2 "Princes, this clay must be your bed,
In spite of all your towers!

The tall, the wife, the reverend head
Muft lie as low as ours."

3 Great God is this our certain doom?
And are we ftill fecure?

Still walking downward to the tomb,
And yet prepare no more?

4 Grant us the power of quick'ning grace,
To fit our fouls to fly;

Then, when we drop this dying flesh,

We'll rife above the sky.

WATTS.

Hymn C.

Short Metre.

[* or b]

The Voice of Wisdom.

H

ARK! it is Wifdom's voice
That fpreads itself around;
Come hither, all ye fons of earth,
And liften to the found.

2 What, though the fpeaks rebukes,
That pierce the foul with smart?
Yet love through all her chaft'nings runs,
By pain to mend the heart.

3 "Ye who have wander'd long
In fin's deftructive ways,
Return, return, at my reproof,
And feize the offer'd grace.
4 "I know your fouls are weak,
And all your efforts vain,
To overcome your mighty foes,
And break their iron chain,
"But, I will freely fend
My Spirit from above,

To arm you with superior strength,
And melt your hearts to love.
6 "Come, whilft my offers laft,
Ye finners, and be wife;

He lives who hears this friendly call,
But he that flights it, dies."

Hymn CI.

DODDRIDGE.

Common Metre.

The Saviour's Commiffion.

HARK, the glad found! The Saviour
The Saviour promis'd long; [comes !

Let every heart prepare him room,
And every voice a fong.

2 On him, the Spirit, largely pour'd,
Exerts his facred fire;

3

4

Wisdom and power, and zeal and love
His holy breaft infpire.

He comes, from thickest films of vice,
To clear the mental fight;

And on the eye-balls of the blind
To pour celeftial light.

He comes, the broken heart to heal,
The bleeding foul to cure;

And with the treasures of his

T'enrich the humble poor.

grace

5 He comes, the pris'ners to release,
In Satan's bondage held;

The gates of brafs before him burst;
The iron fetters yield.

6 His filver trumpet loud proclaims
The Lord's accepted year;

Our debts are all remitted now;
Our heritage is clear.

7 Our glad hofannas, Prince of Peace,
Thy welcome fhall proclaim;
And heaven's eternal arches ring
With thy beloved name.

DODDRIDGE.

Hymn CII.

Common Metre.

[X]

The Chriftian Warrior animated.

TARK! 'tis our heavenly Leader's voice,
From the bright realms above!

H

Amidft the war's tumultuous rage,
A voice of power and love.

2 "Maintain the fight, my faithful band,
Nor fear the mortal blow;
He that in fuch a warfare dies,
Shall speedy victory know.

3

"I have my days of combat known, And in the dust was laid;

But now I fit upon my throne,

And glory crowns my

head.

4 "This throne, this glory fhall be yours,
My hands the crown fhall give;
And you the bleft reward fhall fhare,
Whilft God himself shall live."

5 Lord, 'tis enough, our fouls are fir'd
With courage and with love;
Vain are th' affaults of earth and hell,
Our hopes are fix'd above.

6 We'll trace the footsteps thou haft trod,
To triumph and renown;

Nor fhun thy combat and thy cross,
May we but wear thy crown.

Altered from DODDRIDGE

Dymn CIII.

Common Metre. []

Walking in Darkness, and trusting in God.
EAR, gracious God, my humble moan
To thee I breathe my fighs;

When will the tedious night be gone?
And when the dawn arife?

2 My God! O could I make the claim,
My Father and my Friend!
And call thee mine, by every name
On which thy faints depend!

3 By every name of power and love,
I would thy grace entreat;
Nor fhould my humble hope remove,
Nor leave thy facred seat.

4 Yet though my foul in darkness mourns,
Thy word is all my stay;
Here will I reft till light returns,

Thy prefence makes my day.

5 Speak, Lord, and bid celeftial peace
Relieve my aching heart;

Thy love can make my forrow cease,
And all the gloom depart.

6 Then fhall my drooping fpirit rife,
And blefs thy healing rays;

And change thefe deep complaining fighs
To fongs of facred praise.

Hymn CIV.

H

Mrs. STEELE,

Common Metre. [*]

The Angels' Song at the Birth of Chrift.

IGH let us fwell our tuneful notes,

And join th' angelic fong;

For fuch a theme does lefs to them,
Than to the faints belong.

2 Good will is fhown to finful men,
And peace on earth is given;
For lo! the promis'd Saviour comes,
With meffages from heaven.

3 Mercy and truth, in sweet accord,
His rifing beams adorn;
Juftice and peace in concert join,
Now fuch a child is born.
4 Glory to God! in highest strains,
In highest worlds be paid;
His glory by our lips proclaim'd,
And by our lives display'd.

5 When fhall we reach those happy realms,
Where Chrift exalted reigns!
And learn of the celeftial choir
Their own immortal ftrains!

Hymn CV.

DODDRIDGE.

Common Metre.

The Refurrection and Afcenfion of Christ.

HOSANNA! to the Prince of life,

Who cloth'd himself in clay; Enter'd the gloomy fhades of death, And rofe to endless day.

2 Death is no more the King of dread,
Since our Immanuel rofe;

He took the monster's fting away,
And crush'd our hellifh foes.

3 See how the Conqueror mounts aloft,
And to his Father flies!
With fears of honour in his flesh,
And triumph in his eyes.

4 There our exalted Saviour reigns,
A Priest upon his throne;
And to fupply his place on earth,
He fent his Spirit down.

[*]