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To thee will I direct my pray'r,

To thee lift up mine eye. 2 Up to the hills where Christ is gone,

To plead for all his faints, Presenting at his Father's throne

Our songs and our complaints. 3 Thou art a God, before whose fight

The wicked shall not stand, Sinners shall ne'er be thy delight,

Nor dwell at thy right-hand. 4 But to thy house will I resort,

To taste thy mercies there;
I will frequent thine holy court,

And worship in thy fear.
5 O may thy Spirit guide my feet

In ways of righteousness!
Make ev'ry path of duty straight,
And plain before my face.

PAUSE.
6 My watchful enemies combine

To tempt my feet astray;
They flatter with a base design,

To make my soul their prey. 7 Lord, crush the serpent in the dust,

And all his plats destroy;
While those that in thy mercy trust,

For ever shout for joy. 8 The men that love and fear thy name

Shall fee their hopes fulfilld;
The mighty God will compass them
With favour as a shield.

PSALM VI. Common Metre.
Complaint in Sickness: or, Diseases healedo
N anger, Lord, rebuke me pot,

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Nor let thy fury grow so hot,

Agaiost a feeble worm. 2 My soul bow'd down with heavy cares,

My flesh with paio opprest: My couch is witness to my tears,

My tears forbid my reft. 3 Sorrow and pain wear out my days;

I waste the night with cries, Counting the minutes as they pass,

Till the low morning rise. 4 Shall I be still tormented more?

My eyes consum'd with grief; How long, my God, how long before

Thine hand afford relief?
5 He hears when dust and alhes speak,

He pities all our groaps,
He saves us for his mercies fake,

And heals our broken bones. 6 The virtue of his fou'reign word

Restores our fainting breath;
For filent graves praise not the Lord,

Nor is he known in death.

PSALM VI. Long Metre.
Temptations in Sickness overcome.
ORD, I can suffer thy rebukes,

When thou with kindgefs dost chastise;
But thy fierce wrath I cannot bear,
O let it not against me rise.

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2 Pity my languishing estate,

And ease the forrows that I feel;
The wounds thine heavy hand hath made,

Olet thy gentler touches heal! 3 See how I pass my weary days

In fighs and groans; and when 'tis night,
My bed is water'd with my tears;
My grief confumes, and dims my sight.
4 Look how the pow'rs of nature mourn!
How long, almighty God, how long?
When shall chiae hour of

grace

return ? When shall I make thy grace my song?

Aerh so near the grave,
My thoughts are tempted to despair;
But graves can never praise the Lord,

For all is dust and filence there.
ó Depart, ye tempters, from my soul,

And all despairing thoughts depart;
My God who hears my humble moan,
Will ease my flesh, and chear my heart,

s I feel

my

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God's Care of his people, and Puniflonent of

Perfecutors.
Y trust is in my heav'nly friend,

My hope in thce, my God
Rise, and my helpless life defend

From those that feek my blood. · With insolence and fury they

My soul in pieces tear,
As hungry lions rend the prey

When no deliv'rer's near.

3 If I had e'er provok’d them first,

Or once abus'd my foe,
Then let him tread my life to duft,

And lay mine honour low.
4 If there be malice fovod in me,

I know thy piercing eyes;
I should not dare appeal to thee,

my

God to rise. & Arife, my God, lift up thy hand,

Their pride and pow'r controul; Awake to judgment, and command

Deliv'rance for my soul.

Nor ask

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PAUSE. 6 [Let finners and their wicked rage

Be humbled to the dust; Shall not the God of truth

engage To vindicate the just? 7 He knows the heart, he tries the reins,

He will defend th' upright; His sharpeft arrows he ordains

Against the sons of spite.
8 For me their malice digg'd a pit,

But there themselves are cast;
My God makes all their mischief light

On their own heads at last.] 9 That cruel persecuting race

Must feel bis dreadful tword.
Awake, my foul, and praise the grace,

And justice of the Lord.

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PSALM VIII.

Short Metre.

God's Sovereignty and Goodness: and Man's Dos

minion over the Creatures.

)

O

LORD, our heav'nly King,

Thymme is all divine; Thy glories round the earth are spread,

And o'er the heav'os they shine.
2 When to thy works on high

I raise my wond'ring eyes,
And see the moon complete in light,

Adorn the darksome skies :
3 When I survey the stars

And all their shining forms,
Lord, what is man, that worthless thing,

A-kin to dust and worms?
4. Lord, what is worthless man

That thou should'st love him fo?
Next to thine angels is he plac'd,

And lord of all below.
5 Thine honours crown his head,

While beasts, like slaves obey,
And birds that cut the air with wings,

And fish that cleave the sea. 6 How rich thy bounties are !

And wond'rous are thy ways:
Of dust and worms thy pow'r can

frame
A monument of praise.
7 [Out of the mouth of babes

And sucklings thou canst draw
Surprising honours to thy name,

And strike the world with awe.

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