CCXXIX. All Things work together for Good to the Saints. Rom. viii. 28.

1

M

Y foul, furvey thy happiness,
If thou art found a child of grace:

How richly is the gospel stor'd!

What joy the promises afford!

2 "All things are ours ;" the gift of God;
Secur'd by our Redeemer's blood;
While the good Spirit fhews us how
To use, and to enjoy them too.

3 If peace and plenty crown my days,
They call me Lord to speak thy praise :.
If bread of forrows be my food,
Then forrows work my real good.

4

I would not change my blest estate
With all that flesh calls rich or great ;
And while my faith can keep her hold,
I envy not the finner's gold.

5 Father, I wait thy daily will:

Thou shalt divide my portion ftill.

Grant me on earth, what seems thee best,
'Till death and heav'n reveal the reft.

CCXXX.

The Privelege of the Living above the Dead.

AWAKE, my zeal, awake my love,

And ferve my Saviour here below;

In works which all the faints above,
Which holy angels cannot do.

2 My faith and hope may see the Lord,
Tho' veils and darkness lie between :
Faith fhall reft firm upon his word,
And hope 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 thefe duties are no more.

4 Subdue thy paffions, O my foul; Maintain the fight, thy work purfue: 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 gain thy gofpel freff renown:
And when my life and labours cease,
May I poffefs the promis'd crown!

CCXXXI.

CCXXXI.

Death of Saints and

Sinners improved.

AS death such vast destruction made ?

'H Does ev'ry hour increase the dead ?

Here I behold the guilt of fin,.

That brought the fpreading mischief in.

2 Great God! how awful, and how just, Thy law that turns our flesh to dust! O let me learn how vile I am,

3

And live to glorify thy name!

When impious wretches yield their breath,
And go unpardon'd down to death,
Awake, my foul, adore the grace,
That gave thee a repenting space.

4 But when a faint with chearful air,
Meets his last foe, and feels no fear :
Our faith, our hope, and courage grow;
We learn to face the tyrant too.

5

We could renounce our all things here,
And wish that moment would appear:
When we shall leave this world, and rife
To meet the joys above the skies.

CCXXXII. The Death of Kindred improved.

'MUST friends and kindred drop and die ?

Muft helpers be withdrawn?

While forrow with a weeping eye,
Counts up our comforts gone.

2 Be thou our comfort, mighty God;
Our helper and our friend :
Nor leave us in this dang'rous road,
'Till all our trials end.

3 O may our feet pursue the way,
Our pious fathers led !
While love and holy zeal obey
The counfels of the dead.

4 Let us be wean'd from all below,
Let hope our grief dispel :
Death will invite our fouls to go.
Where our best kindred dwell.

CCXXXIII.

Death a Bleffing

to the Saints.

O flesh and nature dread to die?

'D%

And tim❜rous thoughts our minds enflave?

But grace can raise our hopes on high,
And quell the terrors of the grave.

2 What!

2 What! fhall we run to gain the crown,
Yet grieve to think the goal so near?
Afraid to have our labours done,
And finish this important war?

3 Do we not dwell in clouds below, And little know the God we love? Why should we like this twilight fo,

When 'tis all noon in worlds above?

4 There shall we see him face to face; There shall we know the great unknown : And Jefus with his glorious grace

Shines in full light amidst the throne.

5 When we put off this fleshly load, We're from a thousand mifchiefs free; For ever prefent with our God,

Where we have long'd and wish'd to be.

6 No more fhall pride or paffion rife,
fret, or malice roar :

Or envy
Or forrows fall, with downcaft eyes;
And fins defile our fouls no more.

7 'Tis beft, 'tis infinitely best,

To go where tempests cannot come : Where faints and angels ever bleft, Dwell and enjoy their heav'nly home. 8 Bleft be our dear Redeeming-God, Who drives our fears of death away! And helps us thro' this darksome road, To realms of everlasting day.