4

O for this audit to prepare,
Be it my first, my dearest care;
And still that path by me be trod,
Which can alone conduct to God.

TH

The fame.

HEE we adore, eternal God,
And humbly own to thee,
How feeble is our mortal frame,
What dying creatures we.

2 Our wafting life grows fhorter ftill,
As months and days increase;
And every beating pulfe we tell,
Still leaves the number lefs.

3 The year rolls round, and fteals away
The breath, which firft it gave;
Where'er we are, whate'er we do,
We're travelling to the grave.

4

Good God! on what a slender thread,
Hang everlafting things!

Th' eternal ftate of all mankind

Upon life's feeble strings.

5 Let me not then my life mifpend
In folly's dangerous road;

But of each day and hour tranfmit
A fair report to God.

Long

I

2

3

4

I

CCCLVIII. Long Metre.

GOD juftified in the Appointments of this Life, and

of another.

Hough peevish virtue may complain, And almost dare its God arraign, Who has not fitted nature's plan To bless thro' life the virtuous man.

Better inftructed, we shall find That God in all is wife and kind: Suffering refines, exalts the foul; Suffering is virtue's richeft fchool.

Here all without diftinction prove Some common bleffings of his love; The world hereafter God referves For treating each as each deserves.

Then life's vaft iffues fhall be known, And man fhall reap as man has fown. This hope the virtuous mind enjoys, This fear the finner's peace deftroys.

CCCLIX.

A

Common Metre. DODDRIDGE,
Hope triumphant over Fear.

WAKE, ye faints, and raise your eyes,
And raise your voices high;
Awake, and praise your Maker's love,
Which shows falvation nigh.

2 Swift on the wings of time it flies;
Each moment brings it near;
Then welcome each declining day;
Welcome each closing year.

3 Not many years their round fhall run,
Not many mornings rife,

Ere all its glories ftand revealed
To our admiring eyes.

4 Ye wheels of nature speed your course,
Ye mortal powers decay;
Fast as ye bring the night of death,
Ye bring eternal day.

I

CCCLX.

A

Common Metre. DODDRIDGE.

The Chriftian Race.

WAKE, my foul, ftretch every nerve,
And prefs with vigour on;

A heavenly race demands thy zeal,
And an immortal crown.

2 'Tis God's all animating voice.
Which calls thee from on high;
'Tis his own hand prefents the prize
To thine afpiring eye.

3 A cloud of witneffes around
Hold thee in full furvey:
Forget the steps already trod,
And onward urge thy way.

TH

CCCLXI.

Common Metre.

The Refolution worthy of Man.

HOUGH all of this material frame,
Where'er I look around,

Wisdom and power aloud proclaim,
And wonders me furround.

2 Yet God a nobler work defigned,
Man with his powers divine;
Gave him a foul of heavenly kind,
Lodged in a goodly fhrine.

3 Shall I then ftoop to this low earth?
On earth my thoughts bestow?

I claim the glory of my birth,
To be like God below.

4 No paffion's rude and brutal fway
Shall ftain my nobler mind
On will I move in virtue's way,
And be what God defigned.

I

2

3

4

CCCLXII. Long Metre.

MERRICK,

Prayer for Holiness, as alone acceptable to God.

LEST in the hope of thee, my God, I fpeak the grace on him beftowed, Who guiltless hands to thee can raise, And offer unpolluted praise.

Thy ways to ours conform; in thee
The holy fhall the holy fee;

The pure the pure; the perfect mind
In thee perfection's self shall find.

O let me keep this truth in view,
O let me thus thy love pursue ;
Nor error's cloud, nor arts of fin
My foul from fair uprightnefs win.

No will I wish to know but thine;
No path but that of fin decline:
For all befide is innocent,

And all for good by thee is fent.

Proper

2

3

I

CCCLXIII. Proper Metre. STEELE. ·
Divine Direction fupplicated.

GOD of mercy, thou that hearest prayer!
Let these poor breathings reach thy gracious

ear;

Extend thy grace, which only can impart
Conviction, life, and vigour to my heart.

Remove each cloud of error from my eyes,
And empty trifles teach me to despise;

Let nobler cares my time, my thoughts employ;
Such as may yield a true and conftant joy.

Be thy almighty arm my ftrength, my guide,
Nor ever from thy precepts let me flide:
Let thy kind influence make my future days
A life of pleasure, and a life of praise.

CCCLXIV.

R

Common Metre. BROWNE.

New Year's Day.

EMARK, my foul, the narrow bounds
Of the revolving year;

How fwift the weeks complete their rounds!
How fhort the months appear!

2 Much of my dubious life is done,
Nor will return again;

And fwift my paffing moments run,
The few that yet remain.

3 So faft eternity comes on,

And that important day,

When all that man thro' life has done

God's judgment fhall furvey.

4. Awake