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HYMN XV.

For WHITSUNDAY.

C

REATOR Spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations firft were laid :
Come, vifit every pious mind;
Come, pour thy joys on human kind!

From fin and forrow fet us free, And make thy temples worthy thee: Illumine our dull darken'd fight, Thou fource of uncreated light.

Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire, Our hearts with heavenly love inspire : Come, and thy facred unction bring To fanctify us while we fing.

Plenteous of Grace, defcend from high,
Rich in thy seven-fold energy!
Thou ftrength of his almighty hand,
Whofe power does heaven and earth command.

Proceeding Spirit, our defence,

Who doft the gifts of tongues dispense:
Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But oh inflame and fire our hearts!

Our frailties help, our vice controul
Submit the fenfes to the foul;
Feeble alas! we are, and frail;
Let not the world or flesh prevail.

Chace from our minds th' infernal foe, And Peace, the fruit of Love, beftow: And left our feet should step aftray, Protect and guide us in the way!

Make us eternal Truths receive, And practise all that we believe: Give us thyself, that we may fee The Father and the Son by thee !

Immortal honours, endless fame
Attend th' Almighty Father's name ;5
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for loft man's redemption died:

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And equal adoration be Creator Spirit, paid to thee: "Come, vifit every pious mind; "Come, pour thy joys on human kind !"

HYMN XVI.

For a FAST-DAY.

GR

REAT Gol of Hofts attend our pray'r
And make the British ifles thy care;
To thee we raise our fuppliant cries,
When angry nations round us rise.
Fain would they tread our glory down,
And in the duft defile our crown,
Deluge our houses, with our blood,
And burn the temples of our God.
But 'midft the thunder of their rage,
We thy protection would engage;
O raise thy faving arm on high,
And bring renew'd deliv'rance nigh.
May Britain as one man be led,
To make the Lord her fear and dread;
Our fouls no other fear fhall know,
Though earth were leagu'd with hell below.
Give ear, ye countries from afar,
Ye proud affociate nations hear,
While fix'd on him who rules the sky,
Our hearts your threaten'd war defy.j
Ye people, gird yourselves in vain,
Your fcatter'd force unite again;
Again shall all that force be broke,
When God, with us, shall deal the stroke.

Now he records our humble tears,

With ardent vows for future
years,
And deftines for approaching days
Victorious fhouts and fongs of praise.
Emmanuel's land fhall fafe remain, i
Bleft with its Saviour's gentle reign;
'Till every hoftile rumour cease,
In the fair realms of perfect peace.

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HYMN XVII. :

On

THANKSGIVING.

G

LORY be to God our King,
Thine eternal love we fing:
Thou haft bar'd thine arm divine,
Wrought falvation: Made us thine. Hallelujah.
Wand'ring fheep, how far from home
Sore bewilder'd did we roam !
Till the gracious fhepherd came;
Sought and fav'd: O praife his name!
Death, no more we dread thy fting;
Sin fubdu'd, we joyful fing:
Grave, thy terrors we defy;
We fhall live; for Chrift did die.
Fir'd with gratitude, we raise
All our fouls to found thy praife;
Touch each heart, each tongue inspire,
Sing we higher, still and higher.
Down to deepest hell deprefs'd,
Jefu refcu'd, rais'd, and blefs'd;
Open'd mercy's golden gate,
Mercy, here who holds her feat.
Happy manfion! every voice,
In the bleft retreat rejoice;
Let each voice united found,

Be the walls with gladness crown'd,'
Bleffings, Lord, profufely fhed,
On each hand, each heart, each head;
Who, with generous pity, join
In the great, the good defign.
Elevate our fouls to thee,
Thou our guide, and guardian be
Worthy, worthy may we prove,
Lord of fuch diftinguish'd love!
Bleffing, thankful all our days,
May we pray, rejoice, and praife;
'Till the glorious trump fhall found,
And our raptur❜d hearts rebound;

Hallelujah.
HYMN

HYMN

XVIII.

Thanks to GOD.

LL glorious God, what hymns of praise,
Shall our tranfported voices raife?
What ardent love and zeal are due,
While heav'n ftands open to our view?
Once we were fall'n, and oh how low!
Juft on the brink of endless woe :
Doom'd to the heritage in hell,
Where finners in deep darkness dwell.
But lo, a ray of chearful light,
Scatters the horrid fhades of night:
Lo, what triumphant grace is fhewn,.
To fouls impoverish'd and undone !
Far, far beyond these mortal fhores
A bright inheritance is ours:
Where faints in light our coming wait,
To fhare their holy blisful ftate.
If ready drest for heav'n we fhine,
Thine are the robes, the crown is thine:
May endless years their courfe prolong,
While, "Thine the praife" is all our fong.
HYMN XIX.

Against LEWD NES S.

W

HY fhould you let you wand'ring eyes Entice your fouls to fhameful fin? Scandal and ruin are the prize

You take fuch fatal pains to win. This brutal vice makes reafon blind,

And blots the name with hateful ftains; It wastes the flesh, pollutes the mind,

And tears the heart with racking pains. Let David fpeak with heavy groans,

How it eftrang'd his foul from God; Made him complain with ceafeless moans,

And fill'd his house with wars and blood.

Let

Let Solomon and Samfon tell,
Their melancholy ftories here,
How bright they fhone,-how low they fell
When fin's vile pleafures coft them dear.
In vain you chufe the darkeft time,

Nor let the fun behold the fight;
In vain you hope to hide your crime

Behind the curtains of the night: The wakeful stars and midnight moon

Watch your foul deeds, and know your fhame ;-
And God's own eye, like beams of noon,

Strikes through the fhade, and marks your name..
What will you do when heav'n inquires.
Into those scenes of fecret fin?
And luft, with all its guilty fires,.

Shall make your confcience rage within?
How will you curfe your wanton eyes,

Curfe the lewd partners of your fhame, When death with horrible furprise,

Shews you the pit of quenchlefs flame.
Flee, finners, flee, th' unlawful bed,

Left vengeance fend you down to dwell
In the dark regions of the dead,,
To feed the fierceft fire in hell..

HYMN XX,

On the LAST JUDGMENT.
HE day of wrath, that dreadful day

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AS DAVID and the Sybils fay.
What horror will invade the mind,
When the strict Judge, who would be kind,
Shall have few venial faults to find?

The last loud trumpet's wond'rous found.
Shall through the rending tombs rebound,
And wake the nations under ground.
Nature and death fhall, with surprise,
Behold the pale offender rife,
And view the judge with confcious eyes.

O 2

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