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He bids the fhining orbs roll on, And round he turns the hafty years. 4 Thus fhall this moving engine laft, Till all his faints are gather'd in: Then for the trumpet's dreadful blast, To fhake it all to duft again.
5 Yet, when the found fhall tear the skies,
And lightning burn the globe below,
Saints, you may lift your joyful eyes,
There's a new heaven and earth for you.
HYMN XIV. Short Metre.
The Lord's day; or, delight in ordinances
WELCOME, fweet day of reft,
That faw the Lord arife;
Welcome to this reviving breast,
And thefe rejoicing eyes!
2 The King himfelf comes near,
And feafts his faints to-day;
Here we may fit, and fee him here,
And love, and praife, and pray.
3 One day amidit the place
Where my dear God hath been, Is fweeter than ten thousand days Of pleasurable fin.
My willing foul would stay In fuch a frame as this; And fit and fing herself away To everlasting blifs.
HYMN XV. Long Metre. [*]
The enjoyment of Chrift; or, delight in worship. AR from my thoughts, vain world, be gone;
Fain would my eyes my Saviour fee-
I wait a vifit, Lord, from thee!
e My heart grows warm with holy fire,
And kindles with a pure defire:
Come, my dear Jefus, from above,
And feed my foul with heavenly love.
3 [The trees of life immortal ftand
In blooming rows at thy right hand;
And, in fweet murmurs by their fide,
Rivers of blifs perpetual glide.
4 Hafte then, but with a fmiling face,
And fpread the table of thy grace :
Bring down a tafle of truth divine,
And cheer my heart with facred wine.]
5 Blefs'd Jefus, what delicious fare!
How fweet thy entertainments are!
Never did angels taffe above
Redeeming grace, and dying love.
6 Hail, great Immanuel, all divine!
In thee thy Father's glories fhine:
Thou brighteft, fweeteft, faireft One,
That eyes have feen, or angels known!
HYMN XVI. Long Metre. [*] Part the fecond.. 1 ORD, what a heaven of faving grace
And lights our paffions to a flame!
Lord, how we love thy charming name.
2 When I can fay, my God is mine,
When I can feel thy glories fhine,
I tread the world beneath my feet,
And all that earth calls good or great.
3 While fuch a scene of facred joys,
Our rapur'd eyes and fouls employs,
Here we could fit, and gaze away
A long, an everlasting day.
4 Well, we fhall quickly pafs the night,
To the fair coafts of perfect light;
Then fhall our joyful fenfes rove
O'er the dear object of our love.
5 [There fhall we drink full draughts of bliss,
And pluck new life from heavenly trees;
Yet now and then, dear Lord, beftow
A drop of heaven on worms below.
6 Send comforts down from thy right hand,
While we pass through this barren land;
And in thy temple let us fee
A glimpse of love, a glimpfe of thee.]
HYMN XVII. Common Metre. [*]
RISE, rife, my foul, and leave the ground,
And roufe up every tuneful found
To praise th' Eternal God.
2 Long ere the lofty fkies were spread,
Jehovah fill'd his throne;
Or Adam form'd, or angels made,
The Maker liv'd alone.
3 His boundlefs years can ne'er decrease,
But ftill maintain their prime;
Eternity's his dwelling place,
And ever is his time.
4 While like a tide our minutes flow,
The prefent and the past,
He fills his own immortal now,
And fees our ages wafte.
5 The fea and fky must perifh too, And vaft deftruction come;
The creatures-look! how old they grow,
And wait their fiery doom.
6 Well, let the fea fhrink all away,
And flames melt down the fkies,
My God fhall live an endless day,
When old creation dies.
HYMN XVIII. Long Metre. [*]
The miniftry of angels.
IGH on a hill of dazzling light,
The King of Glory fpreads his feat,
And troops of angels, ftretch'd for flight,
Stand waiting round his awful feet.
2 "Go," faith the Lord, " my Gabriel, go,
"Salute the virgin's fruitful womb!
"Make hafte, ye cherubs, down below,
Sing and proclaim-the Saviour's come."
8 Here a bright fquadron leaves the fkies,
And thick around Elifha ftands;
Anon a heavenly foldier flies,
And breaks the chains from Peter's hands.
4 Thy winged troops, O God of Hofts,.
Wait on thy wandering church below;
Here we are failing to thy coafts,
Let angels be our convoy too.
Are they not all thy fervants, Lord,
At thy command they go and come;
With cheerful hafte obey thy word,
And guard thy children to their home.
Our bodies frail, and God our preserver.
ET others boaft how strong they be,
Nor death nor danger fear;
But we'll confefs, O Lord, to thee,
What feeble things we are.
2 Fresh as the grafs our bodies fland,
And flourish bright and gay;
A blafting wind fweeps o'er the land,
And fades the grass away.
3 Our life contains a thousand springs,
And dies, if one be gone;
Strange! that a harp of thousand ftrings
Should keep in tune fo long.
4 But 'tis our God fupports our frame,
The God who built us first;
Salvation to th' Almighty Name
That rear'd us from the duft.
5 [He fpake-and flraight our hearts and brains, In all their motions, rofe;
"Let blood," faid he, "flow round the veins," And round the veins it flows.
6 While we have breath, or use our tongues, Our Maker we'll adore;
His Spirit moves our heaving lungs,
Or they would breathe no more.]
HYMN XX. Common Metre. Backflidings and returns; or, the inconftancy of
HY is my heart fo far from thee,
My God, my chief delight?
Why are my thoughts no more by day
With thee, no more by night?
2 [Why should my foolish paffions rove?
Where can fuch fweetnefs be,
As I have tafted in thy love,
As I have found in thee?]
3 When my forgetful foul renews
The favour of thy grace,
My heart prefumes I cannot lofe
The relifh all my days.
4 But ere one fleeting hour is past,
The flattering world employs
Some fenfual bait to feize my tafte,
And to pollute my joys.
5 [Trifles of nature, or of art,
With fair deceitful charms,
Intrude into my thoughtless heart,
And thruft me from thy arms.]
6 Then I repent, and vex my foul
That I fhould leave thee fo;
Where will thofe wild affections rol
That let a Saviour go?
7 [Sin's promis'd joys are turn'd to pain, And I am drown'd in grief,
But my dear Lord returns again;
He flies to my relief!
8 Seizing my foul with fweet furprife,
He draws with loving bands ;
Divine compaffion in his eyes,
And pardon in his hands.]
9 [Wretch that I am, to wander thus,
In chafe of falfe delight!
Let me be faften'd to thy cross,
Rather than lofe thy fight.]
10 [Make hafte, my days, to reach the goal,
And bring my heart to reft
On the dear centre of my foul,
My God, my Saviour's breaft!]
HYMN XXI. Long Metre. A jong of praise to God the Redeemer. 1 ET the old heathens tune their fong Of great Diana, and of Jove; But the fweet theme that moves my tongue Is my Redeemer and his love.
2 Behold! a God defcends and dies,
To fave my foul from gaping hell!
How the black gulf, where Satan lies,
Yawn'd to receive me when I fell !
3 How juftice frown'd, and vengeance flood,
To drive me down to endless pain!
But the great Son propos'd his blood,
And heavenly wrath grew mild again.