GE

385. L. M. STEELE.

Praife for National Peace.

WREAT Ruler of the earth and skies,
A word of thy almighty breath
Can fink the world, or bid it rife;
Thy smile is life, thy frown is death.

When angry nations rush to arms,

And rage, and noife, and tumult reign,
And war refounds its dire alarms,
And flaughter spreads the hoftile plain;

Thy fov'reign eye looks calmly down,
And marks their course, and bounds their
Thy word the angry nations own,

[pow'r; And noise and war are heard no more.

Then peace returns with balmy wing,
(Sweet peace, with her what bleffings fled')
Glad plenty laughs, the vallies fing,
Reviving cominerce lifts her head.

Thou good, and wife, and righteous Lord,
All move fubfervient to thy will;
Both peace and war await thy word,
And thy fublime decrees fulfil.

To thee we pay our grateful fongs,
Thy kind protection ftill implore;
O may our hearts, and lives, and tongues,
Confefs thy goodness and adore.

TIME AND ETERNITY.

386.

C. M.

STEELI.

FOW long fhall earth's alluring toys
Detain our hearts and eyes,

Regardless of immortal joys,

And ftrangers to the skies?

Thefe tranfient scenes will foon decay :
They fade upon the fight;
And quickly will their brightest day
Be loft in endless night.

Their brightest day, alas, how vain!
With confcious fighs we own;
While clouds of forrow, care and pain,
O'erfhade the fmiling noon.

Oh, could our thoughts and wishes fly Above thefe gloomy fhades,

To thofe bright worlds beyond the sky,
Which forrow, ne'er invades !

There joys, unfeen by mortal eyes,
Or reafon's feeble ray,
In ever-blooming profpects rife,
Unconscious of decay.

Lord! fend a beam of light divine
To guide our upward aim!
With one reviving touch of thine
Our languid hearts inflame.

Then thall, on faith's fublimeft wing,
Our ardent wishes rife

To those bright scenes, where pleasures fpring
Immortal in the skies.

387. C. M. WATTS'S H.
Another.

TH

HEE we adore, eternal Name!
And humbly own to thee,
How feeble is our mortal frame,
What dying worms are we!

Our wafting lives grow fhorter ftill,.
As days and months increase;
And ev'ry beating pulfe we tell
Leaves but the number lefs.

The year rolls round, and fteals away
The breath that first it gave;

Whate'er we do, where'er we be,

We're trav'ling to the

grave.

Dangers ftand thick, thro' all the ground,
To push us to the tomb :
And fierce difeafes wait around,

To hurry mortals home.

Infinite joy, or endless woe,

Attends on ev'ry breath;
And yet, how unconcern'd we go.
Upon the brink of death!

Waken, O Lord, our drowsy fense,
To walk this dangerous road;
And, when our fouls are taken hence,
May they be found with God!'':

THE SHORTNESS OF TIME, &c.

388. C. M.

WATTS'S H.

The Shortness of Time, and the Goodness of God.

IME! what an empty vapour 'tis !

TIME!

And days, how swift they are!

Swift as an Indian arrow flies,

Or like a fhooting star.

The prefent moments juft appear,

Then flide away in hafte,

That we can never fay," They're here:"
But only fay, "They're past.”

Our life is ever on the wing,
And death is ever nigh;

The moment when our lives begin,
We all begin to die.

Yet, mighty God! our fleeting days.
Thy lafting favors fhare,

Yet with the bounties of thy grace
Thou load'ft the rolling year.

'Tis fov'reign mercy finds us food,
And we are cloth'd with love;
While grace ftands pointing out the road
That leads our fouls above.

His goodness runs an endless round;
All glory to the Lord!

His mercy never knows a bound;
And, be his name ador'd!

Thus we begin the latting fong;

And when we clofe our eyes,
Let the next age thy praife prolong,
'Till time and nature dies.

DEATH AND THE RESURRECTION.

389. Sevens. BRADFORD'S Col.

Bleffed are the Dead who die in the Lord.

LESSED are the dead who reft

BOn the dear Redeemer's breaft:

Peaceful in his arms they lie;
Happy in their Lord they die.
Death, a meffenger of peace,
Brings to them a sweet release;
Wash'd in Chrift's atoning blood,
They for ever are with God.

Now the florm's for ever o'er;
Now they've gain'd the blissful shore ;
Sav'd by Jefus' outftretch'd hand
They have reach'd the wifh'd-for land.

More than conqu'rors through the Lamb,
They his victories proclaim;

Caft their crowns before the throne,
Sav'd by rich free grace alone.
Loft in wonder, now they gaze
On the dear Immanuel's face:
Like him now-what glory this!
For they fee him as he is.

390. C. M.

TOPLADY'S Col.

Happiness of Saints departed. I

Hon and forrow free!

TOW happy are the fouls above,
From fin