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4 Infinite Lover! gracious Lord!
To thee be endless honours given :
Thy wondrous name fhall be ador'd,
Round the wide earth, and wider heaven.
HYMN XXII. Long Metre.
With God is terrible majesty.
ERRIBLE God, who reignft on high,
How awful is thy thundering hand;
Thy fiery bolts, how fierce they fly;
Nor can all earth or hell withstand.
2 This the old rebel angels knew,
And Satan fell beneath thy frown:
Thine arrows ftruck the traitor through,
And weighty vengeance funk him down.
3 This Sodom felt-and feels it fill-
And roars beneath th' eternal load: "With endless burnings who can dwell, "Or bear the fury of a God ?" 4 Tremble, ye finners, and fubmit;
Throw down your arms before his throne :
Bend your heads low beneath his feet,
Or his strong hand fhall crush you down.
And ye, blefs'd faints, that love him too,
With reverence bow before his name;
Thus all his heavenly fervants do:
God is a bright and burning flame.
HYMN XXIII. Long Metre. [*] The fight of God and Christ in heaven. DESCEND from heaven, immortal Dove,
Stoop down, and take us on thy wings; And mount, and bear us far above The reach of thefe inferior things: Beyond, beyond this lower fky, Up where eternal ages roll; Where folid pleafures never die, And fruits immortal feaft the foul.
3 O for a fight, a pleafing fight
Of our almighty Father's throne !
There fits our Saviour, crown'd with light,
Cloth'd in a body like our own.
4 Adoring faints around him ftand,
And thrones and powers before him fall;
The God fhines gracious through the man,
And sheds fweet glories on them all!
O what amazing joys they feel,
While to their golden harps they fing;
And fit on every heavenly hill,
And spread the triumphs of their King!
6 When fhall the day, dear Lord, appear,
That I fhall mount to dwell above;
And ftand and bow amongst them there,
And view thy face, and fing, and love?
2 High in the midst of all the throng
Satan, a tall arch-angel, fat;
Amongst the morning ftars he fung,
Till fin destroy'd his heavenly state.
HYMN XXIV. Long Metre.
The evil of fin vifible in the fall of angels and men. HEN the great Builder arch'd the skies, And form'd all nature with a word;
The joyful cherubs tun'd his praise,
And every bending throne ador'd.
3 'Twas fin that hurl'd him from his throne,
Grov'ling in fire, the rebel lies;
How art thou funk in darkness down,
Sun of the morning, from the skies!]
4 And thus our two firft parents flood,
Till fin defil'd the happy place:
They loft their garden and their God,
And ruin'd all their unborn race.
5 [So fprung the plague from Adam's bower,
And fpread destruction all abroad;
Sin, the curs'd name, that in one hour
Spoil'd fix days labour of a God.]
6 Tremble, my foul, and mourn for grief,
That fuch a foe fhould feize thy breaft;
Fly to thy Lord for quick relief;
Oh! may he flay this treacherous gueft.
7 Then to thy throne, victorious King,
Then to thy throne our fhouts fhall rife;
Thine everlafting arms we fing,
For fin, the monster, bleeds and dies.
HYMN XXV. Common Metre.
Complaining of fpiritual floth.
Y drowfy powers, why fleep ye fo!
Awake, my fluggish foul !
Nothing has half thy work to do;
Yet nothing's half fo dull!
2 The little ants for one poor grain,
Labour, and tug, and ftrive;
Yet we, who have a heaven t' obtain,
How negligent we live!
3 We, for whofe fake all nature ftands,
And ftars their courfes move;
We, for whofe guard the angel bands
Come flying from above;
4 We, for whom God the Son came down,
And labour'd for our good;
How careless to fecure that crown
He purchas'd with his blood!
5 Lord, fhall we lie fo fluggish ftill,
And never act our parts?
Come, holy Dove, from th' heavenly hill,
And fit and warm our hearts.
6 Then fhall our active fpirits move;
Upward our fouls fhall rife:
With hands of faith, and wings of love,
We'll fly, and take the prize.
HYMN XXVI. Long Metre. [*]
ORD, we are blind, poor mortals, blind, We can't behold thy bright abode; Oh! 'tis beyond a creature's mind, To glance a thought half way to God. Infinite leagues beyond the fky, The great ETERNAL reigns alone; Where neither wings nor fouls can fly, Nor angels climb the topless throne. 3 The Lord of glory builds his feat Of gems incomparably bright; And lays beneath his facred feet Subftantial beams of gloomy night.
4 Yet, glorious Lord, thy gracious eyes
Look through, and cheer us from above;
Beyond our praise thy grandeur flies.
Yet we adore, and yet we love.
HYMN XXVII. Long Metre. [*] Praife ye him, all his angels. Pfalm cxlviii. 2. 1 OD! the eternal, awful name,
That the whole heavenly army fears,
That fhakes the wide creation's frame,
And Satan trembles when he hears.
2 Like flames of fire his fervants are,
And light furrounds his dwelling-place;
But, Oye fiery flames, declare
The brighter glories of his face.
3 'Tis not for fuch poor worms as we
To fpeak fo infinite a thing;
But your immortal eyes furvey
The beauties of your fovereign King.
4 Tell how he fhews his fmiling face,
And clothes all heaven in bright array;
Triumph and joy run through the place,
And fongs eternal as the day.
5 Speak-for you feel his burning love-
What zeal it fpreads through all your frame!
That facred fire dwells all above,
For we, on earth, have loft the name.
6 [Sing of his power and juftice too;
That infinite right hand of his,
That vanquish'd Satan and his crew,
When thunder drove them down from blifs.]
7 What mighty ftorms of poifon'd darts
Were hurl'd upon the rebels there!
What deadly javelins nail'd their hearts
Faft to the racks of long defpair!
8 [Shout to your King, ye heavenly hoft;
You that beheld the finking foe ;
Firmly ye ftood when they were loft;
Praife the rich grace that kept ye fo.
Proclaim his wonders from the skies;
Let every diftant nation hear;
And, while you found his lofty praife,
Let humble mortals bow and fear.]
HYMN XXVIII. Common Metre.
Death and eternity.
STOOP down, my thoughts, that us'd to rife,
Think how a gafping mortal lies,
And pants away his breath.
His quivering lip hangs feebly down,
His pulfe is faint and few:
Then, fpeechlefs, with a doleful groan,
He bids the world adieu.
3 But oh, the foul, that never dies!
At once it leaves the clay !
Ye thoughts, purfue it where it flies,
And track its wondrous way!
4 Up to the courts, where angels dwell,
It mounts-triumphing there;
Or devils plunge it down to hell,
In infinite defpair!
5 And muft my body faint and die?
And muft this foul remove?
Oh, for fome guardian angel nigh,
To bear it fafe above!
6 Jefus, to thy dear faithful hand
My naked foul I truft;
And my flesh waits for thy command,
To drop into my duft.
2 Blefs'd be the Lamb, my deareft Lord,
Who bought me with his blood,
And quench'd his Father's flaming fword
In his own vital flood;
HYMN XXIX. Common Metre. [*]
Redemption by price and power.
ESUS, with all thy faints above,
My tongue would bear her part;
Would found aloud thy faving love,
And fing thy bleeding heart.
3 The Lamb that freed my captive foul
From Satan's heavy chains,
And fent the lion down to howl,
Where hell and horror reigns.
4 All glory to the dying Lamb,
And never ceafing praife,
While angels live to know his name,
Or faints to feel his grace.
Heavenly joy on earth.
OME, we that love the Lord,
And let our joys be known: