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4 Yet see, thine Hands a Standard rear;

Beneath it Each, who owns thy Fear,
(Engag'd in TRUTH's neglected Cause)

His Sword, secure of Conquest, draws. 5 Such, Objects of thy tend'rest Love,

Defend, propitious, from above;
Let Me with them thy Mercy share,
And hear, O hear my ceaseless Pray’r.


Metre i.


HEN o'erwhelm'd with Grief,

My Heart within me dies;
Helpless and far from all Relief,

To Heav'n I lift mine Eyes. 2 O lead me to the Rock

That's high above my Head';
And make the Covert of thy Wings

My Shelter and my Shade. 3

Within thy Presence, LORD,

For ever I'll abide;
Thou art the Tow'r of my Defence,

The REFUGE where I hide. 4 Thou givest me the Lot

Of those that fear thy Naine; If endless Life be their Reward,

I shall possess the same.


Metre ii.

OPPRESSED with Grief, in Exile loft,

My Voice, eternal God, I send;
O hear my Plaint; my Pray’r attend.

2 High on the Rock my Fortress rear ;

There let me stand unmov'd, and hear
The Storms, (that now around me beat,)

At Distance roll beneath my Feet.
3 Thee, LORD, I seek, whene'er my Foes

With dire Intent my Path inclose;
And own Thee, in the dang'rous Hour,

My stedfast Hope, my strongest Tow'R. 4 Remote from Fear, within thy Shrine

Thou, LORD, my Dwelling shalt assign; Thy Wings shall wrap me in their Shade;

Thou, Thou haft heard me when I pray’d. 5 Thus shall thy Love awake my Song,

Thy Name the willing Note prolong,
While warm'd with Zeal, my Vows I pay,
And blefs Thee to my latest

latest Day

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1 Y Spirit looks to God alone;

My Rock and Refuge is his Throne; In all my Fears, in all my Straits,

My Soul for his Salvation waits.
2 Truft Him, ye Saints, in all your Ways,

Pour out your Hearts before his Face:
When Helpers fail, and Foes invade,
God is our all-sufficient Aid.


False are the Men of high Degree,
The baser Sort are Vanity;
Laid in the Balance, both appear
Light as a Puff of empty Air.

4. Make not increasing Gold your Trust,

Nor set your Hearts on glitt'ring Duft;
Why will you grafp the fleeting Smoke,
And not believe what God hath spoke.


Once hath his awful Voice declar'd,
Once and again my Ears have heard,
66 All Pow'r is his eternal Due ;
“ He must be fear'd and trusted too."

6 For sov'reign Pow's reigns not alone,

Grace is a Partner of the Throne;
Thy Grace and Justice, mighty LORD,
Shall well divide our last Reward.


Metre is.

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Y GOD, permit my Tongue

This Joy, to call Thee mine;,
And let my early Cries prevail

To taste thy Love divine.
My thirsty, fainting Soul
Thy Mercy doth implore;
Not Travellers, in Desert-Lands,

Can pant for Water more.
3 Within thy Churches, LORD,

I long to find a Place;
Thy Pow'r and Glory to behold,

And feel thy quick’ning Grace.
For Life without thy Love,

No Relish can afford;
No Joy can be compar'd with this,

To serve and pleafe the LORD.


To Thee I'll lift my Hands,

And praise Thee while I live; Not the rich Dainties of a Feait

Such Food or Pleasure give.

6 In wakeful Hours of Night,

I call my God to mind;
I think how wife thy Counsels are,

And all thy Dealings kind. 7

Since Thou haft been my Help,

To Thee my Spirit flies,
And on thy watchful Providence

My cheerful Hope relies.
8 The Shadow of thy Wings

My Soul in Safety keeps :
I follow where my Father leads,

And He supports my Steps.


Metre ii.

E A Delay,


I haste to seek thy Face :
My thirsty Spirit faints away,

Without thy cheering Grace.
2 So Pilgrims on the scorching Sand,

Beneath a burning Sky,
Long for a cooling Stream at hand,

And they must drink or die.
3 I've seen thy Glory, and thy Pow'r

Through all thy Temples shine; My God, repeat that heav'nly Hour,

That Vision fo divine !

4 Not all the Bleslings of a Feaft

Can please my Soul so well,
As when thy richer Grace I taste,

And in thy Presence dwell.
s Not Life itself, with all her Joys,

beft Passions move,
Or raise fo high my cheerful Voice,

As thy forgiving Lové.
6 Thus, till my laft expiring Day,

I'll bless my God and KING;
Thus will I lift my Hands to pray,

And tune my Lips to sing.


Metre iii.

Thou art my


REAT God, indulge my humble Claim,

Thou art my Hope, my Joy, my Rest: The Glories that compose thy Name,

Stand all engag'd to make me bleft. 2 Thou Great and Good, thou Just and Wife,

FATHER and my God; And I am Thine by facred Ties:

Thy Son, thy Servant bought with Blood. 3 With Heart and Eyes and lifted Hands,

For Thee I long, to THEE I look ;
As Travellers, in thirsty Lands,

Pant for the cooling Water-Brook. 4 With early Feet I love t' appear

Among thy Saints, and seek thy Face;
Oft have I seen thy Glory there,
And felt the Pow'r of sov’reign Grace. .

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