But ftill thy throne ftands firm and high;
Thy church for ever must abide.

6 Before thy face thy church fhall live,
And on thy throne thy children reign;
This dying world fhall they furvive,
And the dead faints be rais'd again.
PSALM CIII. 1ft Part. Long Metre.
Ver. 1-7. Bleffing God for his goodness to foul
and body.

I

LESS, O my foul, the living God,

Bcall home thy tho'ts that rove abroad,

Let all the pow'rs within me join

In work and worship fo divine.

2 Blefs, O my foul, the God of grace ;
His favours claim thy highest praise;
Why fhould the wonders he hath wrought-
Be loft in filence and forgot?

3

"Tis he, my foul, that fent his Son

To die for crimes which thou hast done ;
He owns the ranfom, and forgives
The hourly follies of our lives.

4 The vices of the mind he heals,

And cures the pains that nature feels, Redeems the foul from hell, and faves Our wafting life from threat'ning graves. 5 Our youth decay'd his pow'r repairs ; His mercy crowns our growing years; He fatisfies our mouth with good, And fills our hopes with heav'nly food. 6 He fees th' oppreffor and th' oppreft, And often gives the fuff'rers reft; But will his juftice more display In the last great rewarding day.

7 [His pow'r he fhew'd by Mofes' hands,
And gave to Ifr'el his commands;
But fent his truth and mercy down
To all the nations by his Son.

8 Let the whole earth his pow'r confefs,
Let the whole earth adore his grace:
The Gentile with the Jew fhall join
In work and worship fo divine.]

PSALM CIH. 2d Part. Long Metre. God's gentle chaftifement; or, his tender mercy to his people.

Ver. 8-18.

1 THE Lord, how wond'rous are his ways! How firm his truth, how large his grace! He takes his mercy for his throne, And thence he makes his glories known. 2 Not half fo high his pow'r hath spread The ftarry heav'ns above our head, As his rich love exceeds our praise, Exceeds the higheft hopes we raife. 3 Not half fo far hath nature plac'd The rifing morning from the weft, As his forgiving grace removes The daily guilt of thofe he loves. 4 How flowly doth his wrath arife! On fwifter wings falvation flies : And if he lets his anger burn, How foon his frowns to pity turn! 5 Amidst his wrath compaffion fhines; His ftrokes are lighter than our fins ; And while his rod corrects his faints, His ear indulges their complaints. 6 So fathers their young fons chastise, With gentle hands and melting eyes;

The children weep beneath the fmart,
And move the pity of their heart.
PAUSE.

7 The mighty God, the wife and just,
Knows that our frame is feeble dust ;
And will no heavy loads impose

Beyond the ftrength that he beftows. 8 He knows how foon our nature dies, Blafted by ev'ry wind that flies; Like grafs we fpring, and die as foon As morning flow'rs that fade at noon. *9 But his eternal love is fure

To all the faints, and fhall endure;
From age to age his truth fhall reign,
Nor children's children hope in vain.
PSALM CIII. 1ft Part. Short Metre.
Ver.1-7. Praise for fpiritual and temporal mercies.
BLESS the Lord, my foul!
Let all within me join,

And aid my tongue to blefs his name,
Whofe favours are divine.

O blefs the Lord, my foul,
Nor let his mercies lie
Forgotten in unthankfulness,

And without praises die.

3 'Tis he forgives thy fins,
'Tis he relieves thy pain,
'Tis he that heals thy fickneffes,
And makes thee young again.
He crowns thy life with love,
When ranfom'd from the grave;
He that redeem'd my foul from hell,
Hath fov'reign pow'r to fave.

5 He fills the poor with good; He gives the fuff'rers reft ;

The Lord hath judgments for the proud, And juftice for th' oppreft.

6 His wond'rous works and ways He made by Mofes known;

But fent the world his truth and grace By his beloved Son.

PSALM CIII. 2d Part. Short Metre. Ver. 8-18. Abounding compaffion of God; or, mercy in the midst of judgment.

+ I

M Y foul, repeat his praife,

Whofe mercies are so great;
Whofe anger is fo flow to rife,
So ready to abate.

God will not always chide
And when his ftrokes are felt,
His ftrokes are fewer than our crimes,
And lighter than our guilt.

3 High as the heav'ns are rais'd
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of his grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.
4 His pow'r fubdues our fins,
And his forgiving love,

5

Far as the eaft is from the weft,
Doth all our guilt remove.
The pity of the Lord

To thofe that fear of his name,
Is fuch as tender parents feel;
He knows our feeble frame.
6 He knows we are but duft,
Scatter'd with ev'ry breath:

His anger, like a rifing wind,
Can fend us fwift to death.

7 Our days are as the grafs,
Or like the morning flow'r ;
If one sharp blaft fweep o'er the field,
It withers in an hour.

8 But thy compaffions, Lord,
To endless years endure;

And children's children ever find
Thy words of promise fure.

PSALM CIII. 3d Part. Short Metre.

Ver. 19-22. God's univerfal dominion; or, Angels praife the Lord.

I

HE Lord, the fov'reign King,

THath fix'd his throne on high;

O'er all the heav'nly world he rules,
And all beneath the fky.

2 Ye angels, great in might,
And fwift to do his will,

3

4

Blefs ye the Lord, whofe voice ye hear,

Whofe pleasure ye fulfil.

Let the bright hofts who wait
The orders of their King,

And guard his churches when they pray,
Join in the praise they fing.

While all his wond'rous works
Through his valt kingdom fhew
Their Maker's glory, thou, my foul,
Shall fing his graces too.