4 But to thy house will I refort,
To taste thy mercies there ;
I will frequent thine holy court,
And worship in thy fear.

5 O may thy fpirit guide my feet
In ways of right'ousness !
Make every path of duty ftraight
And plain before my face.

PAUSĖ.

6 My watchful enemies combine
To tempt my feet astray;
They flatter with a base design,
To make my foul their prey.
7 Lord, crush the ferpent in the dust,
And all his plots destroy;
While those, who in thy mercy trust,
For ever shout for joy.

8 The men, who love and fear thy name, Shall fee their hopes fulfill'd; The mighty God will compass them

I

With favour as a shield.

PSALM VI.

I

Common Metre.

Complaint in fickness; or, diseases healed.

N

anger, Lord, rebuke me not, Withdraw the dreadful storm;

Nor let thy fury grow so hot

Against a feeble worm.

2 My foul's bow'd down with heavy cares,

My flesh with pain oppress'd;

My couch is witness to my tears,

My tears forbid my refst.

3 Sorrow and pain wear out my days;
I waste the night with cries,
Counting the minutes as they pass,
Till the flow morning rife.

4 Shall I be still tormented more ?
Mine eyes confum'd with grief?
How long, my God, how long before
Thy hand affords relief?

5 He hears when dust and ashes speak;
He pities all our groans ;
He saves us for his mercy's fake,
And heals our broken bones.

6 The virtue of his sov'reign word
Restores our fainting breath;
But filent graves praise not the Lord,
Nor is he known in death.

PSALM VI. Long Metre.

L

Temptations in fickness overcome.
ORD, I

can fuffer thy rebukes

When thou with kindness dost chastife;

But thy fierce wrath I cannot bear ;
O let it not against me rife !

2 Pity my languishing estate,

And ease the forrows which I feel;
The wounds thine heavy hand hath made,
O let thy gentler touches heal !

3 See how I pass my weary days
In fighs and groans; and when 'tis night,
My bed is water'd with my tears;
My grief confumes and dims my fight.
4 Look how the pow'rs of nature mourn !
How long, Almighty God, how long?

When shall thine hour of grace return ?
When shall I make thy grace my fong?

5 I feel my flesh so near the grave,
My thoughts are tempted to despair :
But graves can never praise the Lord,
For all is dust and filence there.

6 Depart, ye tempters, from my foul;
And all despairing thoughts depart;
My God, who hears my humble moan,
Will ease my flesh and cheer my heart.

PSALM VII. Common Metre.
God's care of his people, and punishment of perfecutors.
Y trust is in my heav'nly Friend,
My hope in thee, my God;

I

M

Rife, and my helpless life defend
From those who seek my blood.

2 With insolence and fury they
My foul in pieces tear,
As hungry lions rend the prey
When no deliv'rer's near.

3 If I had e'er provok'd them first,
Or once abus'd my foe,
Then let him tread my life to dust,
And lay mine honour low.
4 If there be malice hid in me,
I know thy piercing eyes;
I should not dare appeal to thee,
Nor ask my God to rife.

5 Arife, my God, lift up thy hand,
Their pride and pow'r control;
Awake to judgment, and command
Deliv'rance for my foul.

c

PAUSE.

6 [Let finners and their wicked rage
Be humbled to the dust :

Shall not the God of truth engage
To vindicate the just ?

7 He knows the heart, he tries the reins,
He will defend th' upright:
His sharpest arrows he ordains
Against the fons of spite.

8 For me their malice digg'd a pit,
But there themselves are cast;
My God makes all their mischief light
On their own heads at last.]
9 That cruel, perfecuting race

Must feel his dreadful sword; Awake, my foul, and praise the grace And justice of the Lord.

PSALM VIII. Short Metre.

God's fovereignty and goodness; and man's dominion over the creatures.

I

0

LORD, our heav'nly King,

2

3

Thy name is all divine;

Thy glories round the earth are spread,
And o'er the heav'ns they shine:

When to thy works on high
I raise my wond'ring eyes,
And fee the moon complete in light
Adorn the darksome skies :

When I furvey the stars,
And all their shining forms,,
Lord, what is man, that worthless thing,
A-kin to dust and worms!

4

5

6

7

Lord, what is worthless man,
That thou should'st love him fo!

Next to thine angels is he plac'd,
And lord of all below.

Thine honours crown his head, While beasts like slaves obey, And birds that cut the air with wings, And fish that cleave the fea.

How rich thy bounties are ! And wond'rous are thy ways: Of dust and worms thy pow'r can frame A monument of praise.

[Out of the mouths of babes And fucklings, thou canst draw Surprising honours to thy name !

And trike the world with awe.

8 O Lord, our heav'nly king, Thy name is all divine;

Thy glories round the earth are spread, And o'er the heav'ns they shine.]

PSALM VIII.

Common Metre.

Cbrift's condescension and glorification; or, God made man.

I

LORD, our Lord, how wondrous great

Is thine exalted name!

The glories of thy heav'nly state
Let men and babes proclaim.
2 When I behold thy works on high,
The moon which rules the night,
And stars that well adorn the sky,
Those moving worlds of light:
3 Lord, what is man or all his race,
Who dwells fo far below,