IV.

My faith's confirm'd, nor wou'd I quit
My title to thy love,
For all the valu'd things below,
Or fhining things above.

V.

Nor at the profp'rous finner's ftate
Do I at all repine;

No, let them parcel out the earth,
While heav'n and thou art mine.

HYMN on Heaven. By Mrs. RowE.

I.

AIL facred Salem plac'd on high!
Seat of the mighty King,

HAL

What thought can grafp the boundless blifs!
What tongue thy glories fing!

II.

Thy crystal tow'rs and palaces

Magnificently rife,

And dart their beauteous luftre round

All th' empyrean skies.

III.

The voice of triumph in thy ftreets,

And acclamations found:

Gay banquets in thy fplendid courts,
And nuptial joys abound.

IV.

Bright fmiles on ev'ry face appear,
Rapture in ev'ry eye;

From ev'ry mouth glad anthems flow,
And charming harmony.

V.

Illuftrious day for ever, there,

Streams from thy face divine:

No pale-fac'd moon e'er glimmers forth,

Nor ftars, nor fun decline.

No

VI.

No fcorching heats, no piercing colds,
The changing feasons bring;
But o'er the fields mild breezes there
Breathe an eternal spring.

VII.

The flow'rs with lafting beauty fhine,
And deck the fmiling ground;
While flowing streams of pleasure all
The happy plains furround.

BE

HYMN. By Mrs. Rowe,

I.

EFORE the rofie dawn of day, To thee, my God, I'll fing; Awake my soft and tuneful lyre, Awake each charming string.

II.

Awake, and let thy flowing ftrain

Glide through the mid-night air,
While high amidst her filent orb
The filver moon rolls clear.
III.

While all the glitt'ring ftarry lamps
Are lighted in the sky,

And fet their Maker's greatness forth

To thy admiring eye.

IV.

While watchful angels round the juft
As nightly guardians wait,

In lofty ftrains of grateful praise
Thy fpirit elevate.

V.

Awake, my foft and tuneful lyre,
Awake each charming ftring;

Before the rofie dawn of day,
To thee, my God, I'll fing.

Thou

VI.

Thou round the heav'nly arch doft draw

A dark and fable veil,

And all the beauties of the world

From mortal eyes conceal.

VII.

Again the sky with golden beams
Thy skilful hands adorn,

And paint with chearful fplendor gay
The fair afcending morn.

VIII.

And as the gloomy night returns,
Or fmiling day renews,
Thy conftant goodness still my foul
With benefits purfues.

IX.

For this I'll midnight vows to thee,
With early incenfe bring;
And, e'er the rofie dawn of day,
Thy lofty praises fing.

FRO

HYMN. By Mr. Bow DEN.

I.

ROM earth's dull joys, and fenfelefs mirth,
O come, my foul, in hafte retire,

Affume the grandeur of thy birth,.
And to thy native heav'n afpire

II.

Here's nought, alas! deferves delay,
Nought that can bribe thy fwift remove,
No folid ground thy hopes to ftay,

Nor worthy object of thy love.

III.

Its mines can ne'er thy treas'ry fill,
Nor fountains cool thy fcorching rage,

Its fcanty feafts thy hunger kill,

Nor all its feas thy thirst afwage.

IV.

'Tis heav'n alone can make thee bleft,
Can ev'ry wish and want fupply,
Thy joy, thy crown, thy endless reft,
Are all above the lofty sky.

V.

There pureft ftreams of pleasure flow,
There wisdom's facred fprings arise,
There, there, the tree of life does grow,
Which flourish'd once in Paradise.
VI.

O there immortal glories ftray,
Immortal fongs of praise refound,
Immortal robes the faints array,

And with immortal youth they're crown'd.

VII.

There dwells the Sov'reign Lord of all,
The God that num'rous worlds adore,
With whom is blifs that ne'er does pall,
And joys which last for evermore.

VIII.

No longer then delay thy flight,

But mount, O mount, with eager wing!
The joyful ftars thy way will light,
The joyful angels round thee fing.

Το

HYMN. By Mr. Bow DEN.

I.

thee, dear God, with eager hafte
My panting foul does move;

To thee, the fountain of my life,
And object of my love.

II.

Long have I rang'd the maze of fin,
Long spent my felf in vain,

Too long been fond of falfe delights,
And sported with my chain.

Ye

III.

Ye dreams and fhadows now farewel,
Farewel each gilded toy ;

A nobler profpect chears my fight,
I taste a nobler joy.

IV..

Welcome dear virtue to my foul,
How fweet thy practice is!
Ten thousand pleasures croud thy way,
Thy end's eternal bliss.

V.

Thy facred paths I'll fwiftly run,
And climb from grace to grace,
Till on bleft Zion's lofty mount
I view my Saviour's face.

VI.

This, Lord, my folemn purpofe is,
O may thy aid confpire,

To crown my labour with fuccefs,
And fill my vaft defire.

HY M N. Whom have I in heaven but Thee, &c. Pfal. 73. 25. By Mrs. Rowe.