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TH

HYMN CCLIV.

HOU God of glorious majefty.
To thee, against myself, to thee,
A worm of earth, I cry:

A half-awaken'd child of man,
An heir of endless blifs or pain,
A finner born to die!

2 Lo! on a narrow neck of land,
'Twixt two unbounded feas, I stand
Secure, infenfible;

A point of time, a moment's space,
Removes me to that heav'nly place,
Or shuts me up in hell.

O God, mine inmoft foul convert,
And deeply on my thoughtful heart,
Eternal things imprefs;

Give me to feel their folemn weight,
To tremble on the brink of fate,
And wake to righteousness!

4 Before me place in dread array,
The pomp of that tremendous day,
When thou with clouds fhalt come,
To judge the nations at thy bar:
And tell me, Lord, fhall I be there
To meet a joyful doom?

5 Be this my one great bus'nefs here,
With ferious industry and fear,
Eternal blifs t'enfure;

Thine utmost counsel to fulfil,
To fuffer all thy righteous will.
And to the end endure.

6 Then, Saviour, then my foul receive,
Tranfported from this vale, to live
And reign with thee above!
Where faith, is fweetly loft in fight
And hope, in full fupreme delight,
And everlasting love.

HYMN CCLV. C. M.

GOD! our help in ages paft,
Our hope for years to come,
Our shelter from the ftormy blast,
And our eternal home.

2 Under the shadow of thy throne
Still may we dwell fecure;
Sufficient is thine arm alone,
And our defence is fure.

3 Before the hills in order ftood,
Or earth receiv'd her frame,
From everlasting thou art God,
To endless years the fame.

4 A thousand ages in thy fight,
Are like an ev'ning gone;

Short as the watch that ends the night
Before the rifing fun.

5 The bufy tribes of flesh and blood,
With all their cares and fears,
Are carry'd downward by the flood,
And loft in foll'wing years.

6 Time like an ever rolling ftream,
Bears all its fons away;

They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the op'ning day.

7 O God! our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come:

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Be thou our guard while life shall laft,
And our perpetual home.

HYMN CCLVI. S. M.

A

ND must this body die,

This well-wrought frame decay? And muft thefe active limbs of mine Lie mould'ring in the clay?

Corruption, earth, and worms, Shall but refine this flesh, Till my triumphant spirit comes To put it on afresh.

God my Redeemer lives,

And ever from the skies

Looks down, and watches all my duft,

Till he fhall bid it rife.

Array'd in glorious grace

Shall thefe vile bodies shine, And ev'ry shape, and ev'ry face, Be heav'nly and divine.

Thefe lively hopes we owe,
Lord, to thy dying love;

O may we blefs thy grace below,
And fing thy grace above.

Saviour, accept the praise

Of thefe our humble fongs,

Till tunes of nobler founds we raife
With our immortal tongues.

I

A

HYMN CCLVII. C. M,

ND let this feeble body fail,
And let it faint or die;

My foul fhall quit the mournful vale,
And foar to worlds on high:
Shall join the difembody'd faints,
And find its long-fought reft;
That only blifs for which it pants
In the Redeemer's breaft.

2 In hope of that immortal crown,
I now the cross sustain ;
And gladly wander up and down,
And smile at toil and pain:
I fuffer on my threescore years
Till my Deliv'rer come;
And wipe away his fervant's tears,
And take his exile home.

3 O what hath Jesus bought for me!
Before my ravish'd eyes,
Rivers of life divine I fee,
And trees of paradife!

I fee a world of spirits bright,
Who tafte the pleasures there!
They all are rob'd in spotless white,
And conqu'ring palms they bear.

O what are all my fuff'rings here,
If, Lord, thou count me meet,
With that enraptur'd hoft t' appear,
And worship at thy feet!

Give joy or grief, give eafe or pain,
Take life or friends away:

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But let me find them all again
In that cernal day,

H

HYMN CCLVIII.

"APPY foul, thy days are ended; All thy mourning days below; Go, by angel-guards attended, To the fight of Jefus, go.

2 Waiting to receive thy fpirit,

Lo! the Saviour stands above; Shews the purchase of his merit, Reaches out the crown of love. 3 Struggle through thy lateft paffion, To thy dear Redeemer's breast; To his uttermoft falvation,

To his everlasting rest.

4 For the joy he fets before thee,
Bear a momentary pain;
Die, to live a life of glory;
Suffer with thy Lord to reign.

A

HYMN, CCLIX.

H! lovely appearance of death,
What fight upon earth is fo fair?
Not all the gay pageants that breathe,
Can with a dead body compare :
With folemn delight I furvey
The corpfe, when the spirit is filed,
In love with the beautiful clay,
And longing to lie in its ftead.

2 How bleft is our brother, bereft

Of all that could burden his mind;