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PSALM CXLII.-New Version.

To GOD with mournful voice
In deep distress I pray'd;
Made Him the umpire of my cause,
My wrongs before him laid.

I look'd, but found no friend
To own me in distress;

All refuge fail'd, no man vouchsaf'd
His pity or redress.

To GOD at last I pray'd,

Thou, LORD, my refuge art,
My portion in the land of life,
Till life itself depart.

Reduc'd to greatest straits,

To Thee I make my moan,
O! save me from oppressing foes,
For me too pow'rful grown.

That I may praise thy name,"

My soul from prison bring;
Whilst of Thy kind regard to me,
Assembled saints shall sing,

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PSALM CXLVIII.—Dr. Ogilvie.

BEGIN, my soul, th' exalted lay,
Let each enraptur'd thought obey,

And praise th' ALMIGHTY's name. Lo! heaven and earth, and seas and skies, In one melodious concert rise,

To swell th' inspiring theme.

Ye fields of light, celestial plains,
Where gay transporting beauty reigns,
Ye scenes divinely fair;

Your Maker's wond'rous power proclaim,
Tell how He form'd your shining frame,
And breath'd the fluid air.

Ye angels, catch the thrilling sound;
While all th' adoring thrones around
His boundless mercy sing;
Let ev'ry list'ning saint above
Wake all the tuneful soul of love,
And touch the sweetest string.
Join, ye loud spheres, the vocal choir;
Thou, dazzling orb of liquid fire,
The mighty chorus aid :

Soon as grey ev'ning gilds the plain,
Thou moon, protract the melting strain,
And praise Him in the shade.

Thou, heaven of heavens, His vast abode ;
Ye clouds, proclaim your forming GOD,
Who call'd yon worlds from night;
"Ye shades, dispel!"-th' Eternal said;
At once th' involving darkness fled,
And nature sprung to light.

Whate'er a blooming world contains,
That wings the air, that skims the plains,
United praise bestow;

Ye dragons, sound His awful name
To heav'n aloud; and roar acclaim,
Ye swelling deeps below.

Let every element rejoice:

Ye thunders, burst with awful voice
To Him who bids you roll;
Ye stormy winds, a chorus raise,
Ye balmy zephyrs, breathe His praise
In whispers to the soul.

To Him, ye graceful cedars, bow;
Ye tow'ring mountains, bending low,
Your great Creator own;
Tell, when affrighted nature shook,
How Sinai kindled at His look,
And trembled at His frown..

Ye flocks, that haunt the humble vale,
Ye insects, flutt'ring on the gale,
Some grateful off'ring pay;
Join the great hymn, ye warbling throng,
To Him awake the heavenly song,
And tune the melting lay.

Let man, by nobler passions sway'd,
The feeling heart, the judging head
In heavenly praise employ ;
Spread His tremendous name around,
Till heaven's broad arch rings back the sound,
The general burst of joy.

Ye, whom the charms of grandeur please,
Nurs'd on the downy lap of ease,

Fall prostrate at His throne:

Ye princes, rulers, all adore;
Praise Him, ye kings, who makes your power
An image of His own.

Ye fair, by nature form'd to move,
O praise th' eternal source of love,
With youth's enlivening fire:
Let age take up the tuneful lay,
Sigh His bless'd name-then soar away,
And ask an angel's lyre.

PSALM CL.-Merrick.

PRAISE, O praise, the name divine;
Praise it at the hallow'd shrine;
Let the firmament on high
To its Maker's praise reply:
Let His acts and pow'r supreme
To your songs suggest a theme:
Be the harp no longer mute;
Sound the trumpet, touch the lute;

Wake to life each tuneful string;
Bring the pipe, the timbrel bring;
Let the organ in His praise
Learn its loudest note to raise,
And the cymbal's varying sound
From the vaulted roof rebound.
All who vital breath enjoy,
In His praise that breath employ,
And in one great chorus join;
Praise, O praise, the name divine.

FROM A PARAPHRASE ON PART OF THE BOOK OF JOB.-Young.

THRICE happy Job long liv'd in regal state,
Nor saw the sumptuous East a prince so great,
Whose worldly stores in such abundance flow'd,
Whose heart with such exalted virtue glow'd.
At length, misfortunes take their turn to reign,
And ills on ills succeed; a dreadful train!
What now but deaths, and poverty, and wrong,
The sword wide-wasting, the reproachful tongue,
And spotted plagues, that mark'd his limbs all

o'er

So thick with boils, there wanted room for more?
A change so sad what mortal heart could bear?
Exhausted woe had left him nought to fear;
But gave him all to grief. Low earth he prest,
Wept in the dust, and sorely smote his breast.

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