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IV.

What were the earth, the fun, the stars,

Or heav'n itself to me,
My life, my everlasting bliss,
If not fecur'd of thee.

V.

Celestial bow'rs, feraphic fongs,
And fields of endless light,
Wou'd all unentertaining prove
Without thy blissful fight.

IM

HYMN. By Mrs. RowE.

I.

MMORTAL fountain of my life,
My last, my noblest end;

ternal centre of my soul,

Where all its motions tend.

II.

Thou object of my dearest love,
My heav'nly paradise,

The spring of all my flowing joys,
My everlasting bliss.

III.

My God, my hope, my vaft reward,
And all I wou'd poffefs,

Still more than these pathetic names

And charming words exprefs!

HYMN to the REDEEMER of the World.

By Mr. Bow DEN.

I.

7HOM fhou'd I praise, O Chrift, but thee?

Whole praises angels fing;

Who the Eternal Envoy art

Of the Eternal King.

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II.

From heav'n's high court thou did'st descend,
Love led thee on thy way:

Thou faw'ft man's fatal wreck, and lo!
Thy pity could not stay.

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In throngs their lofty feats they leave,
And humble æther prefs;

Look down and view the wond'rous scene;
And as they view, they bless.
VI.

To loftier notes their harps they raise,
And loftier hymns rehearse,

While fhepherds leave their rural ftrains
To hear celestial verfe:

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Thro' all th' immeafur'd tracks of space,
And rowling orbs on high,
Thro' all the fields of heav'nly light,

And kingdoms of the sky;

IX.

Down thro' the hollows of the earth,

Thro' hell's extenfive bounds,

And all the difmal vaults below

The harmony refounds.

X.

With trembling hellifh furies hear
The news of man's relief;

It racks them with redoubled pains,
And more inflames their grief.
XI.

With hideous roars they shake all hell,
And rage in wild defpair,
They bite their everlasting chains,
And rend their snaky hair.

XII.

But O the joy, the peace, the bliss,
The found to mortals brings,
It chears the difmal gloom, and flies
With raptures on its wings.

XIII.

Redemption! O the charming news!
From deepest guilt and hell;
Redemption for a trait'rous world
That freely did rebel.

XIV.

Wond'rous redemption! wond'rous grace!
That does mankind restore
To all the joys were loft by fin,-
To all, and vaftly more.

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XVIII.

Lord, why to rebel men fhou'dft thou
Such matchless favour fhow!

Why court the wretch that shun'd thy fight,
That fought thy overthrow?

XIX.

Is it because thou need'st his aid,
Thou dost his friendship fue?
Will elfe thy blifs be incomplete,
Thy praises be but few?

XX.

Or waft thou, Lord, compell'd to leave
Thy triumphs in the sky?
And range along the horrid vale
Of death and misery?

XXI.

Alas! what force cou'd thee compel,
Who art Almighty still?

Who mad'st and rul'ft the floating worlds
According to thy will?

XXII.

Or, Lord, what want can't thou endure,
Who all things doft poffefs?
Whofe flowing glories know no ebb,
No bounds thy happiness?

XXXIII.

Ten thousand thoufand angel troops
Thy majesty adore;

And with a word thou can't create
Ten thousand thousand more.

XXIV.

Ev'n those with all their hymns of praise

No profit bring to thee,

Who only art thy own delight,

Thy own felicity.

XXV.

Why then to rebel man shou'dft thou

Such matchless favour show?

Why court the wretch that fhunn'd thy fight,
That fought thy overthrow?

Why

XXVI.

Why, but because, dear Lord, with thee
Was mercy's boundless store,
Because thy goodness fcorn'd restraint,
And proudly delug'd o'er.

XXVII.

'Twas this alone that made thee leave
Thy glorious ftate above,
In manhood veil the God, and part
With all thy heav'n but love.

XXVIII.

A fervant's defpicable form
This made thee gladly wear,
Sleep, hunger, thirst, and cold endure,
And mocks of finners hear.

XXIX.

This led thee thro' the raging flames,
And thro' th' impetuous flood;
With dismal clouds involv'd thy foul,
And dy'd thy robes in blood.

XXX.

The wine-prefs of Almighty wrath
This made thee freely tread,
With baseft villains chufe thy lot,
And with the filent dead.

XXXI.

O ftrange effect of faving love!
What love does this require?
How shou'd it melt away thy foul
In flames of am'rous fire?

XXXII.

How fhou'd thy mouth be fill'd with praise?
What homage should'st thou pay
To him who plung'd in night for thee,
And turn'd thy night to day?

XXXIII.

O can't thou fee God's darling fon
Forfake his lofty throne,
Forfake his guards and glories all,
To try the vaft alone?

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