But death fhall land our weary fouls
Safe on the heavenly fhore.
8 There, to fulfil his fweet commands,
Our Speedy feet fhall move;
Nor fin fhall clog our winged zeal,
Or cool our burning love.

4 There fhall we fit, and fing, and tell
The wonders of his grace;

Till heavenly raptures fire our hearts,
And fmile in every face.

5 Forever his dear facred name
Shall dwell upon our tongue;
And Jefus and falvation be
The clofe of every fong.

HYMN LXXXVII. Common Metre. [*] The divine glories above our comprehenfion.

1

OW wondrous great, how glorious bright
Muft our Creator be!

HOW

Who dwells amidst the dazzling light
Of vaft infinity!

2 Our foaring fpirits upward rife

Tow'rd the celeftial throne:

Fain would we fee the bleffed THREE,
And the Almighty ONE.

3 Our reafon ftretches all its wings,
And climbs above the skies;
But fill how far beneath thy feet
Our groyelling reafon lies!

4 [Lord, here we bend our humble fouls,
And awfully adore :

For the weak pinions of our minds
Can ftretch a thought no more.]

5 Thy glories infinitely rife

Ábove our labouring tongue; In vain the higheft feraph tries To form an equal fong.

6 [In humble notes our faith adores

The great myfterious King,

While angels ftrain their nobler powers,
And fweep th' immortal ftring. Ĵ

HYMN LXXXVIII. Common Metre. [*]

SALV

Salvation.

ALVATION! oh, the joyful found!
'Tis pleasure to our ears;

A fovereign balm for every wound,

A cordial for our fears.

2 Bury'd in forrow, and in fin,
At hell's dark door we lay;
But we arife by grace divine
To see a heavenly day.
3 Salvation! let the echo fly

The fpacious earth around,
While all the armies of the sky
Confpire to raise the found.

HYMN LXXXIX. Common Metre. [

1

HOSAN

Chrift's victory over Satan.

OSANNA to our conquering King!
The prince of darkness flies ;

His troops rufh headlong down to hell,
Like lightning from the fkies.

2 There bound in chains the lions roar,
And fright the refcu'd fheep;

But heavy bars confine their power
And malice to the deep.

3 Hofanna to our conquering King!
All hail, incarnate love!

Ten thoufand fongs and glories wait
To crown thy head above.

4 Thy victories, and thy deathlefs fame,
Through the wide world fhall run;
And everlafting ages fing

1

The triumph thou haft won.

HYMN XC. Common Metre. [b] Faith in Chrift for pardon and fanctification. HOW fad our flate by nature is!

Our fin, how deep it ftains!

And Satan binds our captive minds
Faft in his flavifh chains.

2 But there's a voice of fovereign grace
Sounds from the facred word;
Ho! ye defpairing finners, come,
And trust upon the Lord.

3 My foul obeys th' Almighty call,
And runs to this relief;

I would believe thy promife, Lord;
Oh! help mine unbelief.
Kk g

4 To the dear fountain of thy blood,
Incarnate God, I fly;

Here let me wash my spotted foul
From crimes of deepest dye.

5 Stretch out thine arm, victorious King,
My reigning fins fubdue;

Drive the old dragon from his feat,
With all his hellifh crew.]

6 A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,
On thy kind arms I fall;

Be thou my ftrength, and righteousness,
My Jefus, and my all!

HYMN XCI. Common Metre. [*]
The glory of Chrift in heaven.

Он

H, the delights, the heavenly joys,
The glories of the place,

Where Jefus fheds the brightest beams
Of his o'erflowing grace.

2 Sweet majefly and awful love
Sit fmiling on his brow;
And all the glorious ranks above
At humble diftance bow.
3 [Princes to his imperial name

Bend their bright fceptres down;
Dominions, thrones, and powers rejoice
To fee him wear the crown.

4 Archangels found his lofty praise
Through every heavenly street;
And lay their highest honours down
Submiffive at his feet.]

5

Thofe foft, thofe bleffed feet of his,
That once rude iron tore,

High on a throne of light they stand,
And all the faints adore.

6 His head, the dear majestic head,
That cruel thorns did wound,
See what immortal glories fhine,
And circle it around!

7 This is the Man, th' exalted Man,
Whom we, unfeen, adore!

But, when our eyes behold his face,
Our hearts fhall love him more.

8 [Lord! how our fouls are all on fire
To fee thy bleft abode :

Our tongues rejoice in tunes of praise
To our incarnate God!]

9 And while our faith enjoys the fight,
We long to leave our clay;

And with thy fiery chariots, Lord,
To fetch our fouls away.

HYMN XCII. Common Metre.

[*]

The church faved, and her enemies disappointed; or,

1

SHO

deliverance from treafon.

HOUT to the Lord, and let our joys
Through the whole nation run:

Ye western skies, refound the noise
Beyond the rifing fun.

2 Thee, mighty God, our fouls admire;
Thee our glad voices fing;

And join with the celeftial choir,
To praise th' eternal King.

3 Thy power the whole creation rules,
And, on the ftarry fkies,

Sits fmiling at the weak defigns
Thine envious foes devife.

4 Thy fcorn derides their feeble rage,
And, with an awful frown,

Flings vaft confufion on their plots,
And fhakes their Babel down.

5 [Their fecret fires in caverns lay,
And we the facrifice;

But gloomy caverns ftrove in vain
To 'fcape all-fearching eyes.

6 Their dark defigns were all reveal'd;
Their treafons all betray'd:

Praise to the Lord, who broke the fnare
Their curfed hands had laid.]

7 In vain the bufy fons of hell

Still new rebellions try;

Their fouls fhall pine with envious rage,
And vex away, and die.

8 Almighty grace defends our land

From their malicious power :
Then let us with united fongs
Almighty grace adore.

1

HYMN XCIII. Short Metre.

God all, and in all. Pfalm lxxiii. 25.

MY God, my life, my love,
thee, to thee I call;

I cannot live if thou remove,

For thou art all in all.

2 [Thy fhining grace can cheer
This dungeon where I dwell:
'Tis paradife, when thou art here ;
If thou depart, 'tis hell.]

3

4

5

6

7

8

1

[The fmilings of thy face,
How amiable they are!

'Tis heaven to reft in thine embrace,

And no where elfe but there.]

[To thee, and thee alone,

The angels owe their blifs;

They fit around thy gracious throne,
And dwell where Jefus is.]

[Not all the harps above

Can make a heavenly place, If God his refidence remove, Or but conceal his face.] Nor earth, nor all the sky, Can one delight afford;

No, not a drop of real joy,

Without thy prefence, Lord.
Thou art the fea of love,
Where all my pleasures roll;
The circle where my paffions move,
And centre of my foul.

[To thee my fpirits fly,

With infinite defire;

And yet how far from thee I lie!

Dear Jefus, raise me higher.]

HYMN XCIV.

Common Metre. [*]

God my only happiness. Pfalm lxxiii. 25.
MY God, my portion, and my love,
My everlasting all!

I've none but thee in heaven above,
Or on this earthly ball.

2 [What empty things are all the fkies,
And this inferior clod!