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PSALM XLII. Metre iii.

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S the poor Hart, tir'd in the Chace, Pants for the cool, refreshing Flood, So pants my Soul for Streams of Grace, Thy cheering Visits, O my God.

2 For GOD my thirfty Spirit longs,
The facred Spring of living Joy ;
When fhall I come with thankful Songs,
Before my GOD?-Divine Employ!

3 Thro' the fad Night and mournful Day,
My flowing Tears have been my Food;
While taunting Foes continual fay,
"And where is now thy Saviour GOD?"

4 Yet will the LORD command his Care, [Eyes;
His Love (fweet Morn!) fhall cheer mine
And, mix'd with Praife, my nightly Pray't,
GOD of my Life, to Thee fhall rife.

5 Why finks my fainting Spirit down?
Why do my reflefs Paffions mourn?
What, tho' my GoD a Moment frown,
His blifsful Smile will yet return.

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6 Then fhall I fpread his Pow'r abroad,
His Smile my drooping Hope fhall raise
My Light, my Health, my Saviour GoD,
Shall change my Sighs to Songs of Praife.

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PSALM

XLIII.

[UST JUDGE of Heav'n, against my Foes

JUST
Do Thou affert my injur'd Right:

O fet me free, my GoD, from those
That in Deceit and Wrong delight.

2 Let me with Light and Truth be bleft, Be Thou my Guide, and lead the Way, Till on thy holy Hill I reft,

And in thy facred Temple prayed 1 3 Then will I there fresh Altars raife To GOD, who is my only Joy;

And well-tun'd Harps with Songs of Praife Shall all my grateful Hours employ.”

4 Why then caft down, my Soul, and why So much opprefs'd with anxious Care? On GOD, thy God, for Aid rely,

Who will thy ruin'd State repair. L

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LORD, we have heard thy Works of old, Thy Works of Pow'r and Grace,

When to our Ears our Fathers told A
The Wonders of their Days. terl

2 How Thou didst build thy Churches here, &
And make thy Gofpel known
Among them did thine Arm appear,
Thy Light and Glory fhone. 5 to

3 In GOD they boafted all the Day,
And, in a cheerful Throng,

Did Thousands meet to praife and pray,
And Grace was all their Song.

4 But now, chaftiz'd by Thee, we stand
A Proverb to our Foes;

While fierce Derifion claps the: Hand,
And triumphs in our Woes.

5 Awake, arife, Almighty LORD!
Why fleeps thy wonted Grace?
Why fhould we look like Men abhorr'd,
Or banish'd from thy Face?

6 Redeem us from perpetual Shame,
Our SAVIOUR and our GoD;
We plead the Honours of thy Name,
The Merits of thy Blood.

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PSALM XLV. Metre i.

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Y Heart doth take in Hand
Some godly Song to fing;
The Praife that I fhall fhew therein,
Pertaineth to the KING.

My Tongue fhall be as quick
His Honour to indite,

As is the Pen of any Scribe
That ufeth faft to write.

3. O faireft of all Men!

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5

Thy Lips with Grace are pure;

For God hath bleffed Thee with Gifts
For ever to endure.

About Thee gird thy Sword,

O PRINCE of Might elect!

With Honour, Glory, and Renown,

Thou art moft richly deckt.

Go forth with godly Speed,

With Meekness, Truth, and Right; And thy right Hand fhall Thee instruct, In Works of dreadful Might.

6 Thy Arrows sharp and keen
Their Hearts fo fore shall sting,

That they fhall crouch and kneel to Thee,
Yea, all thy Foes, O KING.

7

Thy royal Seat, O LORD,

For ever fhall remain ;

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Because the Sceptre of thy Realm
Doth Righteousness maintain.

Wherefore thy holy Name

All Ages fhall record;

The People shall give Thanks to Thee
For evermore, O LORD.

PSALM XLV. Metre ii.

EXALTED by a bleffed Thought,

My Soul is on the Wing;

I fpeak, as by the SPIRIT taught,
The Praife of CHRIST my KING.

2 My Lips are eager, and delight
Glad Tidings to impart,

As is the Pen of them that write
With equal Ease and Art.

3 Thy Form is fairer than the Race
Óf Men from Adam fprung;
And God has giv'n eternal Grace
To thy perfuafive Tongue.

4 Ride on, Thou PRINCE of wondrous Might Gird on thy dreadful Sword!

With Majefty, and glorious Light,
And TRUTH's all-conqu'ring Word.

5 Thy Throne, O God, for ever stands;
Thy, Word of Grace fhall prove
A peaceful Sceptre in thy Hands,
To rule thy Saints by Love.

6 Justice and Truth attend Thee still,
But Mercy is thy Choice;
And God, thy GOD, thy Soul fhall fill
With moft peculiar Joys.

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PSALM XLV. Metre iii.

NOW be my Heart infpir'd to fing

The Glories of my SAVIOUR-KING,
JESUS the LORD; how heav'nly fair
His Form!-How bright his Beauties are!

2 O'er all the Sons of human Race
He fhines with a fuperior Grace ;)
Love from his Lips divinely flows,
And Bleffings all his State compofe.

3 Dress Thee in Arms, moft mighty LORD,
Gird on the Terror of thy Sword!
In Majefty and Glory ride,

With Truth and Meeknefs at thy Side!

4 Thine Anger, like a pointed Dart,
Shall pierce the Foes of ftubborn Heart:
Or Words of Mercy kind and fweet
Shall melt the Rebels at thy Feet.

5 Thy Throne, O God, for ever stands,
Grace is the Sceptre in thy Hands;
Thy Laws and Works are just and right,
Juftice and Grace are thy Delight.

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