5 Then I confefs'd my troubl'd thoughts,
My fecret fins reveal'd ;

Thy pard'ning grace forgave my faults,
Thy grace my pardon feal'd.

6 This fhall invite thy faints to pray ;
When, like a raging flood,
Temptations rife, our frength and stay
Is a forgiving God.

CLXVIII. Repentance and free

B

Pardon.

LEST is the man, for ever blefs'd,
Whofe guilt is pardon'd by his God
Whofe fins with forrow are confefs'd,
And cover'd with his Saviour's blood.

z Bleft is the man to whom the Lord, Imputes not his iniquities,

He pleads no merit of reward,

And not on works, but grace relies.

3 From guilt his heart and lips are free,
His humble joy, his holy fear,
With deep repentance well agree,
And join to prove his faith fincere.

4 How glorious is that righteousness,
That hides and cancels all his fins!
While a bright evidence of grace,

Thro' his whole life appears and fhines.

CXXIX. Chrift's All-fufficiency.

4

OW fast their guilt and forrows rife,
Who hafte to feek fome idol God;

I will not taste their facrifice,
Their off'rings of forbidden blood.

2 My God provides a richer cup,
And nobler food to live upon ;
He for my life has offer'd up,
Jefus his best beloved Son.

3 His love is my perpetual feast;
By day his counfels guide me right;
And be his name for ever bleft,

Who gives me sweet advice by night.

I fet him still before mine eyes;

At my right hand he ftands prepar'd,
To keep my foul from all furprize,
And be my everlasting guard.

CLXX. The Perfection and Providence of God.

'H

IGH in the heav'ns, eternal God,
Thy goodness in full glory fhines;

Thy truth fhall break thro' ev'ry cloud,
That veils and darkens thy defigns.

2 For ever firm thy justice stands,
As mountains their foundations keep,
Wife are the wonders of thy hands,

Thy judgments are a mighty deep.

3 Thy providence is kind and large,
Both man and beaft thy bounty share,
The whole creation is thy charge,.

But faints are thy peculiar care..

4 My God, how excellent thy grace;
Whence all our hope and comfort fprings!:
The fons of Adam in diftrefs,

5

Fly to the fhadow of thy wings.

From the provifions of thy house,
We fhall bed with fweet repaft,
There mercy like a river flows,

And brings falvation to our taste.

6 Life like a fountain rich and free,
Spring from the prefence of my Lord;
And in thy light our fouls fhall fee
The glories promis'd in thy word.

CLXXI. The

The Vanity of Man as Mortal. Pfal. xxxix.

'T' ΤΕ

EACH me the measure of my days,
Thou maker of my frame e;

I would furvey life's narrow space,

And learn how frail I am.

2 A fpan is all that we can boaft,
An inch or two of time;
Man is but vanity and duft,

In all his flow'r and prime.

3 See the vain race of mortals move;
Like shadows o'er the plain,
They rage and strive, defire and love,
But all their noife is vain.

4 Some walk in honour's gaudy show,
Some dig for golden ore;

They toil for heirs they know not who,
And ftrait are feen no more.

5 What should I with or wait for then
From creatures, earth and duft!
They make our expectations vain,
And disappoint our trust.

6 Now I forbid my carnal hope,
My fond defires recall;

I give my mortal int'reft up,
And make my God my all,

CLXXII. A Song of Deliverance from great Diftrefs. Pfalm. xl.

'I

Waited patient for the Lord, He bow'd to hear my cry; He saw me refting on his word, And brought falvation nigh."

2 He rais'd me from a horrid pit
Where mourning long I lay,
And from my bonds releas'd my feet,
Deep bonds of miry clay.

3 Firm on a rock he made me stand,
And taught my chearful tongue
To praise the wonders of his hand,
In a new thankful fong.

4 I'll spread his works of grace abroad The faints with joy fhall hear;

And finners learn to make

Their only hope and fear.

my God,

5 How many are thy thoughts of love?
Thy mercies Lord how great?
We have not words nor heart enough,
Their numbers to repeat.

6 When I'm afflicted, poor and low,
And light and peace depart,
My God beholds my heavy woe,
And bears me on his heart.

CLXXIII. The Glory of Chrift and Power of his Gofpel. Pfal. xlv. 1, &c.,

N

OW be my heart infpir'd to fing
The glories of my Saviour-King.