But to his fov'reign grace fubmit,
And glory fhall be yours.

5 Come, all ye vileft finners, come;
He'll form your fouls anew:
His gofpel, and his heart, have room
For rebels fuch as you.

6 His doctrine is almighty love;
There's virtue in his name
To turn the raven to a dove,
The lion to a lamb.

CCXIII.

'L

Truth and Sincerity

ET thofe who bear the christian name,
Their holy vows fulfil;

The faints, the followers of the Lamb,
Are men of honour still.

2 True to the folemn oaths they take,

Tho' to their hurt they fwear Conftant and juft to all they fpeak, For God and angels hear.

3 Still with their lips, their hearts agree; Nor flatt'ring words devife :

They know the God of truth can fee, - Thro' ev'ry falfe difguife.

4 They hate th' appearance of a lie,

In all the shapes it wears:

Frrm

Firm to the truth: and when they die,
Eternal life is theirs,

5 Lo from afar the Lord defcends,
And brings the judgment down:
He bids his faints, his faithful friends,
Rife and poffefs their crown.

6 While Satan trembles at the fight
And devils wish to die :

Where will the faithlefs hypocrite,
And guilty liar fly?

CCXIV. Motives to Fidelity.

'H

ATH God been faithful to his word, And fent to men the promis'd grace? Shall I not imitate the Lord,

And practise what my lips profefs?

2 Hath Chrift fulfill'd his kind design ?
The dreadful work he undertook?

And dy'd to make falvation mine?
And well perform'd the word he spoke.

3 Doth not his faithfulness afford,
A noble theme to raise my fong?
And fhall I dare deny my Lord?

Or utter falfehood with my tongue ?

4 My king, my Saviour, and my God, The fulness of thy grace I view ;

Wash

Wash my offences in thy blood,
And make my foul fincere and true.

CCXV.

I

A

Gravity and Decency

RE we not fons and heirs of God?
Are we not bought with Jesus' blood?

Do we not hope for heav'nly joys?
And can we stoop to trifling toys;

2 Can laughter fill th' immortal mind ?
Were fpirits of celestial kind

Made for a jeft, for sport and play,
To wear out time, and waste the day?

3 Does vain difcourfe, or empty mirth,
Well fuit the honours of our birth?
Shall we be fond of gay attire.
Which children love, and fools admire?

4 What if we wear the richest vest ?

Peacocks and flies are better dreft.
This flesh, with all it's gaudy forms,
Muft drop to duft, and feed the worms.

5 Lord, raise our hearts, and paffions higher!
Touch our vain fouls with facred fire!
Then with an elevated eye.
We'll pass thefe glitt'ring trifles by.

6 We'll look on all the toys below, With fuch difdain as angels do:

And

And wait the call that bids us rife,
To promis'd manfions in the skies.

CCXVI.

Juftice and Equity.

C

OME, let us fearch our ways, and try,
Have they been just and right?

Is the great rule of equity

Our practice and delight?

2 What we would have our neighbour do,
Have we done ftill the fame ?
And ne'er delay'd to pay his due,
Nor injur'd his good name?

3 Do we relieve the poor distreft ?
Nor give our tongues a loofe,

To make their names our scorn and jeft.
Nor treat them with abuse?

4

Have we not found our envy grow,

To hear another's praise ?

Nor robb'd him of his honour due,

By fly malicious ways?

5 In all we fell, in all we buy,
Is juftice our design ?
Do we remember God is nigh,
And fear the wrath divine?

6 In vain we talk of Jesus' blood,

And boaft his name in vain.

If we can flight the laws of God
And prove unjust to men.

CCXVII.

'I

Temperance.

S it a man's divineft good,

To make his foul a flave to food?
Vile as the beaft, whofe fpirit dies,
And has no hope above the skies ?

2 Can meats, or choiceft wines procure
Delights that ever shall endure?
Was I not born above the swine ?
And shall I make their pleasures mine?

3 Am I not made for nobler things?
Made to afcend on angel's wings?
Shall my best pow'rs be thus debas'd,
And grieve my God, to please my taste?

Was life defign'd alone to eat?

What is the mouth, or what the meat?
Both from the duft derive their birth;
And both fhall mix with common earth.

5 Lord, elevate my fenfual mind,
And let my joys be more refin'd:
Raife me to dwell among the bleft,
There to enjoy eternal rest.

CCXVIII