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4 [Great Prophet of my God,
My tongue would blefs thy name;
By thee the joyful news
Of our falvation came;
The joyful news
Of fins forgiven,
Of hell fubdu'd,
And peace with Heaven.]
5 [Be thou my counsellor,
My patron and my guide;
And through this defart land
Still keep me near thy fide.
Q let my feet
Ne'er run aftray,
Nor rove nor feek
The crooked way!]

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Not all that hell
Or fin can fay,
Shall turn his heart,
His love away.

10 [My dear almighty Lord,
My Conqueror and my King,
Thy fceptre, and thy fword,
Thy reigning grace I fing.
Thine is the power;
Behold I fit

In willing bonds
Beneath thy feet.]

11 [Now let my foul arife,
And tread the tempter down:
My Captain leads me forth
To conquest and a crown.
A feeble faint
Shall win the day,
Though death and hell
Obftruct the way.]

12 Should all the hofts of death,
And powers of hell unknown,
Put their moft dreadful forms
Of rage and mifchief on,
I fhall be fafe;
For Chrift difplays
Superior power
And guardian grace.








HYMN I. Long Metre.


A fong of praife to God.
ATURE, with all her powers, shall fing

Nor air, nor earth, nor fkies, nor feas,
Deny the tribute of their praife.

2 Begin to make his glories known,
Ye feraphs that fit near his throne;
Tune your harps high, and spread the found
To the creation's utmoft bound.

3 [All mortal things of meaner frame,
Exert your force, and own his name;
Whilft with our fouls, and with our voice,
We fing his honours and our joys.]
4 [To him be facred all we have,

From the young cradle to the grave:
Our lips fhall his loud wonders tell,
And every word a miracle.]

5 [Thefe Wefern fhores, our native land,
Lie fafe in the Almighty's hand:
Our foes of victory dream in vain,
And wear the captivating chain.]
6 Raife monumental praises high

To him who thunders through the sky,
And, with an awful nod or frown,
Shakes an a'piring tyrant down.

7 [Pillars of lafting brafs proclaim
The triumphs of th' Eternal Name;
While trembling nations read from far
The honours of the God of war.]
8 Thus let our flaming zeal employ
Our loftieft thoughts and loudeft fongs;
Let there be fung, with warmest joy,
Hofanna from ten thousand tongues.
9 [Yet, mighty God, our feeble frame
Attempts in vain to reach thy name;
The ftrongeit notes that angels raife,
Faint in the worship and the praife.]
Common Metre.



The death of a finner.


Y thoughts on awful fubjects roll,
Damnation and the dead;
What horrors feize the guilty foul
Upon a dying bed!

2 Lingering about thefe mortal fhores,
She makes a long delay;

Till, like a flood with rapid force,
Death fweeps the wretch away.

3 Then fwift and dreadful fhe defcends
Down to the fiery coast,
Amongst abominable fiends;
Herfelf a frighted ghost.

4 There endless crowds of finners lie,
And darkness makes their chains;
Tortur'd with keen despair, they cry,
Yet wait for fiercer pains.


5 Not all their anguifh and their blood
For their old guilt atones,
Nor the compaffion of a God
Shall hearken to their groans.

6 Amazing grace, that kept my breath,
Nor bid my foul remove,
Till I had learn'd my Saviour's death,
And well infur'd his love!
HYMN III. Common Metre.


The death and burial of a faint.
HY do we mourn departing friends,


'Tis but the voice that Jefus fends, To call them to his arms.

2 Are we not tending upward too, As faft as time can move?

Nor would we wish the hours more flow,
To keep us from our love.

3 Why fhould we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?
There the dear flefh of Jefus lay,
And left a long perfume.

4 The graves of all the faints he blefs'd,
And foften'd every bed:

Where fhould the dying members reft,
But with their dying head?
5 Thence he arofe, afcended high,
And fhew'd our feet the way:
Up to the Lord our fouls fhall fly,
At the great rifing day.

6 Then let the laft loud trumpet found,
And bid our kindred rife:
Awake, ye nations under ground;
Ye faints, afcend the skies.


HYMN IV. Long Metre.
Salvation in the cross.
ERE at thy cross, my dying God,


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Beneath the droppings of thy blood, Jefus nor fhall it e'er remove. 2 Not all that tyrants think or fay, With rage and lightning in their eyes, Nor hell fhall fright my foul away, Should hell with all its legions rise. 3 Should worlds confpire to drive me hence, Moveless and firm this heart fhould lie: Refolv'd (for that's my laft defence) If I muft perifh-here to die.

4 But fpeak, my Lord, and calm my fear;
Am I not fafe beneath thy fhade?
Thy vengeance will not ftrike me here;
Nor Satan dare my foul invade.

5 Yes, I'm fecure beneath thy blood, And all my foes fhall lofe their aim: Ff

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