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Nothing has half our Work to do,
Yet nothing's half fo dull.

The little Ants, for one poor Grain,
Labour, and tug, and ftrive;

Yet we, who have a Heav'n t'obtain,
How negligent we live !

We, for whom God the Son came down,
And labour'd for our Good,
How careless to secure that Crown
He purchas'd with his Blood!

Lord, fhall we lie fo fluggish ftill,
And never act our Parts?

Come, holy Dove, from th' heav'nly Hill,
And fit and warm our Hearts.

Then fhall our active Spirits move,
Upward our Souls fhall rife,

With Hands of Faith and Wings of Love,
We'll fly and take the Prize.

HYMN

XCVI.

CHRIST'S Righteoufnefs imputed to
Believers.

APPY he who e'er believes

H The Embaffy of Peace,

Who at Jefu's Hand receives
The Gift of Righteoufnels:
God is his Salvation's God,
The Lord is his Almighty Shield ;
He with Grace fhall be endow'd,
And then with Glory fill'd.

H 2

Did

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Did the Sin of Adam slay,
And ruin all his Race?
Jefus takes our Sins away,
By fuff'ring in our Place:
He perform'd what God requir'd,
And anfwer'd all the Law demands;
In his Righteousness attir'd,
The true Believer stands.

Mofes, at a Distance, faw
This Righteousness divine;
In the first Volume of the Law,
How clearly doth it shine!
Holy Men, and Prophets old,
Beheld from far the bleeding Lamb,
Of his Righteousness foretold,
And trufted in the fame.

How perverfely did the Jews His Righteounefs difcard! Shall we then his Love abuse, And flight his great Reward? Of the Law he is the End, And after we have done our beft, On his Grace we must depend, And in his Merits rest.

What a Mystery of Love,

In God's Defigns appears !

Jefus coming from above,

Our Sin and Torment bears : God imputes Man's Sins to him; Imputes to Man his Righteoufnefs; Guilty he doth Christ esteem, And guiltless us confess.

God's

.

HYMN

XCVII.

God's Condefcention to our Worship.

T

HY Favours, Lord, furprize our Souls ;
Will the Eternal dwell with us?
What can't thou find beneath the Poles,
To tempt thy Chariot downward thus ?

Still might he fill his ftarry Throne,
And please his Ears with Gabriel's Songs;
But th' heav'nly Majefty comes down,
And bows to hearken to our Tongues.

Great God! what poor Returns we pay,
For Love fo infinite as thine ?

Words are but Air, and Tongues but Clay;
But thy Compaffion's all divine.

UP

HYMN XCVIII.

The fame.

P to the Lord, that reigns on high, And views the Nations from afar, Let everlasting Praifes fly,

And tell how large his Bounties are.

He that can shake the Worlds he made,
Or with his Word, or with his Rod,
His Goodness, how amazing great!
And what a condefcending God!

Our Sorrows and our Tears we pour
Into the Bofom of our God;
He hears us in the mournful Hour,
And helps us bear the heavy Load.

H 3

Oh !

Oh! could our thankful Hearts devife
A Tribute equal to thy Grace,

To the third Heav'n our Songs fhould rife,
And teach the golden Harps thy Praife.

C

HYMN

XCIX.

Fervency of Devotion defired.

OME, holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove,
With all thy quickning Pow'rs,

Kindle a Flame of facred Love

In these cold Hearts of ours.

Look how we grovel here below,
Fond of thefe earthly Toys;
Our Souls how heavily they go
To reach eternal Joys!

In vain we tune our formal Songs;
In vain we ftrive to rife;
Hofannas languish on our Tongues,
And our Devotion dies.

Dear Lord and fhall we ever live
At this poor dying Rate;
Our Love fo faint, fo cold to thee,
And thine to us so great?

Come, holy Spirit, heav'nly Dove,
With all thy quick'ning Pow'rs;
Come, thed abroad a Saviour's Love,

And that shall kindle ours.

The

HYMN C.

The fame.

O praise redeeming Love,
Dear Chriftians, lend a Voice;

Come thou diviner Dove,
And help us to rejoice!
Our Hearts, too low,
Lord, thou canst raise ;
Bleft Spirit, blow,
And we fhall praise.

Here, Lord, may we admire
The Riches of thy Grace,
'Till thou shalt call us higher,
There to behold thy Face:
Oh Height of Grace!
Oh Depth of Love!
Lord, fit us for

Our Place above.

Who can thy Love express?
Thy Mercy ne'er decays!
What can our Souls do lefs
Than love thee all our Days?
Blefs God, each Soul,
Even unto Death;
And write a Song
For every Breath.

Praife

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