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Hofanna to my dying God;
And my best honours to his name.


HYMN V. Long Metre. Longing to praife Chrift better. 1 ORD, when my thoughts_with_wonder_roll

And read my Maker's broken laws, Repair'd and honour'd by thy crofs; 2 When I behold death, hell, and fin,

Vanquish'd by that dear blood of thine,
And fee the Man, that groan'd and dy'd,
Sit glorious by his Father's fide;

3 My paffions rife and foar above :

I'm wing'd with faith, and fir'd with love;
Fain would I reach eternal things,
And learn the notes that Gabriel fings.

4 But my heart fails, my tongue complains,
For want of their immortal ftrains ;
And in fuch humble notes as these
Falls far below thy victories.

5 Well, the kind minute muft appear,
When we fhall leave thefe bodies here,
Thefe clogs of clay-and mount on high,
To join the fongs above the sky.


HYMN VI. Common Metre. [*]
A morning fong.

NCE more, my foul, the rifing day
Salutes thy waking eyes;

Once more, my voice, thy tribute pay
To Him who rules the fkies.


2 Night unto night his name repeats,
The day renews the found,
Wide as the heaven on which he fits,
To turn the feafons round.

3 'Tis he fupports my mortal frame;
My tongue fhall fpeak his praife;
My fins would roufe his wrath to flame,
And yet his wrath delays.

4 [On a poor worm thy power might tread, And I could ne'er withftand:

Thy juffice might have crufh'd me dead,
But mercy held thy hand.

5 A thoufand wretched fouls are fled Since the laft setting fun ;

And yet thou lengtheneft out my thread,
And yet my moments run.]

6 Dear God, let all my hours be thine,
Whilft I enjoy the light;
Then fhall my fun in fmiles decline,
And bring a pleasant night.



HYMN VII. Common Metre.
An evening Jong.

READ Sovereign, let my evening fong
Like holy incense rise :
Aflift the offerings of my tongue
To reach the lofty fkies.

2 Through all the dangers of the day
Thy hand was ftill my guard;
And ftill to drive my wants away,
Thy mercy flood prepar'd.]

3 Perpetual bleffings from above
Encompass me around,

But O how few returns of love
Hath my Creator found!


What have I done for him who dy'd
To fave my wretched foul?
How are my follies multiply'd,
Faft as my minutes roll!

5 Lord, with this guilty heart of mine,
To thy dear cross i flee,

And to thy grace my foul refign,
To be renew'd by thee.

6 Sprinkled afresh with pardoning blood,

I lay me down to reft,

As in th' embraces of my God,
Or on my Saviour's breaft.

HYMN VIII. Common Metre. [*]
A hymn for morning or evening.

1 HOSANNA, with a cheerful found,
God's upholding hand;

Ten thousand fnares attend us round,
And yet fecure we stand.

2 That was a moft amazing power That rais'd us with a word,

And every day, and every hour,
We lean upon the Lord.

3 The evening refts our weary head,
And angels guard the room;
We wake, and we admire the bed
That was not made our tomb.
4 The rifing morning can't affure
That we fhall end the day;
For death ftands ready at the door
To fratch our lives away.

5 Our breath is forfeited by fin
To God's revenging law:
We own thy grace, immortal King,
In every gafp we draw.

6 God is our fun, whofe daily light
Our joy and fafety brings;
Our feeble flesh lies fafe at night
Beneath his fhady wings.

HYMN IX. Common Metre.


Godly forrow arifing from the Jufferings of Chrift.




And did my Sovereign die ? Would he devote that facred head For fuch a worm as I?

2 [Thy body flain, fweet Jefus, thine,
And bath'd in its own blood,
While, all expos'd to wrath divine,
The glorious Sufferer flood!]

3 Was it for crimes that I had done,
He groan'd upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!

4 Well might the fun in darkness hide,
And fhut his glories in,

When God, the mighty Maker, dy'd
For man, the creature's fin.

5 Thus might I hide my blushing face,
While his dear crofs appears,
Diffolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt mine eyes in tears.

6 But drops of grief can ne'er repay The debt of love I owe :.

Here, Lord, I give myself away; 'Tis all that I can do.


Common Metre.

Parting with carnal joys. 1 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 happinefs that I approve
Lies not within your power.

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

To boundless joy and folid mirth
My nobler thoughts afpire.

4 [Where pleafure rolls its living flood,
From fin and drofs refin'd,
Still fpringing from the throne of God,
And fit to cheer 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 heavenly road;
There fits my Saviour, drefs'd in love,
And there my fmiling God.


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HYMN XI. Long Metre. [*] The fame. SEND the joys of earth away; Away, ye tempters of the mind, Falfe as the fmooth deceitful fea, And empty as the whiftling wind. 2 Your ftreams were floating me along Down to the gulf of black defpair; And whilft I liften'd to your fong, Your ftreams had e'en convey'd me there.



3 Lord, I adore thy matchlefs grace,
That warn'd me of that dark abyfs;
That drew me from thofe treacherous feas,
And bade me feek fuperior blifs.

4 Now to the fhining realms above
I ftretch my hands, and glance my eyes;
O for the pinions of a dove,
To bear me to the upper fkies!
5 There, from the bofom of my God,
Oceans of endlefs pleafures roll:
There would I fix my laft abode,
And drown the forrows of my foul.


HYMN XII. Common Metre. [b] Chrift is the fubftance of the Levitical priesthood. HE true Meffiah now appears,

So fly the fhadows and the stars
Before the rifing dawn.

2 No fmoking fweets, nor bleeding lambs,
Nor kid, nor bullock flain,

Incenfe and fpice, of coftly names,
Would all be burnt in vain.

3 Aaron muft lay his robes away,
His mitre and his veft,

When God himself comes down to be
The offering and the priest.

4 He took our mortal flesh, to show
The wonders of his love;
For us he paid his life below,
And prays for us above.

5" Father," he cries, "forgive their fins,
"For I myself have "dy'd;"
And then he fhows his open'd veins,
And pleads his wounded fide.
Long Metre.


The creation, preservation, diffolution, and restoration of this world.

1 ING to the Lord, who built the fkies,

Let all the nations found his praife,
And lands unknown repeat his name.
2 He form'd the feas, and fram'd the hills,
Made every drop, and every duft;
Nature and time, with all their wheels,
And put them into motion first.
3 Now, from his high imperial throne,
He looks far down upon the fpheres ;

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