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HYMNS

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SPIRITUAL SONGS.

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MY God, my King, thy various Praise Shall fill the Remnant of my Days; Thy Grace employ my humble Tongue, 'Till Death and Glory raise the Song. 2 The Wings of ev'ry Hour shall bear Some thankful Tribute to thine Ear; And ev'ry fetting Sun shall see New Works of Duty done for thee. 3 Thy Truth and Juftice I'll proclaim; Thy Bounty flows, an endless Stream; Thy Mercy fwift, thy Anger flow, But dreadful to the ftubborn Foe,

4 Thy Works with fov'reign Glory shine, And fpeak thy Majefty divine;

Let Britain round her Shores proclaim The Sound and Honour of thy Name. 5 Let diftant Times and Nations raise The long Succeffion of thy Praise; And unborn Ages make my Song, The Joy and Labour of their Tongue. But who can speak thy wond'rous Deeds? Thy Greatnefs all our Thoughts exceeds: Vaft and unfearchable thy Ways! Vaft and immortal be thy Praise!

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'LL praise my Maker with my Breath; And when my Voice is loft in Death, Praise fhall employ my nobler Pow'rs; My Days of Praile fhall ne'er be past, While Life, and Thought, and Being laft, Or Immortality endures.

2 Why fhould I make a Man my Truft? Princes muft die and turn to Duft:

Vain is the Help of Flesh and Blood; Their Breath departs, their Pomp and Pow's, And Thoughts, all vanith in an Hour, Nor can they make their Promise good. 3 Happy the Man whofe Hopes rely On Ifrael's God: He made the Sky, AndEarth, andSeas, with all their Train; His Truth for ever ftands fecure: He faves th' Oppreft, he feeds the Poor, And none fhall find his Promise vain. 4 The Lord hath Eyes to give the Blind; The Lord fupports the finking Mind; He fends the lab'ring Confcience Peace, He helps the Stranger in Distress, The Widow and the Fatherlefs,

And grants the Pris'ner fweet Release.

5 He loves his Saints, he knows them well, But turns the Wicked down to Hell;

Thy God, O Zion, ever reigns:

Let ev'ry Tongue, let ev'ry Age,

Τη

In this exalted Work engage;
Praise him in everlafting Strains.

6 I'll praife him while he lends me Breath,
And when my Voice is loft in Death,
Praife fhall employ my nobler Pow'rs:
My Days of Praife thalt ne'er be past,
While Life, and Thought, and Being last,
Or Immortality endures.

HYM N III.

ETERNAL Source of ev'ry Joy!

Well may thy Praife our Lips employ, While in thy Temple we appear; Thy Goodness crowns the circling Year. 2 Wide as the Wheels of Nature roll, Thy Hand fupports the fteddy Pole; The Sun is taught by thee to rife, And Darkness when to veil the Skies. 3 The flow'ry Spring at thy Command, Embalms the Air, and paints the Land; The Summer Rays with Vigour shine, To raise the Corn, and cheer the Vine. 4 Seafons, and Months, andWeeks, and Days, Demand fucceffive Songs of Praise; Still be the cheerful Homage paid, With op'ning Light and evʼning Shade. 5 Here in thy House shall Incense rife, As circling Sabbaths blefs our Eyes; Still will we make thy Mercies known Around thy Board, and round our own.

L, 2.

6 Q

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