Thus by the woman's promis'd Seed
The serpent's head was broke.

PSALM XLI. 1-3. (L. M.)

1 BLEST he, whose heart with pity glows, Who learns to feel another's woes; Who to the poor man's want gives ear, And wipes the helpless orphan's tear. 2 In every want, in every woe,

Himself thy pity, Lord, shall know; Thy care his life shall guard, thy hand To him shall give the promis'd land. 3 When languid with disease and pain, Thou, Lord, his spirit wilt sustain; Raise with thine arm his sinking head, And make in sickness all his bed.

PSALM XLII. PART I. 1-5. (L. M.)
1 As pants the hart for cooling springs,
So longs my soul, O King of kings,
Thy face in near approach to see;
So thirsts, great Source of life, for thee.
2 Thy mercies, Lord, before my eyes
Shall yet in sweet remembrance rise:
Amidst the storm, amidst the wave,
Thy love the beams of comfort gave.
3 Thy name to rapture prompts my tongue,
My joy by day, by night my song:
To thee my soul ascends in prayer,
And in thy bosom pours its care.

4 Then why, my soul, with care opprest?
And whence the woes that fill my breast?
In all thy cares, in all thy woes,
On God thy stedfast hope repose.

PSALM XLII. PART II.

6-11. (C. M.)

1 AFFLICTION is a stormy deep,

Where wave resounds to wave:
Though o'er my head the billows roll,
I know the Lord can save.

2 The hand that now withholds my joys,
Can yet restore my peace;
And he, who bade the tempest roar,
Can bid the tempest cease.

3 In the dark watches of the night
I'll count his mercies o'er;

I'll praise him for ten thousand past,
And humbly sue for more.

4 Here will I rest, and build my hopes, Nor murmur at his rod:

He's more than all the world to me,
My health, my life, my God.

PSALM XLV. 1-7. (L. M.)

1 Now be my heart inspir'd to sing The glories of my Saviour-King: Jesus the Lord! how heav'nly-fair His form! how bright his beauties are! 2 O'er all the sons of human race He shines with a superior grace; Love from his lips divinely flows, And blessings all his state compose. 3 Dress thee in arms, most mighty Lord, Gird on the terror of thy sword; In majesty and glory ride,

With truth and meekness at thy side. 4 Thine anger, like a pointed dart, Shall pierce the foes of stubborn heart; Or words of mercy, kind and sweet, Shall melt the rebels at thy feet.

5 Thy throne, O God, for ever stands;
Grace is the sceptre in thy hands:
Thy laws and works are just and right;
Justice and grace are thy delight.

6 God, thine own God, has richly shed
His oil of gladness on thy head;
And with his sacred Spirit blest
His first-born Son above the rest.

PSALM XLVI. 1-7. (L. M.)

1 GOD is the refuge of his saints,
When storms of sharp distress invade :
Ere we can offer our complaints,
Behold him present with his aid.

2 Let mountains from their seats be hurl'd
Down to the deep, and buried there;
Convulsions shake the solid world;
Our faith shall never yield to fear.
3 There is a stream, whose gentle flow
Supplies the city of our God;

Life, love, and joy, still gliding through,
And wat'ring our divine abode.

4 That sacred stream, thy holy word,
That all our raging fears controuls:
Sweet peace thy promises afford,
And give new strength to fainting souls.
5 Zion enjoys her monarch's love,
Secure against a threat'ning hour;
Nor can her firm foundations move,
Built on his truth, and arm'd with power.

PSALM XLVII. (C. M.)

1 OH for a shout of sacred joy

To God, the sov'reign King!

Let every land their tongues employ,
And hymns of triumph sing.

2 Jesus our God ascends on high!
His heav'nly guards around
Attend him rising through the sky
With trumpet's joyful sound.

3 While angels shout and praise their King,
Let mortals learn their strains :
Let all the earth his honours sing;
O'er all the earth he reigns.

4 Rehearse his praise with awe profound;
Let knowledge lead the song;
Nor mock him with a solemn sound
Upon a thoughtless tongue.

5 In Israel stood his ancient throne;
He lov'd that chosen race;

But now he calls the world his own,
Aud heathens taste his grace.

6 The British islands are the Lord's;
There Abra'm's God is known;

While powers & princes, shields & swords, Submit before his throne.

PSALM XLVIII. 1-9. (s. M.)

GREAT is the Lord our God,
And let his praise be great:

He makes his churches his abode,
His most delightful seat.

These temples of his grace,
How beautiful they stand!
The honours of our native place,
And bulwarks of our land.

In Zion God is known,
A refuge in distress:

D

4

5

How bright hath his salvation shone
Through all her palaces!

Oft have our fathers told,
Our eyes have often seen,

How well our God secures the fold
Where his own sheep have been.

In every new distress

We'll to his house repair;

We'll think upon his wondrous grace,
And seek deliv'rance there.

PSALM L. 1-6. (c. M.)

1 THE Lord, the Judge, before his throne Bids the whole earth draw nigh; The nations near the rising sun,

And near the western sky.

2 Thron'd on a cloud our God shall come; Bright flames prepare his way: Thunder and darkness, fire and storm, Lead on the dreadful day.

3 Heav'n from above his call shall hear,
Attending angels come;

And earth and hell shall know and fear
His justice and their doom.

4" But gather all my saints," he cries,
"That made their peace with God
"By the Redeemer's sacrifice,

"And seal'd it with his blood.

5" Their faith and works brought forth to

light

"Shall make the world confess,

My sentence of reward is right,
"And heav'n adore my grace."