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Our hearts, to wisdom's sacred ways,
The Death of Infants.
With transport all divine ;
Thy love in ev'ry line. 2 Methinks I see a thousand charms,
Spread o'er thy lovely face ; When Infants in thy tender arms,
Receive the smiling grace.
And lay them on my breast ;
In me, be-ever bleft.
But can't dissolve my love ;
The family above. 5 Their feeble frames my pow'r shall raise,
And mould with heav'nly skill ;
And hands to do my will.
And thout with joys divine ;
HYMN CCXXV. C. M. [DODDRIDGE:]
On the Death of Children. I YET Emourning friends, whose streaming tears,
Flow o'er your children dead, Say not, in transports of defpair,
That all your hopes are fled. 2.While cleaving to that darling dust,
In fond distress you lie ;
A heav'nly parent nigh.
Like wither'd trunks you stand ;
Touch'd by th' Almighty's hand.
house a place ; No names of daughters and of fons,
Can yield so high a gracc.
A rising race could give :
Comfort in Trouble.
Abides forever sure ;
My happinefs fecure.
As nature could desire ;
To nobler joys than nature gives
Thy fervants all aspire.
My father art become ;
And heav'n my final home.
For all that will is love ;
I wait the light above.
Of this poor fault'ring tongue ;
Of my celestial fong.
Fear not, it is I.
To dissipate our fear?
Our God forever near ?
For all thy humble saints ?
To footh their fad complaints ? 3 Why droops our hearts? Why flow our eyes?
While such a voice we hear?
While such a friend is near? 4
To all these other favors add,
And death itself fhall hear us fing,
[STĘELE.] Submission. AN
ND can my heart aspire so high,
To say, my father God! Lord at thy feet I fain would lie,
And learn to kiss the rod.
For thou art good and wise ;
Nor one faint murmur rise.
And bid me wait ferene ;
HYMN CCXXIX. L.M. [Ripron's coll.]
Confolation in forrow.
of life's miltaken ill, or good; Thy hand o God, conducts unleen,
The beautiful viciffitude.
Howe'er unjaftly we complain,
3 Trust we to youth, or friends, or pow'r ?
Fix we on this terrestrial ball ?
If thou see fit, may blast them all. 4 When lowest sunk, with grief and shame;
Fill'd with affliction's bitter cup ;
Thy pow'rful hand can raise us up. 5 Thy pow'rful confolations cheer ;
Thy smiles suppress the deep fetch'd figh! Thy hand can dry the trickling tear,
That secret wets the widow's eye !
On thy eternal will depend ;
L.M. [S. STENNETT.]
Let all mankind their tribute bring :
Ic songs of never cealing praise.
And wider heav'n's Itrecch'd o'er our head,
To celebrate its builder's name.
As thro' the sky he makes his way;