4 Tho' wicked men, like blooming flowers, A while look fresh and gay; Soon must their short-liv'd beauties fade, 5 But those who keep the laws of God, PSALM XXV. T. Obedience and worship due to God from all men of all conditions. LET all the various tribes of men To God their homage pay, And scatter'd nations of the earth One fovereign Lord obey. 2 'Tis his fupreme prerogative O'er fubject-kings to reign: 'Tis juft that he should rule the world, Who doth the world fuftain. 3 The rich, that are with plenty fed, The fons of want, by him reliev'd,. 4 With humble worship to his throne He, only, who their being gave, PSALM XXVI. T. Comfort of an uniform and confcientious conformity to 1 HOW bleft are they who always keep 2 Oh, ever let thy holy will O'er all my ways prefide; And all the conduct of my life Let thy direction guide. 3 Then with affurance fhall I walk, Convinc'd, with joy, that all my ways PSALM XXVII. Inftruction from the works and word of God. I THE heavens declare thy glory, Lord, While they perform thy will; T. Sun, 1 Sun, moon, and twinkling ftars express Their great creator's skill. 2 The dawn of every opening day Fresh beams of knowledge brings; 3 Their powerful language to no clime 'Tis nature's voice, and understood 4 God's perfect law converts the foul, 5 The ftatutes of the Lord are juft, 6 My faithful counsellors they are, 7 But what frail man observes how oft O, cleanse me from my fecret faults, Thou God who know'ft them all. PSALM XXVIII. Submiffion to afflictions. 1 NAKED as from the earth we came 2 The dear delights we here enjoy, 3 'Tis God that lifts our comforts high, 4 Peace then, ye fretful paffions, peace; Let each repining figh Be filent at his fovereign will, T. 5 If fmiling mercy crown our lives, Its praises shall be spread; And we'll adore the wisdom too That ftrikes our comforts dead. W. PSALM XXIX. The chriftian's triumph over death. I OH for a firm and lively faith 2 Joyful, with all the ftrength we have, Our quiv'ring lips fhould fing, . 3 Where is thy boafted victory, Grave? So to the God of victory, Shall endless thanks be paid, Who makes us conquerors, tho' we die, PSALM XXX. Blefedness of the pious dead. I HEAR what the words of Chrift reveal Of all the pious dead; W. Your |