AND

SPIRITUAL SONGS.

FAIT H.

What wretched fouls are we! How black our guilty stains! And Satan binds our captive minds Faft in his flavish chains.

Hark, there's a voice of fovereign grace.
Sounds from the facred word!

Come despairing finners, come,

And truft upon the Lord.

Well, I'll obey th' Almighty call,
Accept of this relief;

-Yes, gracious God, I would believe,
Lord help my unbelief.

To the dear crimson of thy veins

Incarnate Lord I fly ;

Here will I wash my spotted foul
From crimes of blackest dye.

VOL. I.

B

C

Stretch

Stretch out thine arm, victorious King,
These trait'rous fins fubdue;
Drive the old dragon from his throne,
With all his hellish crew.

A guilty, weak, and helplefs worm,
On thee my God I fall,

Be thou my pardon and my ftrength,
My Jefus and my all.

A Sacramental Hymn. From Rev. i. 5, 6, 7.

Now

to the Lord, that makes us know

The wonders of his dying love;

Be humble honours paid below,

And ftrains of noble praise above.

'Twas he that cleans'd our blackeft fins, And wash'd us in his deareft blood; "Tis he that makes us priefts and kings Unto his Father and our God,

Ου

Freedom from Sin, and Mifery in Heaven.

UR fins, alas! how ftrong they are!
And like a violent fea,

Break our obedience to our God,

And hurry us away.

The

The waves of trouble, how they rife!
Well, 'twill be quickly o'er,
And death fhall land our weary minds.
Safe on the heavenly fhore.

How sweetly we'll obey him there,
How quick, how quick we'll move;

No fin to clog our winged fouls,
Or cool our blazing love.

O how we'll fit and fing, and tell
The wonders of his grace,

Till boundless raptures fire our hearts,
And shine in every face.

For ever his dear name fhall dwell
Upon our tuneful tongue,

And Jefus, and Hofannah be

The close of every song.

Repentance and Mortification from the Sight of e crucified Saviour.

That my foul were form'd of grief,
How quick I'd vent my fighs!

Yes, I would gufh whole floods of tears,

Whole oceans from mine eyes.

What, Jefus, what, my dearest Lord,
Hang on the curfed tree!

And groan away a dying life
For wretched, rebel me!

Oh, I could tear those lufts of mine,
That crucify'd my God,

Those odious fins that nail'd his flesh
Faft to the fatal wood.

Yes, deareft Jefus, they fhall die,
'Tis folemnly decreed,
I'll never spare the guilty things
That made my Saviour bleed.

Whilft with a melting broken heart,
My murder'd Lord I view,

I'll heat revenge against my fins,
And kill the murderers too.

Delight in God.

LORD, what amazing joys are those

That dwell at thy right hand;

The courts, how amiable they be,
Where all thy graces ftand.

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