Their mouths fill'd with praifes
Of him their great king,
Shall fongs of thanksgiving
Triumphantly yield.
Thus fhall they declare,
That fin to destroy,
And men to redeem,
That Son of God came :
Such honour and triumph
His faints fhall enjoy ;
O therefore for ever
Exalt his great name!
ET the fhrill trumpet's warlike voice,
Make rocks and hills his praife rebound;
Praise him with harp's melodious noise,
And gentle pfaltry's filver found.
Let virgin-troops foft timbrels bring,
And fome with graceful motion dance;
Let inftruments of various ftring,
With organs join'd, his praise advance.
Let them who joyful hymns compose,
To cymbals fet their fongs of praise;
Cymbals of common use, and those
That loudly found on folemn days.
For the MORNING.
By Bishop KEN N.
WAKE, my foul, and with the fun,
Thy daily ftage of duty run:
Shake off dull floth, and early rife,
To pay thy morning facrifice.
[Redeem thy mif-spent moments paft,
And live this day, as if 'twere laft:
Thy talents to improve take care;
For the great day thyfelf prepare.
Let all thy converse be fincere,
Thy confcience, as the noon-day clear;
For God's all-feeing eye furveys
Thy fecret thoughts, thy works and ways.
*This Hymn being too long to be fung at one time, all within the crotchets [] may be omitted.
Wake, and lift up thyfelf, my heart,
And with the angels bear thy part;
Who, all night long, unwearied fing
High glory to th' eternal King.
I wake, I wake, ye heavenly choir,
May your devotion me inspire :
That I, like you, my age may fpend;
Like you, may on my God attend.
May I, like you, in God delight;
Have all day long my God in fight;
Perform like you my maker's will;
I never more do ill.]
Glory to thee, who fafe haft kept,
And haft refresh'd me whilft I flept;
Grant, Lord, when I from death fhall wake,
I may of endless life partake!
Lord, I my vows to thee renew;
Scatter my fins as morning dew:
Guard my firft fprings of thought and will,
And with thyself my spirit fill.
Direct, controul, fuggeft this day,
All I defign, or do, or say:
That all my pow'rs, with all their might,
In thy fole glory may unite.
Praise God, from whom all bleffings flow;
Praise him, all creatures here below:
Praise him above, angelic host:
Praife Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
LORY to thee, my God, this night,
For all the bleffings of the light:
Keep me, O keep me, King of Kings,
Under thy own almighty wings.
Forgive me, Lord, for thy dear Son,
The ills which I this day have done;
That with the world, myfelf, and thee,
I, ere I fleep, at peace may be.
[Teach me to live, that I may
The grave as little as my bed;
Teach me to die that fo I may
With joy behold the judgment day.
Let my bleft guardian, while I fleep,
His watchful ftation near me keep :
My heart with love celeftial fill,
And guard from the approach of ill.
*The three Stanzas within crotchets are common
ly omitted in finging at the Chapel.
Lord, let my foul for ever share,
The blifs of thy paternal care;
'Tis heav'n on earth, 'tis heav'n above,
To fee thy face and fing thy love!]
Shou'd Death itself my sleep invade,
Why fhou'd I be of Death afraid ?
Protected by thy faving arm,
Though he may ftrike, he cannot harm.
For death is life, and labour reft,
If with thy gracious prefence bleft:
Then welcome fleep, or death to me,
I'm still fecure, for ftill with Thee!
Praife God, from whom all bleffings flow,
Praife him, all creatures here below:
Praise him above, angelic host:
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
The CHRISTIAN'S HOPE.
From the Spectator.
HEN rifing from the bed of death,
O'erwhelm'd with guilt and fear,
I fee my Maker, face to face,
O how fhall I appear!
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