2 If yet, while Pardon may be found
And Mercy may be fought,
My foul with inward Horror fhrinks,
And trembles at the Thought;

3 When thou o Lord fhalt stand disclos'd
In Majesty severe,

And fit in Judgment on my foul,
O how fhall I appear!

4 O may my broken, contrite Heart
Timely my Sins lament,
And early with repentant Tears
Eternal Woe prevent !

5 Behold the Sorrows of my Heart,
E'er yet it be too late!

And hear my Saviour's dying Groans
To give those forrows weight,

6 For never shall my foul despair
Her Pardon to secure ;

I

Who knows thy only Son has died,
To make that Pardon fure.

XI.

Chrift's Compaffion to the Tempted.

WIth

WIth Joy we meditate the Grace Of our high Priest above; His Heart is made of Tenderness,

His Bowels melt with Love.

2 Touch'd with a Sympathy within
He knows our feeble Frame;
He knows what fore Temptations mean,
For he hath felt the fame.

3 He in the Days of feeble Flesh
Pour'd out his Cries and Tears
And in his Measure feels afresh
What every Member bears.

4 He'll never quench the smoaking Flax But raise it to a Flame,

The bruised Reed he never breaks
Nor fcorns the meanest Name.

5 Then let our humble Faith address
His Mercy and his Power:
We shall obtain delivering Grace
In the diftreffing Hour.

XII.

Frailty.

I

L

Ord, how in Silence I despise
The giddy Worldling's Snare,
This Beauty, Riches, Honour, Toys
Beneath a Moments Care?

2 Hence painted Duft, and gilded Clay !
You have no Charms for me:
Delusive Breath be far away!
I waste no Thought on thee.

3

But when abroad at once I view

Both the World's Hofts and thine,
Thefe, fimple, fad, afflicted, few,
Those numerous, gay and fine!

4 Loft my Refolves, my Scorn is past,
I boast my Strength no more.
A willing Slave they bind me fast
With unrefifted Power.

5 O brook not this! Let not thy Foes
Profane thy hallow'd Shrine :
Thine is my Soul, by facred Vows
Of ftricteft Union Thine!

9 O hear my juft, tho' late Request,
Once more the Captive free,
Renew thy Image in my Breast,
And claim my Heart for thee.

I

XIII.

Unfruitfulness.

Ong have I fat beneath the Sound
Of thy Salvation, Lord,

But ftill how weak my Faith is found
And Knowledge of thy Word!

2 Oft I frequent thy holy Place;
Yet hear almost in vain :
How small a Portion of thy Grace
Can my hard Heart retain !

3 My gracious Saviour and my God
How little art thou known
By all the Judgments of thy Rod,
And Bleffings of thy Throne ?

4 How cold and feeble is my Love!
How negligent my Fear!

How low my hope of Joys above!
How few Affections there!

5 Great God, thy fovereign Power impart,
To give thy Word Success;
Write thy Salvation in my Heart,
And make me learn thy Grace.

6 Shew my forgetful Feet the way

I

That leads to Joys on high,

There Knowledge grows without Decay
And Love shall never die.

TH

XIV.

From the German.

Hou Lamb of God, thou Prince of Peace,
For thee my thirsty Soul doth pine!
My longing Heart implores thy Grace
O make in me thy Likeness fhine.

2 With fraudless, even, humble Mind
Thy Will in all Things may I fee:
In Love be every Wish resign'd,
And hallow'd my whole Heart to thee:

3 When Pain o'er my weak Flesh prevails
With Lamb-like Patience arm my Breast:
When Grief my wounded Soul affails
In lowly Meekness may I reft.

4 Close by thy Side ftill may I keep,
How e'er Life's various current flow ;
With stedfast Eye mark every Step,
And follow thee where'er thou go.

5 Thou, Lord, the dreadful Fight hast won
Alone thou haft the Vinepress trod:
In me thy Strengthening Grace be shewn,
O may I conquer thro' thy Blood!

6 So when on Sion thou shalt stand,
And all Heaven's Hoft adore their King,
Shall I be found at thy Right Hand,
And free from Pain thy Glories fing.
G 2

XV.

I

XV.

Faith in Christ.

HOw fad our State by Nature is,

Our Sin how deep it stains!
And Satan binds our captive Souls
Faft in his flavish Chains.

2 But there's a Voice of fovereign Grace
Sounds from thy facred Word,
Here ye despairing Sinners come
And truft upon the Lord.

3 My Soul obeys th'Almighty Call
And runs to this Relief:

I wou'd believe thy Promise, Lord!
O help my unbelief.

4 To the bleft Fountain of thy Blood,
Incarnate God, I fly :

Here let me wash my spotted Soul
From Crimes of deepest Die.

5 Stretch out thy Arm, victorious King,
My reigning Sins fubdue:

Drive the old Dragon from his Seat
With his infernal Crew.

A guilty, weak and helpless Worm
Into thy Arms I fall;

Be thou my Strength and Righteousness,
My Fefus and my All.

WIth

XVI.
Longing.

Ith bended Knees and aking Eyes
Weary and faint to thee my Cries,

To