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And thine own hand has bruis'd us forc
Hard by the gates of death,

7 We are expos'd all day to die,

As martyrs for thy cause,
As sheep for flaughter bouad we lye

By sharp and bloody laws. 8 Awake, arise, almighty Lord,

Why sleeps thy wonted grace?
Why should we look like men abhorrd,

Or banith'd from thy face? 9 Wilt thou for ever cast us off,

And still neglect our cries? For ever hide thine heav'nly love From our afflicted eyes

10 Down to the dust our foul is bow'd,

And dies upon the ground;
Rise for our help, rebuke the proud,

And all their pow'rs confound.
Il Redeem us from perpetual shame,

Our Saviour and our God;
We plead the honours of thy name,

The merits of thy blood.

PSALM XLV. Short Metre. The glory of Christ: the success of the gospel, and the

Gentile church. 1

Y Saviour and my King,

Thy beauties are divine; Thy lips with blessings overflow,

And ev'ry grace is thine. 2 Now make thy glory known, Gird on thy dreadful sword,



And ride in majesty to spread

The conquests of thy word.
3 Strike thro' thy stubborn foes,

Or melt their hearts t'obey,
While justice, meekness, grace and truth

Attend thy glorious way
4 Thy laws, O God, are right;

Thy throne thall ever stand;
And thy victorious gospel proves

A fceptre in thy hand, 5 [Thy Father and thy God,

Hath, without measure, thed His Spirit like a joyful oil

T'anoint thy facred head. 6 Behold at thy right-hand

The Gentile church is seen, Like a fair bride in rich attire,

And princes guard the queen.] 7. Fair bride, receive his love,

Forget thy Father's house ; Forsake thy gods, thy idol gods,

And pay thy Lord thy vows. 8 O let thy God and King

Thy sweetest thoughts employ; Thy children shall his honours sing

Io palaces of joy.

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PSALM XLV. Common Metre.
The personal glories and government of Chrift.
'LL speak the honours of my King;

His form divinely fair;
None of the fons of mortal race

May with the Lord compare.

2 Sweet is thy speech, and hearinly grace

Upon thy lips is shed;
Thy God with blessings infinite

Hath crown'd thy sacred head.
3 Gird on thy sword, victorious Prince,

Ride with majestic fway;
Thy terror shall strike thro' thy foes,

And make the world obey.
4 Thy throne, O God, for ever stands;

Thy word of grace shall prove
A peaceful fceptre in thy hands,

To rule the faints by love.
5 Justice and truth attend thee still,

But mercy is thy choice;
And God, thy God, thy foul shall fill

With most peculiar joys.


PSALM XLV. First Part. Long Metre. The glory of Christ, and power of his gospel.

OW be my heart inspir'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 fons of human race

He shines with a superior grace,
Love from his lips divinely flows,

And blessings all his state compose.
3 Drefs thee in arms, most mighty Lord

Gird on the terror of thy sword,
In majesty and glory ride

With truth and meekness at thy side. 4 Thine anger like a pointed dart

Shall pierce the foes of stubborn heart;

Or words of mercy kind and sweet

Shall melt the rebels at thy feet,
s Thy throne, O God, for ever stands,

Grace is the sceptre in thy hands;
Thy laws and works are juft and right,

Justice and grace are thy delight.
6 God, thine own God, has richly shed

His oil of gladness on thy head,
And with his facred Spirit bleft
His first born Son above the rest.

PSALM XLV. Second Part. Long Metre.
Christ and his church; or, The mystical marriage.

The King of faints, how fair his face,

Adorn'd with majesty and grace! He comes with blessings from above,

And wins the nations to his love. 2 At his right hand our eyes behold

The queen array'd in pureft gold:
The world admires her hearinly dress;

Her robe of joy and righteousness.
3 He forms her beauties like his own,

He calls and feats her pear his throne;
Fair stranger, ler thine heart forget

The idols of thy native state.
4 So shall the King the more rejoice

In thee the fav'rite of his choice;
Let him be lov'd and yet ador'd,

Foc he's thy Maker and thy Lord. 5 O happy hour, when thou shalt rife

To his fair palace in the fkies,
And all thy fons (a nam'rous train)
Each like a prince in glory reign,

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6 Let endless honours crown his head;
Let ev'ry age his praises spread;
While we with chearful songs approve
The condescensions of his love.

PSALM XLVI. First part.

The church's safety and triumph among national

OD is the refuge of his faints,

When storms of sharp distress invade;
Ere we can offer our complaints
Behold him present with his aid.
2 Let mountains from their seats be burl'd

Down to the deep and buried there:
Convulsions shake the folic world,

Our faith shall never yield to fear.

the troubled ocean roar, In facred peace our souls abide, While ev'ry nation, ev'ry shore

Trembles, and dreads the fwelling tide. 4 There is a stream whose gentle flow

Supplies the city of our God;
Life, love, and joy still glidiog thro',

And wat'ring our divine abode.
5 That facred stream, thine holy word,

That all our raging fear controuls:
Sweet peace thy promises afford,
And give new freogth to fainting souls.

Sion enjoys her monarch's love,
| Secure against a threatning hour;

Nor can her firm foundations move,
Built on his truth, and arm'd with pow's

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