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SECOND PART.

Ye rivers, as ye flow,

Convey your Maker's name,
Where'er you winding rove
On every filver ftream.

Your cooling flood,

To blefs the plains;

His hand ordains,
Great fpring of good!

2 Ye numerous bleating flocks, Far fpreading o'er the plain, With gentle artless voice,

Affift the humble ftrain.

To give you food, He bids the field

Its verdure yield,

Extenfive good.

Ye herds of nobler fize,

Who graze in meads below;
Refound your Maker's praife,

In each refponfive low.

You wait his hand; The herbage grows,

The riv'let flows

At his command.

4 Ye feather'd warblers, come,
And bring your sweetest lays;
And tune the fprightly fong
To your Creator's praife.

His work you are, He tun'd your voice,

And you rejoice

Beneath his care.

THIRD PART.

Ye trees which form the fhade,
Or bend the loaded bough

With fruits of sweetest taste,

Your Maker's bounty fhow.

From him you rofe, Your vernal fuits
And autumn fruits His hand bestows.

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3

In all your green array,

Though filent, speak his praise
Who makes you bright and gay.
While we in you, With future bread,
Profufely spread, His goodness view.
Ye flowers, which bloom around
A thoufand beauteous dyes,

Your fragrant odours breathe,

A grateful facrifice :

To him whose word

Gave all your bloom,

And sweet perfume; All bounteous Lord

But, O, from human tongues

Should nobler praifes flow;

4

And every thankful heart

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With warm devotion glow.

Your voices raife, Ye highly bleft,

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Declare his praife.

Affift me, gracious God,

My heart, my voice infpire;
Then fhall I grateful join

The univerfal choir.

Thy grace can raife My heart and tongue,

And tune my fong

To lively praife.

Mrs. STEZLE.

Pfalm CXLVIII. Particular Metre. [*]

BEGIN, my foul, the exalted lay;

Let each euraptur'd thought obey,

And praife th' Almighty name;

Lo heav'n, and earth, and feas, and fkies,
In one melodious concert rife,

To fwell th' infpiring theme!

2 Ye angels, spread the joyful found,
While all th' adoring throngs around
His wond'rous mercy fing;
Let every lift'ning faint above,
Wake all the tuneful foul of love,
And touch the loudeft ftrain.

3 Thou heaven of heavens, his vaft abode,
Ye clouds, proclaim your Maker, God,
Ye thunders, fpeak his power;
Lo! on the lightning's rapid wings,
In triumph rides the King of kings,
Th' aftonifh'd worlds adore.

4 Ye deeps, with roaring billows rife,
To join the thunder of the flies,
Praise him who bids you roll;
His praise in fofter notes declare,
Each whifp'ring breeze of yielding air,
And breathe it to the foul.

5 Wake, all ye foaring throng, and fing;
Ye cheerful warblers of the fpring,
Harmonious anthems raife;
To him who fhap'd your finer mould,
Who tipt your glittering wings with gold,
And tun'd your voice to praife.

6 Let man, by nobler paffions fway'd,
The feeling heart, the reas'ning head,
In heavenly praise employ;
Spread the Creator's name around,
Till heav'ns wide arch repeat the found,
The general burit of joy.

U

B. WILLIAMS's Collections.

Pfalm CXLIX. Particular Metre.

Thanksgiving.

PRAISE ye the Lord,

O Prepare your glad voice,

His praife in the great
Affembly to fing.
In their great Creator
Let all men rejoice,
And heirs of falvation
Be glad in their King.
2 Let them his great name
Devoutly adore;

In loud fwelling strains
His praifes exprefs,
Who graciously opens
His bountiful store,

Their wants to relieve, and
His children to blefs.

3 With glory adorn'd,
His people fhall fing
To God, who defence
And plenty supplies:
Their loud acclamations
To him their great King,
Through earth fhall be founded,
And reach to the fkies.

4 Ye angels above,

His glories who've fung,

In loftieft notes,
Now publifh his praife:
We mortals delighted,
Would borrow your tongue ;
Would join in your numbers,
And chant to your lays.

TATE, varied

Plaim CL.

Long Metre.

[*]

Praife.

ye the let

In his own courts, your fongs of joy; The spacious firmament around

Shall echo back the joyfui found.

2 Recount his works in ftrains divine,
His wond'rous works, how bright they shine!
Praise him for all his mighty deeds,
Whose greatness all your praise exceeds.
3 Awake the trumpet's piercing found,
To fpread your facred pleafure round;
While fofter mufic tunes the lute,
The warbling harp, the breathing flute.
4 Ye virgin train, with joy advance,
To praise him in the graceful dance;
Awake each voice, and ftrike each string,
And to the folemn organ fing.

5 Let the loud cymbal found on high,
To fofter, deeper notes reply;
Harmonious let the concert rife,
And bear the rapture to the skies.
6 Let all whom life and breath inspire
Attend and join the blissful choir
But chiefly ye who know his word,
Adore, and love, and praife the Lord!

;

Mrs. STEELE.

END OF THE PSALMS.

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