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Hofanna to my dying God;

And my best honours to his name.

HYMN V. Long Metre.

Longing to praise Chrift better.

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LO'er the harp forrows of thy foul,

ORD, when my thoughts_with_wonder roll

And read my Maker's broken laws,
Repair'd and honour'd by thy cross;
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 trains;

And in fuch humble notes as thefe
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 read,

And I could ne'er withftand:

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


5 A thoufand wretched fouls are fled
Since the laft fetting 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.


[DREAD Sovereign, let my evening fong

Like holy incenfe rife :

Aflift the offerings of my tongue
To reach the lofty skies.

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 secure 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 fnatch 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, whose 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 sufferings of Chrift.

ALAS! and did my Saviour bleed!

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 blufhing 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.

HYMN X. Common Metre.

Parting with carnal joys.

MY 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 spacious 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,

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I'd climb the heavenly road;
There fits my Saviour, drefs'd in love,
And there my fmiling God.



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 whistling 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,
'The upes are all withdrawn:

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

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 prieft.

4 He took our mortal flefh, to fhow
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, prefervation, diffolution, and refloration



of this world.

NG to the Lord, who built the fkies,
The Lord, who rear'd this ftately frame

Let all the nations found his praise,

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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