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VII. Who can escape his Bow?

That which hath wrought on Thee, Which brought the King of Glory low, Must surely work on me.

VIII. O throw away thy Rod ;

What tho' Man Frailties hath! Thou art my Saviour and my God!

O throw away thy Wrath!

A PRAYER under Convictions.


ATHER of Light, from whom proceeds

Whate'er thy Ev'ry Creature needs,
Whole Goodness providently nigh
Feeds the young Ravens when they cry ;
To Thee I look; my Heart prepare,
Suggeft, and hearken to my Pray'r.

Since by thy Light Myself I see
Naked, and poor, and void of Thee,
Thine Eyes must all my Thoughts survey,
Preventing what my Lips would say :
Thou seeit my Wants ! for Help they call,
And e'er I speak, Thou know'f them all.


Thou know'ft the Baseness of


Wayward, and impotent and blind :
Thou know'ft how unsubdu'd my Will,
Averse to Good, and prone to Ill:
Thou know'st how wide my Passions rove,
Nor check'd by Fear, nor charnı’d by Love.


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Fain would I know, as known by Thee,
And feel the Indigence I fee :,
Fain would I all my Vileness own,
And deep beneath the Burden groan ;
Abhor the Pride that lurks within,
Deteft and loath myself and Sin.

Ah give me, LORD, myself to feel,
My total Misery reveal :
Ah give me, Lord, (1 ftill would say,
A Heart to mourn, a Heart to pray ;
My Bus'ness this, my only Care,
My Life, my ev'ry Breath be pray'r.

Scarce I begin my fad Complaint,
When all my warmest Wishes faint ;
Hardly I lift my weeping Eye,
When all my kindling Ardors die ;
Nor Hopes nor fears my
For still I cannot, cannot love.

Father, I want a thankful Heart !
I want to taste how good thou art.
To plunge me in thy Mercy's Sea,
And comprehend thy Love to me ;
The Breadth, and Length, and Depth, and Height
Of Love divinely infinite.

Father, I long my Soul to raise.
And dwell for ever on thy Praise ;
Thy Praise with glorious Joy to tell,
In Éxtasy unspeakable ;
While the full Pow'r of Faith I know,
And reign triumphant here below.


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Heb. xii. 2.

Looking unto YESUS, the Author and

Finisher of our Faith.

W TEARY of struggling with my Pain,

Hopeless to burit my Nature's Chain,
Hardly I give the Contest o’er,
I seek to free myselt no more.

From my own Works at last I cease,
God that creates must seal


Peace; Fruitless my

Toil, and vain my Care,
And all my Fitness is Despair.

LORD, I despair myself to heal,
I see my Sin, but cannot feel :
I cannot, till thy Spirit, blow.
And bid th' obedient Waters flow.

'Tis Thine a Heart of Flesh to give,
Thy Gifts I only can receive :
Here then to Thee I all resign,
To draw, redeem, and feal is Thine.

With simple Faith, to thee I call,
My Light, my Life, my LORD, my All;
I wait the moving of the Pool,
I wait the Word that speaks me Whole.

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Speak, gracious Lord, my Sickness cure,
Make my infected Nature pure ;
Peace, 'Righteousness and Joy impart,
And pour Thyself into my Heart.



SHEE, O my God and King,

T'My father, Thee I fing

Hear well pleas'd the joyous Sound,

Praise from Earth and Heav'n receive ;
Loft, I now in Christ am found,
Dead, by Faith in Christ I live.

Father, behold thy Son,

In Christ I am thy own.
Stranger long to Thee and Rest,

See the Prodigal is come : Open wide thine Arms and Breast,

Take the weary Wand'rer home.

Thine Eye observ'd from far,

Thy Pity look'd me near ;
Me thy Bowels yearn'd to fee,

Me chy Mercy ran to find,
Empty, poor, and void of Thee.
Hungry, fick, and faint, and blind.

Thou on my Neck didit fall,
Thy Kiss forgave me all ;


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Still the gracious Words I hear,

Words that made the Saviour mine, Hafte, for him the Robe prepare,

His be Righteousness Divine.

Thee then, my God, and King,

My Father, Thee I fing! Hear well pleas'd the joyous Cound

Praise from Earih and Heav'n receive ; Loft, I now in CHRIST am found,

Dead, by Faith in Christ I live.

The INVITATION. From Herbert.


OME hither All, whose grov'ling Taste

Enslaves your Souls, and lay them waite;
Save your Expence, and mend


Here Gop himself's prepar'd and dreit,
Hiinself vouchtafes to be your Fealt,
In whom Alone all Dainties are.

Come hither all, whom tempting Wine
Bows to your Facher Bérial's Shrine,
Sin all your Boast, and Sense


God : Weep now for what you've drank amiss, And lose your Taste for sensual Bliss,

By drinking here your Saviour's Blood.

Come hither all, whom searching Pain,
Whom Conscience's loud Cries arraiga,

Producing all your Sins to view :
Tafte ; and dismiss your Guilty Fear,
O taste and see that God is here
Toheal your Souls and Sin subdue.



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