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The blushes of the morn confefs

That thou art much more fair;
When in the east its beains revive,
To gild the fields of air.

The fragrant, the refreshing breath

of ev'ry flow'ry bloom,
In balmy whispers own from the
Their pleasing odours come.

The singing birds, the warbling winds,

And waters murm’ring fall,
To praise the first Almighty cause
With diff'rent voices call.

Thy num'rous works exalt thee thus;

And shall I silent be?
No, rather let me cease to breathe,

Than cease from praising thee.

HYMN. By Mrs. Rowe.

D EGIN the high celestial strain,
B My ravish'd foul, and sing
A solemn hymn of grateful praise
To heav'n's almighty King.

, II.
Ye curling fountains, as ye roll

Your silver waves along,
Whisper to all your verdant shores
The subject of my song.

Retain it long, ye ecchoing rocks,

The sacred sound retain,
And from your hollow winding caves
Return it oft again.



Bear it, ye winds, on all your wings

To distant climes away,
And round the wide extended world
My lofty theme convey.

Take the glad burden of his name,

Ye clouds, as you arise,
Whether to deck the golden morn,

Or shade the ev’ning skies.


Let harmless thunders roll along

The smooth etherial plain,
And answer from the chrystal vault
To ev'ry flying strain.

Long let it warble round the spheres,

And eccho thro' the sky,
Till angels with immortal skill
Improve the harmony.

While I with facred rapture fir'd

The blest Creator fing, And warble consecrated lays

To heav’n’s almighty King.

HY M N. By Mrs. Rowe.


THOU didft, О mighty God, exist

E'er time began its race;
Before the ample elements
Fill’d up the voids of space.

Before the pond'rous earthly globe

In fluid air was stay’d;
Before the ocean's mighty springs
Their liquid stores display'd. .

L're thro' the gloom of antient night

The streaks of light appear's;


Before the high celestial arch,
Or starry poles were rear’d.

Before the loud melodious spheres

Their tuneful round begun;
Before the shining roads of heav'n
Were measur'd by the sun..

E’er thorough th' empyrean courts

One Hallelujah rung,
Or to their harps the lons of light

Extatic anthems fung.


E’er men ador'd, or angels knew,

Or prais’d thy wondrous name,
Thy bliss, (O sacred spring of life!)
And glory was the same.

And when the pillars of the world

With sudden ruin break,
And all this vast and goodly frame
Sinks in the mighty wreck;

When from her orb the moon shall start,

Th' astonish'd sun roll back,
While all the trembling starry lamps
Their antient course forsake;

For ever permanent and fix'd,

From agitation free,
Unchang’d, in everlasting years,

Shall thy existence be.

HY M N. By Mrs. Rowe.

TO thee, my God, I hourly figh,

I But not for golden stores;
Nor covet I the brightest gems
On the rich eastern shores.


Nor that deluding empty joy .

Men call a mighty name,
Nor greatness in its gayest pride
My restless thoughts inflame. ,

Nor pleasure's soft enticing charms

My fond desires allure;
For greater things than these from thee
My wishes wou'd secure.

Those blissful, those transporting smiles

That brighten heav'n above,
The boundless riches of thy grace,

And treasures of thy love.

These are the mighty things I crave,

O make these blessings mine, And I the glories of the world

Contentedly resign.

HYMN. By Mrs. Rowe.

TN vain the dusky night retires,
1 And fullen shadows fly;
In vain the morn with purple light
Adorns the eastern sky.

II. '
In vain the gaudy rising sun

The wide horizon gilds,
Comes glitt'ring o'er the silver streams,
And chears the dewy fields.

In vain, dispensing vernal sweets,

The morning breezes play;
In vain, the birds with chearful fongs,

Salute the new-born day.

In vain, unless my Saviour's face

These gloomy clouds controul,
And dissipate the fullen shades

That press my drooping soul.

Oh! visit then thy servant, Lord,

With favour from on high,
Arise, my bright immortal fun,
And all these shades will die.

When, when shall I behold thy face

All radiant and serene,
Without those envious dusky clouds
That make a veil between?

When shall that long expected day

Of sacred vision be,
When my impatient soul shall make

A near approach to thee.

HYMN on the Sacrament. By Mrs. Rowe.

AND art thou mine, my dearest Lord!
A Then I have all, nor fly
The boldest wishes I can form
Unto a pitch more high.

Yes, thou art mine, the contract's feald

With thy own precious blood;
And ev’n Almighty power's engag'd
To see it all made good.

My fears dissolve: for ( what more

Cou'd studious bounty do!
What farther mighty proofs are left

Unbounded love to show!


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