When in distress to him I call'd,
He to my rescue came.
4 O! make but trial of his love;
Experience will decide,
How blest are they, and only they,
Who in his truth confide.
5 Fear him, ye saints, and you will then
Have nothing else to fear:
Make you his service your delight,
Your wants shall be his care.
1 HIGH in the heav'ns, eternal God,
Thy goodness in full glory shines;
Thy truth shall break through every cloud
That veils and darkens thy designs.
2 Thy providence is kind and large,
Both man and beast thy bounty share;
The whole creation is thy charge,
But saints are thy peculiar care.
3 My God, how excellent thy grace,
Whence all our hope and comfort springs!
The sons of Adam, in distress,
Fly to the shadow of thy wings.
4 From the provisions of thy house,
We shall be fed with sweet repast;
There mercy like a river flows,
And brings salvation to our taste.
5 Life, like a fountain rich and free,
Springs from the presence of the Lord;
And in thy light our souls shall see
The glories promis'd in thy word.
1 My God, the steps of pious men
Are order'd by thy will;
Though they should fall, they rise again,
Thy hand supports them still.
2 The Lord delights to see their ways,
Their virtue he approves;
He'll ne'er deprive them of his grace,
Nor leave the men he loves.
3 The heav'nly heritage is theirs,
Their portion and their home:
He feeds them now, and makes them heirs
Of blessings long to come.
4 The haughty sinner have I seen,
Not fearing man nor God,
Like a tall bay tree, fair and green,
Spreading his arms abroad:
5 And lo! he vanish'd from the ground,
Destroy'd by hands unseen;
Nor root, nor branch, nor leaf was found,
Where all that pride had been.
1 AMIDST thy wrath remember love;
Restore thy servant, Lord;
Nor let a father's chast'ning prove
Like an avenger's sword.
2 My sins a heavy load appear,
And o'er my head are gone;
Too heavy they for me to bear,
Too hard for me t' atone.
3 My thoughts are like a troubled sea,
My head still bending down;
And I go mourning all the day,
Beneath my Father's frown.
4 All my desire to thee is known,
Thine eye counts every tear;
And every sigh, and every groan,
Is notic'd by thine ear.
6 My God, forgive my follies past,
And be for ever nigh;
O Lord of my salvation, haste,
Before thy servant die!
1 TEACH me the measure of my days,
Thou Maker of my frame!
I would survey life's narrow space,
And learn how frail I am.
2 A span is all that we can boast,
An inch or two of time;
Man is but vanity and dust,
In all his flow'r and prime.
3 See the vain race of mortals move,
Like shadows o'er the plain;
They rage and strive, desire and love,
But all their noise is vain.
4 What should I wish, or wait for then,
From creatures, earth and dust?
They make our expectations vain,
And disappoint our trust.
5 Now I forbid my carnal hope,
My fond desires recall;
I give my mortal int'rest up,
And make my God my all,
1 THUS saith the Lord, "Your work is vain, "Give your burnt-off'rings o'er; "In dying goats and bullocks slain "My soul delights no more."
2 But see, the blest Redeemer comes!
Th' eternal Son appears!
And at th' appointed time assumes
The body God prepares.
3 Much he reveal'd his Father's grace,
And much his truth he shew'd;
And preach'd the way of righteousness,
Where great assemblies stood.
4 His Father's honour touch'd his heart,
He pitied sinners' cries;
And to fulfil a Saviour's part,
Was made a sacrifice.
5 Then was the great salvation spread,
And Satan's kingdom shook:
Thus by the woman's promis'd seed
The serpent's head was broke.
I BLEST he, whose heart with pity glows,
Who learns to feel another's woes;
Who to the poor man's want gives ear,
And wipes the helpless orphan's tear.
2 In every want, in every woe,
Himself thy pity, Lord, shall know;
Thy care his life shall guard, thy hand
To him shall give the promis'd land.
3 When languid with disease and pain,
Thou, Lord, his spirit wilt sustain;
Raise with thine arm his sinking head,
And make in sickness all his bed.
1 As pants the hart for cooling springs,
So longs my soul, O King of kings,
Thy face in near approach to see;
So thirsts, great Source of Life, for thee.
2 Thy mercies, Lord, before my eyes
Shall yet in sweet remembrance rise:
Amidst the storm, amidst the wave,
Thy love the beams of comfort gave.
3 Thy name to rapture prompts my tongue,
My joy by day, by night my song;
To thee my soul ascends in prayer,
And in thy bosom pours its care.
4 Then why, my soul, with care opprest?
And whence the woes that fill my breast?
In all thy cares, in all thy woes,
On God thy stedfast hope repose.
PSALM XLII. PART II.
1 AFFLICTION is a stormy deep,
Where wave resounds to wave:
Though o'er my head the billows roll,
I know the Lord can save.
2 The hand that now withholds my joys,
Can yet restore my peace;
And he, who bade the tempest roar,
Can bid the tempest cease.
3 In the dark watches of the night
I'll count his mercies o'er;
I'll praise him for ten thousand past,
And humbly sue for more.
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