'd from his throne To pluck fuch a brand from the fire; A wretch that had nought of his own, Not even a holy defire!

My only inheritance fin,

A flave to rebellion and luft; Polluted without and within,

A child of corruption and duft.

Such was I when Jefus look'd down,
When none but himfelf could relieve:
What could I expect but a frown?

Yet he gracioufly fmil'd, and faid, 'Live!
And thall I impatiently fret

And murmur beneath his kind rod?
His love and his mercy forget,

And fly in the face of my God?

Oh no; in the ftrength he has giv'n,
And pledg'd his own word to bestow,
I'll fight through my paffage to heav'n,
And fing of his love as I go!

He'll purge away nought but my drofs:
Then let him afflict; I'll adore,
And cheerfully bear up, the cross
Which Jefus has carry'd before!

HYMN II.

NORTHAMPTON TUNE.

On the wings of faith uprifing,

Jefus crucify'd I fee;

While his love, my foul furprising,

Cries, I fuffer'd all for thee!

Then, beneath the crofs adoring,
Sin does like itself appear;
When, the wounds of Chrift exploring,
I can read my pardon there.

Here I'd feaft my eyes for ever:
While this balm of life I prove,
Every wound appears a river
Flowing with eternal love!

As the fea, in restitution,
Renders filthy waters clear;
Wath'd in this from deep pollution,
Sinners white as angels are.

Here, the shades of guilt controlling,
Morning dawns from blackest night;
Jefu's eyes, in darkness rolling,
Beam forth everlasting light!

Sorrow proves the spring of pleasure,
War becomes the feed of peace,
Poverty the fource of treasure,

Anguish teams with boundless biifs!

Who can think without admiring?
Who can hear and nothing feel?

See the Lord of life expiring,
Yet retain a heart of fteel?