HYMN LV. Common Metre.
Frail life, and fucceeding eternity.
HEE we adore, Eternal Name,

1 THE

And humbly own to thee,

How feeble is our mortal frame;
What dying worms are we!

2 Our wafting lives grow fhorter ftill,
As months and days increase;
And every beating pulfe we tell
Leaves but the number lefs.
3 The year rolls round, and fteals away
The breath that first it gave;
Whate'er we do, where'er we be,
We're travelling to the grave.]

[b]

4 Dangers ftand thick through all the ground,
To push us to the tomb;
And fierce difeafes wait around,

To hurry mortals home.

5 Good God, on what a flender thread
Hang everlafting things!
The eternal ftates of all the dead
Upon life's feeble ftrings!

6 Infinite joy, or endless wo,

Attends on every breath;

And yet how unconcern'd we go
Upon the brink of death!

7 Waken, O Lord, our drowfy fenfe
To walk this dangerous road;
And, if our fouls are hurry'd hence,
May they be found with God.

HYMN LVI. Common Metre.

[b]

The mifery of being without God in this world; or, vain profperity.

1

NOLI fhall envy them no more,

Who grow profanely great,

Though they increase their golden ftore,
And rife to wondrous height.

2 They tafte of all the joys that grow

Upon this earthly clod:

Well, they may fearch the creature through,
For they have ne'er a God.

3 Shake off the thoughts of dying too,

And think your life your own;

But death comes haftening on to you,
To mow your glory down.

4 Yes, you must bow your ftately head;
Away your fpirit flies;

And no kind angel near your bed,
To bear it to the fkies.

5 Go now, and boaft of all your flores,
And tell how bright they fhine;
Your heaps of glittering duft are yours,
And my Redeemer's mine!

1

HYMN LVII. Long Metre.

The pleafures of a good confcience.

'L Who feel the joys of pardon'd fin!

ORD, how fecure and bleft are they

[*]

Should ftorms of wrath fhake earth and fea,
Their minds have heaven and peace within.
2 The day glides fweetly o'er their heads,
Made .up of innocence and love;

And foft and filent as the fhades,
Their nightly minutes gently move.

3 [Quick as their thoughts their joys come on, But fly not half fo fwift away!

Their fouls are ever bright as noon,
And calm as fummer evenings be.
4 How oft they look to th' heavenly hills,
Where groves of living pleafures grow!
And longing hopes, and cheerful fmiles,
Sit undiflurb'd upon their brow.]

5 They fcorn to feek our golden toys; But fpend the day and fhare the night In numbering o'er the richer joys, That heaven prepares for their delight. 6 While wretched we, like worms and moles, Lie grov'ling in the duft below;

Almighty grace, renew our fouls,

And we'll afpire to glory too.

HYMN LVIII. Common Metre. [b]
The fhortness of life and the goodness of God.

IME! what an empty vapour 'tis!

1 TIME

And days, how fwift they are !

Swift as an Indian arrow flies,

Or like a shooting star.

2 [The prefent moments just appear,
Then flide away in hafte;

That we can never fay-they're here;
But only fay-they're paft.]

3 [Our life is ever on the wing,
And death is ever nigh;

The moment when our lives begin,
We all begin to die.]

4 Yet, mighty God! our fleeting days
Thy lafting favours fhare;

Yet, with the bounties of thy grace,
Thou load'ft the rolling year.

5 'Tis fovereign mercy finds us food,
And we are cloth'd with love;
While grace ftands pointing out the road
That leads our fouls above.

6 His goodness runs an endless round ;
All glory to the Lord!

His mercy never knows a bound;
And be his name ador'd!

7 Thus we begin the lafting fong;
And when we close our eyes,
Let the next age thy praise prolong,
Till time and nature dies.

1

HYMN LIX. Common Metre. [*]

GLO

Paradife on earth.

LORY to God, who walks the sky,
And fends his bleffings through;

Who tells his faints of joys on high,

And gives a tafte below.

2 [Glory to God, who floops his throne,
That duft and worms may fee't,

And brings a glimple of glory down
Around his facred feet.

3 When Chrift, with all his graces crown'd,
Sheds his kind beams abroad,

'Tis a young heaven on earthly ground, And glory in the bud.

4 A blooming paradife of joy

In this wild defart fprings;

And every fenfe I ftraight employ
On fweet celeftial things.

5 White lilies all around appear,
And each his glory fhows!
The Rofe of Sharon bloffoms here,
The fairest flower that blows.

6 Cheerful I feaft on heavenly fruit,
And drink the pleasures down;
Pleafures that flow hard by the foot
Of the eternal throne!]

7 But, ah! how foon my joys decay;
How foon my fins arife,

And fnatch th' heavenly fcene away
From thefe lamenting eyes!

8 When fhall the time, dear Jefus, when
The fhining day appear,

That I fhall leave thefe clouds of fin,
And guilt and darkness here?

9 Up to the fields, above the fkies,
My hafty feet would go;

There everlafting flowers arife,
And joys unwithering grow.

HYMN LX. Long Metre.

The truth of God the promifer; or, the promises are our fecurity.

1 PRAISE, everlafting praife, be paid

To Him who earth's foundation laid:
Praife to the God whofe ftrong decrees
Sway the creation as he please.

8 Praife to the goodness of the Lord,
Who rules his people by his word;
And there, as ftrong as his decrees,
He fets his kindest promises.

3 [Firm are the words his prophets give;
Sweet words, on which his children live;
Each of them is the voice of God,
Who fpake, and fpread the fkies abroad.
4 Each of them powerful as that found
That bid the new-made world go round;
And ftronger than the folid poles,
On which the wheel of nature rolls.]

5 Whence then should doubts and fears arife?
Why trickling forrows drown our eyes ?
Slowly, alas! our mind receives

The comforts that our Maker gives.

6 Oh, for a ftrong, a lafting faith,
To credit what th' Almighty faith!
T'embrace the meffage of his Son,
And call the joys of heaven our own.
7 Then, fhould the earth's old pillars fhake,
And all the wheels of nature break;
Our fteady fouls would fear no more
Than folid rocks, when billows roar.
8 Our everlafting hopes arife

Above the ruinable fkies,

Where the eternal Builder reigns,
And his own court his power fuftains.
HYMN LXI. Common Metre. [b]
A thought of death and glory.

MY foul, come, meditate the day,

And think how near it flands,

When thou must quit this houfe of clay,
And fly to unknown lands.

2 [And you, mine eyes, look down and view
The hollow gaping tomb:

This gloomy prifon waits for you,
Whene'er the fummons come.]

3 Oh! could we die with those that die,
And place us in their ftead;
Then would our fpirits learn to fly,
And converfe with the dead.

4 Then fhould we see the faints above
In their own glorious forms,
And wonder why our fouls fhould love
To dwell with mortal worms.

[How we should fcorn these clothes of flesh,
These fetters and this load,

And long for evening to undrefs,

That we may reft with God.]

6 We fhould almoft forfake our clay
Before the fummons come,

And pray and wifh our fouls away
To their eternal home..

HYMN LXII. Common Metre.

[*]

God the thunderer; or, the last judgment and hell.* ING to the Lord, ye heavenly hofts,

And thou, O earth, adore:

Made in a great sudden storm of thunder, August 20, 1607.