The courts belów, how amiable,
Where all Thy graces ftand!
2. The fwallow near Thy temple lies,
And chirps a chearful note;
The lark mounts upward to Thy skies,
And tunes her warbling throat.

3. And we, when in Thy prefence, LORD!
We fhout with joyful tongues;
Or fitting round our Father's board,
We crown the feast with songs.

4. While JESUS fhines with quick'ning grace,
We fing, and mount on high;
But if a frown becloud His face,
We faint and tire and die.

[5. Juft as we fee the lonesome dove
Bemoan her widow'd state;

Wand'ring the flies thro' all the grove,
And mourns her loving mate.

6. Juft fo our thoughts from thing to thing In reftlefs circles rove;

Juft fo we droop, and hang the wing,
When JESUS hides his love.]

¶ CCXX. Hardness of Heart complained of.

Y heart, how dreadful hard it is!"

"MY

How heavy here it lies!

Heavy and cold within my breaft, Juft like a rock of ice.

2. Sin, like a raging tyrant, fits

Upon this flinty throne
And ev'ry grace lies bury'd deep
Beneath this heart of stone.

How feldom do I rife to GoD,

Or taste the joys above?

This mountain preffes down my faith, And chills my flaming love.

I.

MY

foul! come meditate the day, And think how near it ftands When thou muft quit this houfe of clay, And fly to unknown lands.'

[2. And you, mine eyes! look down and view
The hollow gaping tomb,
This gloomy prifon waits for you,
Whene'er the fummons come.]

3. O could we die with thofe that die,
And place us in their stead,
Then would our fpirits learn to fly,
And converfe with the dead!

4. Then we fhould fee the faints above,
In their own glorious forms;
And wonder why our fouls should love
To dwell with mortal worms.

[5. How we should fcorn these cloaths of flesh, These fetters, and this lood! And long for ev'ning, to undrefs, That we may reft with GoD.] 6. We should almoft forfake our clay Before the fummons come,

I.

And pray, and with our fouis away, To their eternal home.

MY

Y foul forfakes her vain delight,
And bids the world farewell;
Bafe as the dirt beneath my feet,

And mifchievous as hell.

2. No longer will I afk your love,
Nor feek your friendship more;
The happiness that 1 approve,
Lies not within your pow'r.

3. There's nothing round this fpacious earth, That fuits my large defire;

To boundlefs joys and folid mirth
My nobler thoughts afpire.

[4. Where pleasure rolls its living flood,
From fin and drofs refin'd;

Still fpringing froin the throne of Gon,
And fit to chear the mind.

5. Th' Almighty Ruler of the fphere,
The glorious and the great,
Brings his own all-fufficience there,
To make our blifs complete.]
6. Had I the pinions of a dove,

I'd climb the heav'nly road;
There fits my Saviout dreft in love,
And there my filing GoD,

3.

4

Through heav'n's wide arch from pole to
Pale fun, no more thy luftre boast, [pole!
Tremble and fall ye ftarry hoft !

This wreck of nature all around,
The angel's fhout, the trumpet's found
Loud the defcending Judge proclaim,
And echo his tremendous name.
LORD, to my eyes this fcene display,
Frequent through each returning day;
And let Thy grace my foul prepare,
To meet its full redemption there!

+ CCXXVII. Submifhon under Afflictions. AKED as from the earth we came,

NA

And rofe to life at first;

We to the earth return again,
And mingle with our duft.

2. The dear delights we here enjoy, And fondly call our own,

3.

Are but short favors borrow'd Now,
To be repaid Anon.

'Tis GOD that lifts our comforts high,
Or finks them in the grave;
He gives, and (bleffed be his name)
He takes but what He gave.
Peace, all our angry paffions then,
Let each rebellious figh

Be

Be filent at His fov'reign will,
And ev'ry murmur die.

5. If fmiling Mercy crown our lives,
Its praifes fhall be spread;
And we'll adore the Juftice too,
That ftrikes our comforts dead.

¡CCXXVIII. A Song of Praife to God from Great-Britain.

NATURE with all her pow'rs shall

GOD the CREATOR and the KING:
Nor air, nor earth, nor skies, nor feas,
Deny the tribute of their praife.
[2. Begin to make his glories known,
Ye angels that furround his throne;
Exalt your trains, and spread the found
To the creation's utmoft bound.]

[3. All mortal things of meaner frame,
Exert you force and own his name;
Whilft, with our fouls and with our voice,
We fing his honors and our joys.]
[4. To him be facred all we have,
From the young cradle to the grave:
Our lips fhall his loud wonders tell,
In ev'ry word a miracle]

5. Yet mighty GoD, our feeble frame
Attempts in vain to reach thy name;
The ftrongest notes that angels raife,
Faint in the worship and the praife.

CCXXIX. A happy Refurrection.
TO, I'll repine at death no more:

N But with a chearful gafp refign

To the cold dungeon of the grave,
Thefe dying, with'ring limbs of mine.

I.

2.

4.

N°

CCXXX. Vain Profperity.

TO, I fhall envy them no more,
Who grow prophanely great
Tho' they increase their golden ftore,
And rife to wond'rous height..

They taste of all the joys that grow
Upon this earthly clod:

Well, they may fearch the creature thro'
For they have ne'er a God.

Shake off the thoughts of dying too,

And think your life your own;
But death comes haft'ning on to you,
To mow your glory down.
Yes, you must bow your flately head,
Away your fpirit flies;

And no kind angel near your bed,
To bear it to the skies.

4.

1.

2.

Not all the pains that e'er I bore
Shall fpoil my future peace;
For death and hell can do no more
Than what my FATHER please.
↑ CCXXXIV. Felicity Above.

No, 'tis in vain to feek for bliss;

For blifs can ne'er be found,

'Till we arrive where Jesus is,
And tread on heav'nly ground.,
There's nothing round these painted skies,
Or round this dusty clod;
Nothing, my foul, that's worth thy joys,
Or lovely as thy God.

3. 'Tis heav'n on earth to tafte His love,
To feel His quick'ning grace;
And all the heav'n I hope above
Is but to fee His face.