When all array'd in light, The fhining Conq'ror rode, Ye hail'd his rapt'rous flight, Up to the throne of God; And way'd around
And tun'd your ftrings, Of nobleft found.
6 The warbling notes purfue, And louder anthems raife; Whilft mortals found with you
Their own Redeemer's praise.
Hymn CCXII. Long Metre. [ or b]
ATIENCE! O what a grace divine !
Sent from the God of peace and love;
That leans upon its Father's hand,
As through the wilds of life we rove.
2 By patience we ferenely bear
The troubles of our mortal state;
And wait contented our discharge,
Nor think our glory comes too late.
3 Though we in full fenfation feel,
The weight, the wounds our God ordains;
We fmile amidst our heaviest woes,
And triumph in our sharpeft pains.
4 O for this grace to aid us on,
And arm with fortitude the breast;
Tl life's tumultuous voyage is o'er,
We reach the port of endless rest.
5 Faith into vifion fhall be brought;
Hope fhall in full enjoyment die;
And patience in poffeffion end
In the bright world of blifs on high.
Hymn CCXIII. Common Metre. [orb]
The Peace and Confolation of a Chrifiian.
EACE, all ye forrows of the heart,
And every tear be dry;
The Chriftian ne'er can be forlorn,
Who views his Saviour nigh.
2 "Let not your forrows rife," he says,
"Nor be your souls afraid :
Truft in your God's almighty name,
And truft your Saviour's aid.
"Fair manfions in my Father's house
For all his children wait ;
And I your elder brother go
To open wide the gate.
4"And if I thither go before,
A dwelling to prepare ;
I furely will return, again
That I may fix you there.
My people fhall remain,
And with rejoicing heart fhall fhare
The glories of my reign."
6 Thy gracious words, O Lord, we hear,
And cordial joys they bring;
Frail nature may extort a groan,
But death has loft its fting.
Hymn CCXIV. Common Metre. [b]
Submiffion to afflictive Providence.
EACE, my complaining, doubting heart;
Ye bufy cares, be ftill;
Adore the juft, the fov'reign Lord,
Nor murmur at his will.
2 Unerring wisdom guides his hand;
Nor dares my guilty fear,
Amidst the fharpest pains I feel,
Pronounce his hand fevere.
3 To foften every painful ftroke,
Indulgent mercy bends;
And unrepining when I plead,
His gracious ear attends.
4 Let me reflect with humble awe,
Whene'er my heart complains;
Compar'd with what my fins deferve,
How eafy are my pains!
5 Great fov'reign Lord, I own thy hand,
Thou juft and wife and kind;
Be every anxious thought fupprefs'd,
And all my foul refign'd.
6 From evil, thou wilt good produce,
And light from darkness raise
Thus thou wilt change my grief to joy,
And turn my tears to praife.
Mrs. STEELE, with Addition,
Common Metre. [b]
The Trials of Virtue.
LAC'D on the
on the verge of youth, my mind
Life's opening fcene furvey'd;
I view'd its ills of various kinds
Afflicted and afraid.
2 But chief my fear the dangers mov'd
That virtue's path inclofe;
My heart the wife purfuit approv'd;
But oh, what toils oppose!
3 For fee, while yet her unknown ways
With doubtful ftep I tread!
A hostile world its terrors raise,
Its fnares delufive fpread.
4 O how fhall I with heart prepar'd
Those terrors learn to meet ?
How from the thoufand fnares to guard
My inexperienc'd feet?
5 Let faith suppress each rifing fear,
Each anxious doubt exclude;
My Maker's will has plac'd me here;
A Maker wife and good.
6 He to my every trial knows
Its juft reftraint to give ;
Attentive to behold my woes,
And faithful to relieve.
7 Then why thus heavy, O my foul?
Say, why diftrustful ftill,
Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll
O'er fcenes of future ill?
3 Though griefs unnumber'd throng thee round, Still in thy God confide;
Whofe finger marks the feas their bound, And curbs the rolling tide,
Sevens Metre. [*]
Praife in Profperity and Adverfity.
RAISE to God, immortal praife,
For the love that crowns our days;
Bounteous Source of every joy,
Let thy praise our fongs employ.
2 For the bleflings of the field,
For the ftores the gardens yield,
For the vine's exalted juice,
For the generous olive's ufe ;
3 Flocks that whiten all the plain,
Yellow fheaves of ripen'd grain,
Clouds that drop their fattening dews,
Suns that temperate warmth diffuse;
4 All that spring with bounteous hand
Scatters o'er the fmiling land:
All that liberal autumn pours
From her rich o'erflowing ftores;
5 Thefe to thee, our God, we owe,
Source, whence all our bleflings flow;
And for these our fouls fhall raise
Grateful vows and folemn praife.
6 Yet fhould rifing whirlwinds tear
From its ftem, the opening ear;
Should the fig-tree's blafted fhoot
Drop its green untimely fruit;
7 Should the vine put forth no more,
Nor the olive yield her store;
Though the fickening flocks fhould fall,
And the herds defert the ftall;
8 Yet to thee our fouls fhall raise
Grateful vows and folemn praise ;
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