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And thine own hand has bruis'd us forc
As martyrs for thy cause,
By sharp and bloody laws. 8 Awake, arise, almighty Lord,
Why sleeps thy wonted grace?
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
And dies upon the ground;
And all their pow'rs confound.
Our Saviour and our God;
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.
Or melt their hearts t'obey,
Attend thy glorious way
Thy throne thall ever stand;
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.
PSALM XLV. Common Metre.
His form divinely fair;
May with the Lord compare.
2 Sweet is thy speech, and hearinly grace
Upon thy lips is shed;
Hath crown'd thy sacred head.
Ride with majestic fway;
And make the world obey.
Thy word of grace shall prove
To rule the faints by love.
But mercy is thy choice;
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,
And blessings all his state compose.
Gird on the terror of thy sword,
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,
Grace is the sceptre in thy hands;
Justice and grace are thy delight.
His oil of gladness on thy head,
PSALM XLV. Second Part. Long Metre.
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:
Her robe of joy and righteousness.
He calls and feats her pear his throne;
The idols of thy native state.
In thee the fav'rite of his choice;
Foc he's thy Maker and thy Lord. 5 O happy hour, when thou shalt rife
To his fair palace in the fkies,
6 Let endless honours crown his head;
PSALM XLVI. First part.
The church's safety and triumph among national
When storms of sharp distress invade;
Down to the deep and buried there:
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;
And wat'ring our divine abode.
That all our raging fear controuls:
Sion enjoys her monarch's love,
Nor can her firm foundations move,