In facred trains, exalt that grace excelling, Which makes thy humble hill, his chofen dwelling.
His mercy never ends, the dawn, the fhade,
Still fee new beauties thro' new fcenes difplay'd;
Succeeding ages blefs this fure abode,
And children lean upon their Father's GOD.
The deathlefs foul, thro' its immenfe duration,
Drinks from this fource immortal confolation.
Burft into praise, my foul; all nature join;
Angels and men in harmony combine:
While human years are measur'd by the fun,
And while eternity its courfe fhall run,
His goodness, in perpetual fhow'rs defcending,
Exalt in fongs, and raptures, never ending.
II. Divine Worship. L. M. WEET is the work, my GoD, my King, To praise thy name give thanks and fing; To fhew thy love by morning-light,
And talk of all thy truth at night.
Sweet is the day of facred reft,
No mortal care fhall feize my breaft;
O, may my heart in tune be found,
Like David's harp of folemn found.
My heart fhall triumph in my LORD,
And blefs his works, and blefs his word:
Thy works of grace, how bright they shine!
How deep thy counfels! How divine!
Fools never raife their thoughts fo high,
Like brutes they live, like brutes they die,
Like grafs they flourish, till thy breath,
Blaft them in everlafting death.
But I fhall fhare a glorious part,
When grace hath well refin'd my
And fresh fupplies of joy are fhed,
Like holy oil to cheer my head.
Sin, my worst enemy before,
Shall vex my eyes and ears no more:
My inward foes fhall all be flain,
Nor Satan break my peace again.
Then fhall I fee, and hear, and know,
All I defir'd, or wifh'd, below;
And ev'ry pow'r find fweet employ,
In that eternal world of joy.
III. Going to Church. P. M.
TOW pleas'd and bleft was I,
To hear the people cry,
Come let us feek our GoD to-day ;
Yes, with a cheerful zeal
We hafte to Zion's hill,
And there our vows and honors pay.
Zion, thrice happy place!
Adorn'd with wondrous grace,
And walls of strength embrace thee round;
In thee our tribes appear
To pray, and praife, and hear,
The facred gofpel's joyful found.
There David's greater fon,
Has fix'd his royal throne:
He fits for grace and judgment there;
He makes the finner fad,
And bids the faint be glad,
And humble fouls rejoice with fear.
May peace attend thy gate,
And joy within thee wait
To blefs the foul of ev'ry gueft;
The man that feeks thy peace,
And wishes thine increase,
A thousand bleffings on him reft.
My tongue repeats her vows:
Peace to this facred house,
For here my friends and kindred dwell;
And fince my glorious GoD,
Makes thee his bleft abode,
My foul shall ever love thee well.
IV. The Supplication.
ESUS full of all compaffion, Hear thy humble fuppliant's cry; Let me know thy great falvation, See, I languifh, faint, and die.
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