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Works of man, when made his plea,
Never shall accepted be;
Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm)
Are the best he can perform.

2 Self, the god his soul adores, Influences all his pow'rs;

JESUS is a slighted name,
Self-advancement all his aim :
But when God the Judge shall come,
To pronounce the final doom;
When for rocks and hills to hide,
All his works and all his pride;

3 Still, the boasting heart replies,
What the worthy and the wise,
Friends to temperance and peace,
Have not these a righteousness?
Banish ev'ry vain pretence
Built on human excellence ;
Perish ev'ry thing in man,
But the grace that never can.



IOF all the gifts thine hand bestows, Thou Giver of all good!

Not heav'n itself a richer knows,
Than my Redeemer's blood.

2 Faith too, the blood receiving grace,

From the same hand we gain; Else, sweetly, as it suits our case, That gift had been in vain.

3 Till thou thy teaching pow'r apply,
Our hearts refuse to see,
And weak, as a distemper'd eye,
Shut out the view of thee.

4 Blind to the merits of thy Son,
What mis'ry we endure !

Yet fly that hand, from which alone.
We could expect a cure.

5 We praise thee, and would praise thee more, To thee our all we owe;

The precious Saviour, and the pow'r
That makes him precious too.



1 ALMIGHTY King! whose wond'rous hand
Supports the weight of sea and land;
Whose grace is such a boundless store,
No heart shall break that sighs for more.

2 Thy providence supplies my food,
And 'tis thy blessing makes it good;
My soul is nourish'd by thy word,
Let soul and body praise the LORD.

3 My streams of outward comfort came
From him who built this earthly frame;
Whate'er I want his bounty gives,
By whom my soul forever lives.


Either his hand preserves from pain,
Or, if I feel it, heals again;

From Satan's malice shields my breast,
Or over-rules it for the best.

5 Forgive the song that falls so low
Beneath the gratitude I owe !
It means thy praise, however poor,
An angel's song can do no more.



1 WINTER has a joy for me,

While the Saviour's charms I read,
Lowly, meek, from blemish free,
In the snow-drop's pensive head.

2 Spring returns, and brings along
Life invigorating suns :
Hark! the turtle's plaintive song
Seems to speak his dying groans !


Summer has a thousand charms,
All expressive of his worth;
'Tis his sun that lights and warms,
His the air that cools the earth.

4 What, has autumn left to say
Nothing of a Saviour's grace?
Yes, the beams of milder day
Tell me of his smiling face.

5 Light appears with early dawn While the sun makes haste to rise, See his bleeding beauties drawn On the blushes of the skies.

6 Ev'ning, with a silent pace,
Slowly moving in the west,
Shews an emblem of his grace,
Points to an eternal rest.


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