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The finging birds, the warbling winds,
And waters murm'ring fall,
To praise the first Almighty cause
With diff'rent voices call.

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Retain it long, ye ecchoing rocks,
The facred found retain,

And from your hollow winding caves
Return it oft again."

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Long let it warble round the spheres,
And eccho thro' the sky,
Till angels with immortal skill
Improve the harmony.

VIII.

While I with facred rapture fir'd
The bleft Creator fing,
And warble confecrated lays
To heav'n's almighty King.

TH

HYMN. By Mrs. Rowe.

I.

HOU didft, O mighty God, exist
E'er time began its race;

Before the ample elements

Fill'd up the voids of space.

II.

Before the pond'rous earthly globe
In fluid air was stay'd;

Before the ocean's mighty fprings
Their liquid ftores difplay'd.

III.

L're thro' the gloom of antient night
The streaks of light appear'd;

Before

Before the high celestial arch,
Or ftarry poles were rear'd.

IV.

Before the loud melodious fpheres
Their tuneful round begun;
Before the fhining roads of heav'n
Were measur❜d by the fun.

V.

E'er thorough th' empyrean courts
One Hallelujah rung,

Or to their harps the fons of light
Extatic anthems fung.

VI.

E'er men ador'd, or angels knew,
Or prais'd thy wondrous name,
Thy blifs, (O facred spring of life!)
And glory was the fame.

VII.

And when the pillars of the world
With fudden ruin break,

And all this vaft and goodly frame
Sinks in the mighty wreck;

VIII.

When from her orb the moon shall start,
Th' aftonish'd fun roll back,

While all the trembling starry lamps

Their antient course forfake;

IX.

For ever permanent and fix'd,
From agitation free,
Unchang'd, in everlasting years,
Shall thy existence be.

HYMN. By Mrs. RowE.

I.

O thee, my God, I hourly figh,
But not for golden ftores;

Nor covet I the brightest gems
On the rich eastern shores.

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Nor pleafure's foft enticing charms
My fond defires allure;

For greater things than thefe from thee
My wishes wou'd fecure.

IV.

Thofe blissful, thofe tranfporting fmiles
That brighten heav'n above,
The boundless riches of thy grace,
And treasures of thy love.

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In vain the gaudy rifing fun.

The wide horizon gilds,

Comes glitt'ring o'er the filver ftreams,

And chears the dewy fields.

III:

In vain, difpenfing vernal fweets,

The morning breezes play;

In vain, the birds with chearful fongs,
Salute the new-born day.

IV.'

In vain, unless my Saviour's face
Thefe gloomy clouds controul,
And diffipate the fullen fhades
That prefs my drooping soul.

V.

Oh! vifit then thy fervant, Lord,
With favour from on high,
Arife, my bright immortal fun,
And all these fhades will die.
VI.

When, when shall I behold thy face
All radiant and ferene,

Without those envious dusky clouds
That make a veil between?

VII.

When shall that long expected day
Of facred vifion be,

When my impatient foul shall make

A near approach to thee.

A

HYMN on the Sacrament. By Mrs. RowE.

I.

ND art thou mine, my dearest Lord!
Then I have all, nor fly

The boldest wishes I can form

Unto a pitch more high.

11.

Yes, thou art mine, the contract's feal'd
With thy own precious blood;
And ev'n Almighty power's engag'd
To fee it all made good.

III.

My fears diffolve: for O what more
Cou'd ftudious bounty do!
What farther mighty proofs are left
Unbounded love to show!

My

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