8 [Lord, how our souls are all on fire,
To see thy bless'd abode;

Our tongues rejoice in tunes of praise,
To our incarnate God.]

9 And while our faith enjoys this sight,
We long to leave our clay;
And wish thy fiery chariots, Lord,
To fetch our souls away.

1

HYMN 92. C. M. [*]

The Church saved, and her Enemies disappointed. HOUT to the Lord, and let our joys Through the whole nation run;

SH

Ye western skies, resound the noise

Beyond the rising sun.

2 Thee, mighty God, our souls admire,
Thee our glad voices sing;
And join with the celestial choir,
To praise th' eternal King.

3 Thy pow'r the whole creation rules,
And, on the starry skies,

Sits smiling at the weak designs,
Thine envious foes devise.

4 Thy scorn derides their feeble rage,
And with an awful frown,
Flings vast confusion on their plots,
And shakes their Babel down.

5 (Their secret fires in caverns lay,
And we the sacrifice;

But gloomy caverns strove in vain,
To 'scape all-searching eyes.

6 Their dark designs were all reveal'd,
Their treasons all betray'd;
Praise to the Lord, that broke the snare
Their cursed hands had laid.)

7 In vain the busy sons of hell

Still new rebellions try:

Their souls shall pine with envious rage,
And vex away and die.

8 Almighty grace defends our land,

From their malicious power; Then let us, with united songs, Almighty grace adore.]

HYMN 93. S. M.. Bingham. Newton. [*]
God all and in all. Psalm 1xxii, 25.
Y God, my life, my love,

1

M To thee, to thee I call;

I cannot live, if thou remove,
For thou art all in all.

2 Thy shining grace can cheer This dungeon where I dwell; 'Tis paradise, when thou art here; If thou depart, 'tis hell.

3 [The smilings of thy face,
How amiable they are!

'Tis heav'n to rest in thine embrace;
And no where else but there

4 To thee, and thee alone,
The angels owe their bliss;
They sit around thy gracious throne,
And dwell where Jesus is.]

5 Not all the harps above
Can make a heav'nly place;
If God his residence remove,
Or but conceal his face.
6 Nor earth, nor all the sky,
Can one delight afford;
No not a drop of real joy,

Without thy presence, Lord.

7 Thou art the sea of love,
Where all my pleasures roll;
The circle where my passions move,
And centre of my soul.

8 To thee my spirits fly,
With infinite desire ;

And yet, how far from thee I lie.
Dear Jesus, raise me higher.]

HYMN 94. C. M. St. Ann's. Abridge. [*]
God my only Happiness. Ps. lxxiii, 25.
God, my portion, and my love,
My everlasting All,

1

MY

I've none but thee in heav'n above,

Or on this earthly ball.

2 What empty things are all the skies!

And this inferior clod!

There's nothing here deserves my joys,
There's nothing like my God.

3 [In vain the bright, the burning sun
Scatters his feeble light:

'Tis thy sweet beams create my noon; If thou withdraw, 'tis night.

4 And whilst upon my restless bed, Amongst the shades I roll;

If my Redeemer shews his head, 'Tis morning to my soul.]

5 To thee we owe our wealth and friends,
And health and safe abode ;
Thanks to thy Name for meaner things,
But they are not my God.

6 How vain a toy is glitt'ring wealth,
If once compar'd to thee?

Or what's my safety or my health,
Or all my friends to me?

7 Were I possessor of the earth,
And call'd the stars my own;
Without thy graces and Thyself,
I were a wretch undone.

8 Let others stretch their arms like seas,
And grasp in all the shore;
Grant me the visits of thy face,

And I desire no more.

HYMN 95. C. M. Bishopsgate. [b]
Looking on him whom we pierced.

P1NFINITE grief! amazing wo!-
Behold my bleeding Lord!—

-Hell and the Jews conspir'd his death,
And us'd the Roman sword.

p 2 Oh, the sharp pangs of smarting pain,
My dear Redeemer bore-

When knotty whips, and ragged thorns,
His sacred body tore.

-3 But knotty whips, and ragged thorns,
In vain do I accuse ;

In vain I blame the Roman bands,
And the more spiteful Jews.

e 4 'Twere you, my sins, my cruel sins,
His chief tormenters were ;

Each of my crimes became a nail,
And unbelief a spear.

5 'Twere you that pull'd the vengeance down, Upon his guiltless head:

o Break, break, my heart, oh burst mine eyes, e And let my sorrows bleed.

0 6 Strike, mighty grace, my flinty soul,
'Till melting waters flow!

And deep repentance drown mine eyes,
In undissembled wo.

HYMN 96. C. M. Isle of Wight. [b*]
Angels punished, and Man saved.

1 D The rebel angels fell;

OWN headlong from their native skies,

• And thunder-bolts of flaming wrath Pursu'd them deep to hell.

2 Down from the top of earthly bliss, Rebellious man was hurl'd;

e And Jesus stoop'd beneath the grave, To reach a sinking world.

o 3 Oh, love of infinite degree! Unmeasurable grace!

e Must heav'n's eternal Darling die,
To save a trait'rous race?

p 4 Must angels sink for ever down,
And burn in quenchless fire-
-While God forsakes his shining throne,
To raise us wretches higher.

s 5 Oh, for this love, let earth and skies
With hallelujahs ring;

And the full choir of human tongues
All hallelujahs sing.

e 1

a

HYMN 97. L. M. Psalm 97th. [b*]

The same.

ROM heav'n the sinning angels fell,

FROM

And wrath and darkness chain'd them down;

e But man, vile man, forsook his bliss

o And mercy lifts him to a crown.

g 2 Amazing work of sov'reign grace,
That could distinguish rebels so;
e Our guilty treason call'd aloud
For everlasting fetters too.

o 3 To thee, to thee, almighty Love,

Our souls, ourselves, our all we pay ; s Millions of tongues shall sound thy praise, On the bright hills of heav'nly day.

HYMN 98. C. M. Windsor. Wantage. [b] Hardness of Heart complained of.

1

heart how dreadful hard it is!

M'How heavy here it lies!

Heavy and cold within my breast,
Just like a rock of ice!

2 Sin, like a raging tyrant, sits
Upon this flinty throne;

And ev'ry grace lies bury'd deep,
Beneath this heart of stone.

3 How seldom do I rise to God,
Or taste the joys above?
This mountain presses down my faith,
And chills my flaming love.

4 When smiling mercy courts my soul,
With all its heav'nly charms;
This stubborn, this relentless thing,
Would thrust it from my arms.

5 Against the thunders of thy word,
Rebellious I have stood;

My heart-it shakes not at the wrath,
And terrours, of a God.

6 Dear Saviour, steep this rock of mine,
In thine own crimson sea!

None but a bath of blood divine,
Can melt the flint away.

HYMN 99. C. M. Bedford. [b*]
The Book of God's Decrees.

p 1 [ET the whole race of creatures lie,

Abas'd before their God:

-Whate'er his sov'reign voice has form'd,
He governs with a nod.

e 2 (Ten thousand ages ere the skies
Were into motion brought,-

All the long years and worlds to come
Stood present to his thought.

-3 There's not a sparrow, nor a worm,
But's found in his decrees;