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2 At thy command the wat'ry floods,
Expand within the arched deep;
In springs they leave their drear abodes,
And up the lofty mountains creep.

3 From thence in murm'ring rills they glide,
Or in impetous torrents roar;
Or roll the stately river's tide,
And deck with verdure ev'ry shore.

4 Or they in genial dews arise,

To moisten earth, and feed her flow'rs;
From thence concreting cloud the skies,
Till they descend in fat'ning show'rs.
5 Jehovah, wonderful art thou,
Nature obedient speaks thy praise;
Thee we adore, to thee we bow,
And the glad fong of triumph raise.

DEATH, RESURRECTION, AND JUDGEMENT.

I

HYMN LXXVIII. Watts. 8.

AWAKE my zeal, awake my love,
And ferve my Saviour here below,
In works which all the Saints above,
Which holy angels cannot do.

2 My faith and hope may fee the Lord,
Tho' vails of darkness lie between;
Hope shall rest firm upon his word,
And faith rejoice in things unseen.

3 Awake my charity, and feed

The hungry foul, and clothe the poor; In Heav'n are found no fons of need, There all these duties are no more.

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4 Subdue thy passions, O my foul,

Maintain the fight, the work pursue,
Daily thy rifing fins controul,
And be thy vict'ries ever new.

5 The land of triumph lies on high,
There are no fields of battle there;
Lord! I would conquer till I die,
And finish all the glorious war.
6 Let ev'ry flying hour confefs

I

I gain thy Gofpel fresh renown, And when my life and labours ceafe, May I possess the promis'd crown.

HYMN LXXIX. Watts. 8, 6.

WHY do we mourn departing friends,

Or shake at death's alarms?

'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends,
To call them to his arms

2 Are we not tending upward too
As fast as time can move?
Nor would we wish the time more flow,
To keep us from our love.

3 Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb ?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And left a long perfume.

4 The grave of all his Saints he bless'd,
And foften'd ev'ry bed;
Where should the dying members rest,
But with their dying head?
5 Thence he arose, afcending high,
And show'd our feet the way:
Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly,
At the great rifing day.

6 Then let the last trumpet found,
And bid our kindred rife;
Awake ye nations under ground,
Ye Saints afcend the skies.

I

HYMN LXXX. Watts. 8, 6.

NAKED as from the earth we came,
And crept to life at first,
We to the earth return again,
And mingle with our dust.
2 The dear delights we here enjoy,
And fondly call our own,
Are but short favours borrow'd now,
To be repaid anon.

3 'Tis God that lifts our comforts high,
Or finks them in the grave;
He gives, and (blefied be his name!)
He takes but what he gave.

4 Peace, all our angry paffions then,
Let each rebellious figh
Be filent at his fov'reign will,
And ev'ry murmur die.

5 If fmiling mercy crown our lives,
Its praises shall be spread,
And we'll adore the justice too
That strikes our comforts dead.

HYMN LXXXI. Watts. 8,6.

I GREAT God! I own thy fentence juft,
And Nature must decay,
I yield my body to the dust,
To dwell with fellow clay.
2 Yet faith may triumph o'er the grave,
And trample on the tombs:
My Jesus, my Redeemer lives,
My God, my Saviour comes.

3 The mighty Conq'ror shall appear
High on a royal feat,

And death, the last of all his foes,
Lie vanquish'd at his feet.

4 Tho' greedy worms devour my skin,
And gnaw my wasting flesh,
When God shall build my bones again,
He clothes them all afresh.

5 Then shall I fee thy lovely face
With ftrong immortal eyes,
And feaft upon thy unknown grace
With pleasure and furprize.

I

HYMN LXXXII. 7.

RAISE the fong, and strike the lyre,
Let the pealing organ join,
Praise the Great Immortal Sire,
Praise the fource of love divine.
Praife him that the Saviour came,
All our griefs and forrows bore;
Fought with death, destroy'd his fame,
Rofe triumphant o'er his pow'r,

2 Jesus cross'd the darksome flood,
On its bank the standard rears,
Lo! he cries, my streaming blood,
Children, banish all your fears.
Lo! before you glory stands,
Caft your cares and griefs away,
Join your Saviour's conq'ring bands,
Onward march to endless day.

3 These, like you, were once on earth,
Prone to error, dark and blind,
Tears and groans they poured forth,
Struggling with a wand'ring mind.

They

!

They believ'd and join'd my bands,
And instructed in the word,
They obeyed my commands,

Fought the battles of their Lord.
4 Now their griefs and pains are o'er,
They have all obtain'd the prize;
They have trials now, no more!
And to higher glories rise.
Follow them, ye Saints below,
Bear your cross, and smile at pain;
Soon like them thro' death you go,
Soon unending honours gain.

HYMN LXXXIII. 8.

I LOUD shall th' archangel's trumpet found,
And Chrift the Saviour shall appear,

Whilst awful thunders roll around,
And o'er the earth blue light'nings glare,
Meffiah comes to claim his throne,
Earth shall her rightful Sov'reign own.

2 With him in milk white robes array'd,
Shall his victorious Saints appear,
Made like unto their glorious Head,
With him descending thro' the air :
Whilft living Saints caught up shall meet
Their Lord in all the pomp of state.
3 Then blessed are the righteous dead,
Who shall have dy'd in Chrift their Lord,
Soft fleeps their dust within its bed,
Till the archangel's trump is heard,
The spirit then death's spoils shall take,
And to unfading glories wake.
4 If forrow then our face bedew,

Or pining want oppress with care,
Or difappointment, pride fubdue,
Or pain with mortal anguish tear;
In all our Saviour's cross we own,
And thro' them seek a brighter crown.

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