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Who remembered us. Ps. cxxxvi. 23.

Plung'd in a gulf of dark despair,

We wretched sinners lay; Without one cheerful beam of hope,

Or spark of glimm’ring ray.

Vith pitying eyes the Prince of Grace

Beheld our helpless grief; [e came, and oh! amazing love!

He died for our relief.

Ih! for this love, let rocks and hills

Their lasting silence break; . nd all harmonious human tongues

The Saviour's praises speak.

gels! assist our mighty joys,

Strike all your harps of gold; B t when you raise your highest notes,

His love can ne'er be told.

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See the leaves around us falling,

Dry and wither'd to the ground; Thus to thoughtless mortals calling,

In their rustling solemn sound.

Sons of Adam, our first father,

Who in Eden blighted fell, Listen, and instruction gather,

Profit by the truths we tell.

If on length of days presuming,

Think how soon our course has fled ; We were lately fresh and blooming,

Now are wither'd, dry, and dead.

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Your short course like ours, is flying ;

Youth's gay spring how soon 'tis past; Summer next in autumn dying,

Then your winter comes at last.

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Sweet is the work, my God, my King,
To praise thy name give thanks and sing ;
To show thy love by morning light,
And talk of all thy truth at night.

Sweet is the day of sacred rest;
No mortal cares shall seize my breast;
O may my heart in tune be found,
Like David's harp of solemn sound.

Soon I shall share a glorious part,
When grace has well refin’d my heart :
And fresh supplies of joy are shed,
Like holy oil to cheer my head.

Then shall I see, and hear, and know,
All I desir'd, or wish'd below;
And ev'ry pow'r find sweet employ,
In that eternal world of joy.

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The Spirit helpeth our infirmities. Rom. viii. 26.
Spirit of truth, on this thy day,

To thee for help we cry;
To guide us through the dreary way

Of dark mortality.

We ask not Lord, the cloven flame,

Or tongues of various tone; But long thy praises to proclaim,

With fervour in our own.

No heav'nly harpings soothe our ear,

No mystic dreams we share; Yet hope to feel thy comfort near,

And bless thee in our prayer.

When tongues shall cease, and power decay,

And knowledge empty prove ; Do thou thy trembling servants stay, With faith, and hope, and love.

Whit Sunday.

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My heart shall rejoice, &c. Ps. xii. 5.

SALVATION! oh! the joyful sound !

'Tis music to our ears, A sov’reign balm for evry wound,

A cordial for our fears.

Buried in sorrow and in sin,

In death's dark gloom we lay; But we arise by grace divine,

To see a heav'nly day.

Salvation ! let the echo fly

The spacious earth around ; While all the armies of the sky,

Conspire to raise the sound.

Salvation ! O thou bleeding Lamb!

To thee the praise belongs; Salvation shall inspire our hearts, And dwell upon our tongues.

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