Haften the Reftitution-Day,
Which now Corruption fhrouds,
New Heav'ns and new Earth display,
With Jefus in the Clouds.
AR from our Thoughts, vain World be Let our religious Hours alone; [gone, O may our Eyes our Saviour fee!
We wait a Vifit, Lord, from thee.
O warın our Hearts with Holy Fire,
And kindle there a pure Defire,
Come, our dear Jefus, from above,
And feed our Souls with heav'nly Love.
Bleft Jefus, what delicious Fare!
How fweet thy Entertainments are!
Never did Angels taste above;
Redeeming Grace, and dying Love.
Hail, great Immanuel, all Divine !
In thee thy Father's Glories fhine:
Thou brighteft, sweetest, fairest One,
That Eyes have feen, or Angels known!
At thy Feet we humbly bow;
Oh! do not our Suit difdain,
Shall we feek thee, Lord, in vain ?
Lord, on thee our Souls depend;
In Compaffion now defcend;
Fill our Hearts with thy rich Grace,
Tune our Lips to fing thy Praife.
In thine own appointed Way,
Now we feek thee-here we ftay;
Lord we know not how to go,
'Till a Bleffing thou beftow:
Send fome Meffage from thy Word,
That may Joy and Peace afford;
Let thy Spirit now impart
Full Salvation to each Heart.
Let the Time of Joy return;
Those that are caft down, lift up;
Make them ftrong in Faith and Hope;
Grant that those who seek may find
Thee a God fupremely kind :
Heal the Sick, the Captive free,
Let us all rejoice in thee.
YOME worship at Immanuel's Feet, See in his Face what Wonders meet; Words are too feeble to exprefs
His Worth, his Glory, or his Grace.
When fhall we climb thofe higher Skies,
Where Storms and Tempefts never rife;
Where he unveils his lovely Face,
And shines and reigns the God of Grace
Nor Earth, nor Air, nor Sun, nor Stars,
Nor Heav'n, his full Refemblance bears;
His Beauties we can never trace
'Till we behold him Face to Face.
ITHER, ye Poor, ye Sick, ye Blind,
A fin-diforder'd trembling Throng;
To you the Gospel calls, to you
Meffiah's Bleffings all belong.
Reafon's and Virtue's boafting Sons
Derive no Bleffings from this Tree,
For Sinners only Jefus dy'd,
Then fure I hear he dy'd for me.
'Twas with our Griefs Meffiah groan'd,
'Twas with our Guilt his Soul was try'd;
Our Punishment he took, he bore,
And Sinners liv'd when Jefus dy'd.
Awake each Heart, arife each Soul,
And join the blissful Choirs above:
May nothing tune our future Song,
But heav'nly Wisdom, heav'nly Love.
INNERS, obey the GOSPEL-Word,
Hafte to the Supper of our Lord;
Be wife to know your glorious Day,
All Things are ready, come away.
Ready the Father is to own,
And kits his late returning Son;
Ready the loving Saviour stands,
And spreads for you his bleeding Hands.
Ready the Spirit of his Love,
Juft now the ftony Heart to move ;
T' apply, and Witnefs with the Blood,
And wash, and feal you Sons of God..
Ready for you the Angels wait,
To triumph in your bleft Estate;
Tuning their Harps they long to praise
The wonders of Redeeming Grace.
Come then, ye Sinners, to your Lord,
To Happiness in Chrift reftor'd:
His proffer'd Benefits embrace,
The Plenitude of GOSPEL-GRACE.
ET ev'ry mortal Ear attend,,
And ev'ry Heart rejoice,
The Trumpet of the GOSPEL founds
With an inviting Voice.
Ho! all ye hungry ftarving Souls,
That feed upon the Wind,
And vainly ftrive with earthly Toys
To fill an empty Mind :
Eternal Wifdom hath prepar'd
A Soul-reviving Feaft,
And bids our longing Appetites,
The rich Provifion tafte,
Ho! ye that pant for living Streams,
And pine away and die,
Here you may quench your raging Thirst
With Springs that never dry.
Dear God, the Treasures of thy Love,
Are everlafting Mines,
Deep as our helplefs Mis'ries are,
And boundless as our Sins.
The happy Gates of GOSPEL-GRACE,
Stand open Night and Day;
Lord, we are come to feek Supplies,
And drive our Wants away.
LESS, O my Soul, the living God, Call home thy Thoughts that rove abroad; Let all the Pow'rs within me join
In Work and Worship fo divine.
Blefs, O my Soul, the God of Grace;
His Favours claim thy higheft Praife:
Why should the Wonders he hath wrought
Be loft in Silence and forgot?
'Tis he, my Soul, that fent his Son
To die for Crimes which thou haft done;
He owns the Ranfom, and forgives
The hourly Follies of our Lives.
Our Youth decay'd, his Pow'r repairs;
His Mercy crowns our growing Years ;
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