4 Thine Honour bids, Avenge thine injur'd Name,

Thy flighted Loves a dreadful Glory claim, While my moift Tears might but incenfe

thy Flame.

5 Should Heav'n grow black,almighty Thunder roar

And Vengeanceblaftme, Icould pleadnomore,
But own thy Justice dying, and adore.
6 Yet can those Bolts of Death, that clave the
Flood

To reach a Rebel, pierce this facred Shroud,
Ting'd in the vitalStream of my Redeemer's

HYMN CCXVI.

IS Religion that can give,

TIS

Sweeteft Pleasures while we live ;

'Tis Religion must supply, Solid Comfort when we die;

After Death its Joys will be,

Lafting as Eternity.

BY

HYMN CCXVII.

Y Meditation and by Prav'r, Let me to Heav'n afcend; Secure a future Mansion there, And make my God my Friend.

Blood.

HYMN

HYMN CCXVIII.

My ador'd Redeemer! deign to be

Now prefent with thy myftic Bread to me; May I the Bleffing of thy Blood partake, Who drink the facred Wine for thy dear Sake.

HYMN CCXIX.

THE

'HE hoary Fool, who many Days
Has ftruggled with continu d Sorrow,
Renews his Hope, and fondly lays
The desperate Bet upon To mon ow;

2 To-morrow comes! 'Tis Noon! 'Tis Night!
This Day like all the former flies:
Yet on he goes to feek Delight
To-morrow, 'till To-night he dies!.

HYMN CCXX.

WEEP no more, Chriftian Friends, weep

no more,

For Lycidas your Sorrow is not dead,
Sunk tho' he be beneath the wat❜ry Floor;
So finks the Day-Star in the Ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping Head,
And tricks his Beans, and with new fpangled Ore
Flames in the Forehead of the Morning Sky:
So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high,
Through the dear Might of him that walk'd

the Waves,

Where

3 His Bride herself has ready made, how pure and white her Dress! Which is her Saint's Integrity, and spotlefs Holiness.

4 O therefore blefs'd is ev'ry one, who to the Marriage Feaft, And holy Supper of the Lamb, Is call'd a welcome Gueft.

ว

HYMN CCI.

AYone be pardon'd and retain th'Offence! In the corrupted Currents of this World, Offence's gilded Hand may fhove by Justice; Nay, oft tis feen, the wicked Prize itfelf Buys out the Law. But 'tis not fo above, There is no Shuffling: There the Action lies In his true Nature; we ourselves compell'd Ev'n to the Teeth and Forehead of ourFaults, To give in Evidence.

IBLEST be the Day that I began
a Pilgrim for to be,

And bleffed alfo be the Man
that thereunto mov'd me.

2 'Tis true, 'twas long ere I began
to feek to live forever :

But

That when the laft of Days fall come,
I cheerfully may wait my Doom.

1 SLEEP,downySleep! come clofe mineEyes,
Tir'd with beholding Vanities!
Sweet Slumbers, come and chafe away
The Toils and Follies of the Day;
On your foft Bofom will I lie,
Forget the World, and learn to die.
2 O Ifr'el's watchful Shepherd, fpread
The Tents of Angels round my Bed:
Let not the Spirits of the Air,
While I flumber, me enfnare;

But fave thy Suppliant free from Harms,
Clafp'd in thine everlafting Arms.

3 Clouds and Darkness are thy Throne,
Thy wonderful Pavillion;

O dart from thence a fhining Ray,
And then my Midnight shall be Day:
Thus when the Morn, in Crimson drest,
Breaks thro' the Windows of the East,
My Hymns of Praites fhall arife,
Like Incense, to the morning Skies.

HYMN CCXXIII.

LET thy Repentance be without Delay;
If thou defer it to another Day,

Thou must repent for a Day more of Sin,
While a Day less remains to do it in.

HYMN

CCXXIV. à

WHAT is more tender than a mother's love
To the fweet infant fondling in her arms?
What argument need her compaffion move
To hear it's cries, and help it in it's harms
Now, if the tend'reft mother were poffett
Of all the love, within her fingle breast,
Of all the mothers fince the world began,
'Tis nothing to the love of God to man.

HYMN

CCXXV.

1 THE Lord is my Shepherd, my Guardian and Guide; Whatsoever I want he will kindly provice: Ever fince I was born,itis he that hath crown'd The Life that he gave me with Bleffings all

round: While yet on the Breaft a poor Infant I hung, Ere Time had unloofen'd the Strings of my Tongue,

Hegaveme theHelp which Icould not thenafk; Now therefore to thank him fhall be my Tongue's Tafk.

2 Thro' my tendereft Years, with as tender a

Care,

My Soul, like a Lamb, in his Bofom he bare;

Το