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Earth fhall obey her Maker's Will,
And yield a full Increase;

Our God will crown his Chosen Isle
With Fruitfulness and Peace.

God the Redeemer, fcatters round
His choiceft Favours here;
While the Creation's utmoft bound,
Shall fee, adore, and fear.

HYMN

PSALM

LXXXIII.

XCIII.

The Eternal and Sovereign Lord.

HE Lord Jehovah reigns,

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And Royal State maintains,

His Head with awful Glories crown'd,
Array'd in Robes of Light,
Begirt with fovereign Might,

And rays of Majefty around.

Upheld by thy Commands,
The World fecurely ftands,
And Skies and Stars obey thy Word:
Thy Throne was fix'd on high,
Before the ftarry Sky,

Eternal is thy Kingdom, Lord.

Let Floods and Nations Rage,
And all their Pow'rs engage,
Let fwelling Tides affaults the Sky:
The terrors of thy Frown

Shall beat their Madness down,
Thy Throne for ever ftands on high.

Thy

Thy Promifes are true,

Thy Grace is ever new,

There fix'd; thy Church shall ne'er remove : Thy Saints, with holy Fear,

Shall in thy Courts appear, And fing thy everlasting Love.

THE

HYMN

LXXXIV.

The last Judgment.

HE God of Glory fends his Summons forth,
Calls the South Nations, and awakes the

[North, From Eaft to Weft the fov'reign Order's fpread, Thro' diftant Worlds, and regions of the Dead. The Trumpet founds; Hell trembles; Heaven re[joices, Lift up your Heads ye Saints, with chearful Voices.

"Heav'n, Earth, and Hell, draw near; let all [things come, To hear my Juftice, and the Sinners doom, But gather first my Saints, the Judge com

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Bring them, ye Angels, from their diftant

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When Chrift returns, 'wake every chearful Paffion, And fhout, ye Saints, he comes for your Salvation.

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Here, (faith the Lord) ye Angels, fpread (their Thrones,

"And near me feat my Favourites and Sons, 'Come, my redeem'd, poffefs the Joys prepar'd, 'E'er Time began, 'tis your divine Reward.

When Chrift returns, 'wake every chearful Paffion, And fhout, ye Saints, he comes for your Salvation.

Sinners, awake betimes; ye Fools be wife, Awake, before the dreadful Morning rise; Change your vain Thoughts, your crooked (Ways amend, Fly to the Saviour, make the Judge your (Friend:

Then join, ye Saints, 'wake every chearful Paffion, When Chrift returns, he comes for your Salvation.

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A fight of God mortifies us to the World.

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P to the Fields where Angels lie,
And living Waters gently roll;
Fain would our Thoughts leap out and fly,
But Sin hangs heavy on our Soul.

Thy wond'rous Blood, dear dying Chrift,
Can make this World of Guilt remove,
And thou canst bear us, where thou fly'ft,
On thy kind Wings, celeftial Dove.

O might

O might we once mount up and fee
The Glories of th' eternal Skies;
What little things thefe Worlds would be?
How defpicable to our Eyes!

Great All in All, Eternal King,
Let us but view thy lovely Face:
And all our Pow'rs fhall bow and fing
Thine endless Grandeur and thy Grace.

HYMN

LXXXVI.

God the Son equal with the Father.

BRight King of Glory, dreadful God,
Our Spirits bow before thy Frown,
To thee we lift an humble Thought,
And worship at thine awful Throne.

A thousand Seraphs, strong and bright,
Stand round the glorious Deity:
But who among the Sons of Light,
Pretends Comparison with thee.

Yet there is one of human Frame,
Jefus, array'd in Flesh and Blood,
Thinks it no Robbery to claim
A full equality with God.

Jefus who left the Worlds of Light,
And the bright Robes he wore above;
How fwift and joyful was his Flight
On Wings of everlasting Love!

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Then let the Name of Chrift our King,
With equal Honours be ador'd :
His Praife let every Angel fing,
And all the Nations own the Lord,

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HYMN

LXXXVII.

The Effufion of the Spirit.

REAT was the Day, the Joy was great!
When the divine Difciples met:
While on their Heads the Spirit came,
And fat like Tongues of cloven Flame.

The rufhing Wind that went before,
Declares our Lord's Almighty Pow'r,
His Pow'r to caft Oppofers down,
And warm and melt ev'n Hearts of Stone.

With Joy and Gladness they proclaim
The Wonders of the bleeding Lamb,
They boldly publifh Jefu's Word,
They Preach the Gofpel of our Lord.

Nations, the learned and the rude,
Are by these heav'nly Arms fubdu'd,
While Satan rages at the lofs

And hates the Doctrine of the Crofs.

Great King of Grace, our Hearts subdue,
We would be led in triumph too:
All willing Captives to our Lord,
And fing the Conquefts of his Word.

HYMN

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