0 2 My Crimes are great, but not furpafs 3 O wash my Soul from ev'ry Sin, 5 Should fudden Vengeance feize my Breath, I must pronounce Thee juft in Death: And if my Soul were fent to Hell, Thy righteous Law approves it well. 6 Yet fave a trembling Sinner, LORD, Whose Hope, still hov'ring round thy Word, PART II. 7 LORD, I am vile, conceiv'd in Sin; Sprung from the Man whofe guilty Fall 8 [Soon as we draw our Infant-Breath, 9 Behold I fall before thy Face; No outward Forms can make me clean; 10 No bleeding Bird, nor bleeding Beast, Nor Hyffop-Branch, nor sprinkling Prieft, Nor running Brook, nor Flood, nor Sea, Can wash the difinal Stain away. 11 JESUS, my GoD, thy Blood alone Hath Pow'r fufficient to atone : 12 Thy Blood can make me white as Snow; While Guilt disturbs and breaks my Peace, PART II. 13.O THOU that hear'ft when Sinners cry, 15 I cannot live without thy Light, Though I have griev'd thy SPIRIT, LORD, 17 Then will I teach the World thy Ways; 18 O may thy Love infpire my Tongue! PSALM LI. Metre ii. LMIGHTY Father, good and kind Ever attentive to the Sighs That from repenting Bofoms rife, Wash Thou my Stains. 2 'Tis thine, great Gon! 'tis thine alone, To know and judge what I have done; 3, So fhall thine awful Sentence be From all Exception ever free Of erring Men. 3 O may thy facred Hyffop prove E 'The Branch divine. . Dye 4 So fhall my Stains of deepeft ye Through all my Frame. PART II. 5 CREATE, O GOD! my Pow'rs anew, Still cease to shine. 6 Reftore thy Favour,-Blifs divine! 7 The Wand'rer's Home. Then will I teach thy facred Ways, With Hearts fincere. 8 O cleanfe my Guilt, and heal my Pain, 9 PART III. Unclose these Lips to speak thy Name, My Song and Ages yet unborn Adore thy Name. 10 Were facred Victims thy Demand, Is thy Delight. II GOD's Sacrifice, are Souls that mourn, Of wretched Man. 12 SAVIOUR of Men! Since Grace is thine, On Sion's Hill let Mercy fhine; Glad Off'rings then prepar'd fhall be, In Flames of Love. PSALM LII. HY, Tyrant, boafts thy Heart the To work a Brother's Woe? [Pow'r While GOD his Mercy bids each Hour In Streams unmeafur'd flow. 2 With Joy thy Tongue, to Falfehood prone, Its Venom deals around; Nor Razor, fharpen'd on the Stone, 3 But foon the Juft, with Awe poffefs'd, And, from their fierceft Foe releas'd, |