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PSALM CXIX. 16th Part. Com. Metre. [b]
Prayer for quickening grace.
Ver. 25, 37..


Y foul lies cleaving to the duft;
Lord, give me life divine!
From vain defires, and every luft,
Turn off these eyes of mine.
2 I need the influence of thy grace
To fpeed me in thy way,
Left I fhould loiter in my race,
Or turn my feet aftray.


Ver. 107.

8 When fore afflictions prefs me down,
I need thy quickening powers;
Thy word, that I have reited on,
Shall help my heaviest hours.
Ver. 156, 40.
4 Are not thy mercies fovereign ftill,
And thou a faithful God?

Wilt thou not grant me warmer zeal
To run the heavenly road?
Ver. 159, 40.

5 Does not my heart thy precepts love,
And long to fee thy face?
And yet how flow my fpirits move,
Without enlivening grace!
Ver. 93.
6 Then fhall I love thy gofpel more,
And ne'er forget thy word,

When I have felt its quickening power,
To draw me near the Lord.

PSALM CXIX. 17th Part. Long Met. [b]
Courage and perfeverance under perfecution; or, grace
Shining in difficulties and trials.
Ver. 143, 28.

1 WHEN pain and anguifh feize me, Lord,

my fupport is from thy word :
My foul diffolves for heavinefs,
Uphold me with thy ftrengthening grace.
Ver. 51, 69, 110.

2 The proud have fram'd their feoffs and lies,
They watch my feet with envious eyes,
And tempt my foul to fnares and fin
Yet thy commands I ne'er decline.

Ver. 161, 78.

3 They hate me, Lord, without a caufe,
They hate to fee me love thy laws;
But I will truft and fear thy name,
Till pride and malice die with fhaine.

PSALM CXIX. Laft Part. Long Metre. [b] Sanctified afflictions; or, delight in the word of God. Ver. 67, 59.


How kind was thy chaftifing rod,
That forc'd my confcience to a ftand,
And brought my wandering foul to God !
2 Foolish and vain, I went aftray,

Ere I had felt thy fcourges, Lord;
I left my guide, and loft my way,
But now I love and keep thy word.
Ver. 71.

3 'Tis good for me to wear the yoke,
For pride is apt to rife and fwell;
'Tis good to bear my Father's ftroke,
That I might learn his ftatutes well.
Ver. 72.
4 The law that iffures from thy mouth
Shall raife my cheerful paffions more
Than all the treafures of the South,
Or Western hills of golden ore.
Ver. 73.
5 Thy hands have made my mortal frame,
Thy Spirit form'd my foul within;
Teach me to know thy wondrous name,
And guard me fafe from death and fin.
Ver. 74.

6 Then all that love and fear the Lord,
At my falvation fhall rejoice;
For I have hoped in thy word,
And made thy grace my only choice.


PSALM CXX. Common Metre. Complaint of quarrelsome neighbours; or, a devout wish for peace.

1 THOU God of love, thou ever bleft, Pity my ftate;

When wilt thou fet my foul at reft
From lips that love deceit ?

2 Hard lot of mine! my days are caft Among the fons of ftrife,

Whose never ceafing brawlings wafte
My golden hours of life.

3 O might I fly to change my place,
How would I choose to dwell
In fome wide lonefome wilderness,
And leave these gates of hell!

4 Peace is the bleffing that I seek;
How lovely are its charms!
I am for peace; but when I speak,
They all declare for arms.

5 New paffions ftill their fouls engage,
And keep their malice ftrong;

What shall be done to curb thy rage,
O thou devouring tongue!


6 Should burning arrows fmite thee through,
Strict juftice would approve;
But I had rather fpare my foe,
And melt his heart with love.



Long Metre. [*]

Divine protection.
to the hills I lift mine eyes,

Thence all her help my foul derives;
There my Almighty Refuge lives.
2 He lives; the everlafting God,

That built the world, that fpread the flood;
The heavens with all their hofts he made,
And the dark regions of the dead.

3 He guides our feet, he guards our way;
His morning fmiles blefs all the day;
He fpreads the evening vale, and keeps
The filent hours while Ifrael fleeps.
4 Ifrael, a name divinely bleft,

May rife fecure, fecurely reft;
Thy holy guardian's wakeful eyes
Admit no lumber nor furprise.

5 No fun fhall fmite thy head by day,
Nor the pale moon with fickly ray
Shall blaft thy couch; no baleful flar
Dart his malignant fire fo far.

6 Should earth and hell with malice burn,
Still thou fhalt go, and ftill return
Safe in the Lord! his heavenly care
Defends thy life from every fnare.
7 On thee foul fpirits have no power;
And in thy laft departing hour,
Angels, that trace the airy road,
Shall bear thee homeward to thy God.

PSALM CXXI. Common Metre. [*]
Prefervation by day and night.

1 TO heaven I lift my waiting, eyes,
There all my are

The Lord that built the earth and fkies
Is my perpetual aid.

Their feet fhall never flide to fall,
Whom he defigns to keep:
His ear attends the fofteft call;
His eyes can never fleep.

3 He will fuftain our weakest powers
With his almighty arm,

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And watch our mot unguarded hours
Against furprising harm.

4 Ifrael, rejoice, and reft fecure,
Thy keeper is the Lord;

His wakeful eyes employ his power
For thine eternal guard.

5 Nor fcorching fun, nor fickly moon Shall have his leave to fmite;

He fhields thy head from burning noon,
From blafting damps at night.

6 He guards thy foul, he keeps` thy breath,
Where thickeft dangers come;

Go and return, fecure from death,
Till God commands thee home.

PSALM CXXI. Particular Metre. [*]
God our preferver.

UPWARD I lift mine eyes,

From God is all my
The God that built the fkies,
And earth and nature made;


God is the tower
To which I fly;
His grace is nigh
In every hour.

2 My feet fhall never flide,
And fall in fatal fnares,
Since God, my guard and guide,
Defends me from my fears.
Those wakeful eyes,
Which never fleep,
Shall Ifrael keep,
When dangers rife.
3 No burning heats by day,
Nor blafts of evening air,
Shall take my health away,
If God be with me there :
Thou art my fun,,
And thou my fhade,
To guard my head
By night or noon.
Haft thou not given thy word,
To fave my foul from death?
And I can trust my Lord
To keep my mortal breath :
I'll go and come,
Nor fear to die,
Till from on high
Thou call me home.


PSALM CXXII. Common Metre. [*]
Going to church.

HOW did my heart rejoice to hear
My friends devoutly fay,
"In Zion let us all appear,
“And keep the folemn day!"

2 I love her gates, I love the road;
The church, adorn'd with grace,
Stands like a palace, built for God,
To fhow his milder face.

3 Up to her courts, with joys unknown,
The holy tribes repair;

The Son of David holds his throne,
And fits in judgment there.

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