In bondage, O why, and death will you lie, When one here affures you free grace is fo nigh?
HYMN CLIII. C. M.
MY God, the fpring of all my joys,
The life of my delights,
The glory of my brightest days,
And comfort of my nights.
2 In darkeft fhades if thou appear,
My dawning is begun;
Thou art my foul's bright morning-star,
And thou my rifing fun.
3 The op'ning heav'ns around me shine
With beams of facred blifs,
If Jefus fhews his mercy mine,
And whispers I am his.
4 My foul would leave this heavy clay
At that tranfporting word,
Run up with joy the thining way,
To fee and praife my Lord.
5 Fearless of hell, and ghaftly death,
I'd break through ev'ry foe;
The wings of love, and arms of faith
Would bear me conqu'ror through.
HYMN CLIV. C. M.
ET ev'ry tongue thy goodness speak,
'L Thou Sov'reign Lord of all,
Thy ftrength'ning hands uphold the weak,
And raise the poor that fall.
2 When forrows bow the fpirit down,
When virtue lies distress'd,
Beneath the proud oppreffor's frown,
Thou giv'ft the mourner reft.
3 Thou know'ft the pains thy fervants feel:
Thou hear'st thy children's cry;
And their best wishes to fulfil,
Thy grace is ever nigh.
4 Thy mercy never shall remove
From men of hearts fincere :
Thou fav'ft the fouls whofe humble love
Is join'd with holy fear.
5 My lips fhall dwell upon thy praife,
And fpread thy fame abroad;
Let all the fons of Adam raise
The honours of their God.
HE fpacious firmament on high,
With all the blue etherial sky,
And fpangled heav'ns (a fhining frame !)
Their great Original proclaim:
Th' unweary'd fun, from day to day,..
Doth his Creator's pow'r difplay,
And publishes to ev'ry land
The work of an Almighty Hand.
2 Soon as the ev'ning fhades prevail,
The moon takes up the word'rous tale,
And rightly to the lift'ning earth
Repeats the flory of her birth:
While all the ftars that round her bure,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And fpread the truth from pole to pole.
3 What though, in folemn filence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
What though no real voice nor found
Amid the radiant orbs be found;
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice,
For ever finging as they shine,
"The Hand that made us is Divine."
THE voice of my beloved founds,
While o'er the mountain-tops he
bounds,
He flies exulting o'er the hills,
And all my foul with transport fills:
Gently doth he chide my stay,
"Rife, my love, and come away.".
2 The scatter'd clouds are fled at last,
The rain is gone the winter's paft,
The lovely vernal flow'rs appear,
The warbling choir enchants our ear;
Now, with sweetly-penfive moan,
Coos the turtle-dove alone.
ATHER, how wide thy glories fhine!
How high thy wonders rife !
Known thro' the earth by thousand figns;
By thousands through the skies :
Thofe mighty orbs proclaim thy pow'r,
Their motions fpeak thy fkill:
And on the wings of ev'ry hour
We read thy patience ftill
N
2 Part of thy name divinely stands,
On all thy creatures writ,
They fhew the labour of thy hands,
Or impress of thy feet:
But when we view thy ftrange defign
To fave rebellious worms,
Where vengeance and compaffion join
In their divineft forms :
3 Here the whole Deity is known,
Nor dares a creature guess,
Which of the glories brightest shonë,
The juftice or the grace:
Now the full glories of the Lamb,
Adorn the heav'nly plains ;
Bright feraphs learn Immanual's name,
And try their choiceft ftrains.
4 O may I bear fome humble part In that immortal fong!
Wonder and joy shall tune my heart,
And love command my tongue.
To Father, Son, and Holy Ghoft,
Who fweetly all agree
To fave a world of finners loft,
Eternal glory be.
"LL praife my Maker while I've breath, And when my voice is loft in death, Praise fhall employ my nobler pow'rs: My days of praife fhall ne'er be paft, While life, and thought, and being last, Or immortality endures
2 Happy the man whofe hopes rely On Ifrael's God, who made the sky,
And earth, and feas, with all their train:
His truth for ever ftands fecure!
He faves th' opprefs'd, he feeds the poor,
And none fhall find his promise vain.
3 The Lord pours eye-fight on the blind;
The Lord fupports the fainting mind:
He fends the lab'ring confcience peace;
He helps the stranger in distress,
The widow and the fatherlefs,
And grants the pris'ner fweet release.
4 I'll praise him while he lends me breath,
And when my voice is loft in death,
Praife fhall employ my nobler pow'rs:
My days of praife fhall ne'er be past
While life, and thought, and being last,
Or immortality endures.
RAISE ye the Lord! 'tis good to raise Your hearts and voices in his praise: His nature and his works invite
To make this duty our delight.
2 He form'd the ftars, thofe heav'nly flames;
He counts their numbers, calls their names
His wifdom's vaft, and knows no bound.
A deep where all our thoughts are drown'd!
3 Sing to the Lord, exalt him high,
Who fpreads his clouds around the fy;
There he prepares the fruitful rain,
Nor lets the drops defcend in vain.
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